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We wind up in that coffee shop for nearly three hours. I describe (blushing ridiculously while she talks about capture fantasies and BDSM without flinching) what I’m writing and she informs that what I’m writing is known as domestic discipline erotica. When Raven says this, she squirms in her seat and wiggles her eyebrows.
She gives me a few author suggestions to read so I can study my genre, but I tell her I don’t want to do that because I’m worried I’ll accidentally take too much inspiration from other authors and want my work to be completely fresh and original.
We discuss the pros and cons of my approach versus hers, which is to study her competition at length, and we exchange phone numbers before we part ways.
It’s been a while since I’ve hit it off with anyone. The last few years I’ve drifted away from old friendships entirely, and I’m glad I went today. I did my best to put aside the Austin stuff, the Shane stuff, and just tried to be present. And being present, taking it all in – I may have made a new friend. A writer friend.
I get to the condo after dark and I’m about to pass a woman in the lobby looking impatient as she talks to Andrew, the new night-time doorman who was hired to replace Shane’s friend Kevin.
Andrew is super-friendly and chats me up whenever I come or go.
“Oh, Hey Jada,” Andrew says, “Do you know when Mr. Carmichael might be back? I buzzed up but there’s no answer. This is his mother and she says it’s urgent that she speaks to him.”
The woman turns and looks at me. And I recognize her immediately. Audra Carmichael was a hot topic on gossip shows a few months ago when she got pulled over for a DUI and slapped the arresting officer in the face. She was the butt of a lot of viral jokes about entitled rich women for quite a while.
“Hello, Mrs. Carmichael.”
“How do you know my son?” she demands.
“I… take care of the apartment, his shopping. I worked for your other son as well.”
She looks me over, “When will Austin get back? I have an urgent matter to discuss with him.”
“He might be at work still, he told me he’d be late tonight.”
“He’s not at the office, I already checked,” she says, looking at me like that’s my fault.
“I’m … I’m not sure where he is.”
“I’ll come up and wait.” She heads toward the elevator. I look at Andrew and he looks at me with sympathy. The look on his face has me thinking he’s already gotten the third degree from her.
It’s already after nine thirty at night. I don’t like being in this position, but she’s Austin’s mother, and I’m the hired help. Not knowing what else to do, I get in the elevator and press the button.
I can’t think of a single thing to say to her on the way up. She’s got an expression that doesn’t invite conversation either, so I say nothing.
When we get inside, she looks around and takes in the space as if she’s never seen it before. Aiden had lived here for over a year before he moved to San Diego. Is it possible she’s never been here? Maybe. She lives in California, after all.
Audra Carmichael is attractive, even though she reminds me of the way the actress Christine Baranski looked in the Grinch movie. Pretty, blonde, but her skin looks too tight, her nose too upturned, her cheekbones too pronounced. She has that middle-aged rich woman who gets a lot of cosmetic work done look to her, but I’m used to seeing that working in a city that’s crawling with women of that category.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask.
Audra Carmichael looks at me like she’s trying to figure something out.
“You don’t have to stay and serve me. I’m perfectly capable of being left alone to wait for my son.”
“Oh, okay,” I say and head for my room.
“Excuse me?” she calls.
I spin to face her.
“You aren’t leaving? You’re a live-in maid?”
“I’m staying here temporarily. I had a housing issue and Aiden and Carly agreed to let me stay. It works well since I’m now working for Austin.”
“In that case, I’d like a martini.”
“I’m not sure if we have the ingredients for that. We have wine. I have a bottle of Zinfandel in the fridge that’s mine and I’ll gladly share, or there are two or three bottles of red wine in the liquor cabinet.”
“And where is this liquor cabinet?” she asks.
I open the cupboard on the side of the island and squat.
“There’s Bourbon or a couple bottles of this pinot noir.”
“Pour me a glass of that pinot.”
“Certainly.”
I lift the bottle and twist the cap off.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Must be one of Carly’s.”
