Page 64 of Misadventures With My Fake Fiancé

“Was the one you wrote for college erotic, too?” Goldie asked.

I nodded.

“That boyfriend was either a closet gay man or a right wing religious nut. Either way, your relationship wouldn't have made it.”

I paused, thought about Todd. “He was a little odd.”

“Odd Todd?” Veronica chuckled. “You know the saying: a lady in public, a whore in the bedroom, right?”

A good girl and a bad girl. Mike liked me being both.

“The sex would have been horrible with that loser, Violet. You need heat. You need what's in that book you wrote.” Goldie eyed me all-knowingly.

The sex with Todd had been bad. Definitely forgettable. Then I thought about Mike and all we'd done in Alaska. How I'd given over control to him, given in to my fantasies. Goldie was right. I needed what Mike could give me; what was in my book.

“Todd was a waste of your time. He was then, and if you're still hung up on what he did to you, a waste now, too,” Veronica added.

“Mom doesn't care that I write about sex using that ridiculous pen name?” I gave Goldie the evil eye.

“I was with her when we heard. We both laughed until we cried. It's a riot. You have to keep the name. What? You don't believe me?”

No. I certainly did not. I shook my head.

“Fine. Call her. You can't hide in here forever.”

“What about Dad? What did he say when he found out?”

Veronica lifted her fingers to her mouth covering a smile. “He said he liked cherries.” She got up, went to my kitchen. I heard her open the fridge. “Can I have a pop?”

“Sure. On the door.”

I was hiding. I was moping about Mike, but I was avoiding everyone I knew, which was most of the town. I was afraid to face them if they knew I was Cherry Bottoms. God, that name! It seemed all the women thought it was funny and the men thought I'd picked a good fruit. No one seemed to find it not-funny but me.

“Want one?”

“Sure.”

“Goldie?”

She shrugged again. “Hell, why not. Move over so we can watch TV with you.”

My phone rang earlythe next morning, before an hour that was remotely appropriate. I'd stayed up late watching a James Bond marathon and had no interest in the morning. One of the perks about getting summers off.

“Hello?” I mumbled, my eyes still closed, face buried in my pillow.

“Violet? It's me, Jubal.”

“Jubal? Is everything all right? Where are you?”

“I'm in Maryland getting ready for the first day of the reenactment. I can't wait!”

“That's great, Jubal.” Why was he callingme? And at, oh god, five-thirty in the morning? The sun was just starting to come up, my room filled with a hint of daylight.

“Listen, Violet. One of the FBI guys called me. Said there was some kind of mix-up. I'm not sure how there could be a mix-up with the mix-up, but there is. A mix-up, I mean.”

I wiped some sleep from my eyes, still more asleep than awake. “Yeah, I hear what you're saying. There's some kind of mix-up.”

“Right. So Violet, I guess the FBI guy might come to see you. To fix the mix-up. I don't know your address so I couldn't give it to him or anything but he knows your name. I told him you lived in Bozeman, but I wasn't much more help. Just wanted you to know so you're not surprised.”

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