Page 29 of In Love With a Master (Interview With a Master 2)

“Yes,” I heard her say. There was the tinny echo of a man’s voice, the words muffled. Leticia frowned, and then smiled. She turned her face to look at me and there was an excited glitter in her eyes. She was grinning. She cupped one hand over her mouth as though in disbelief and her eyes became huge with wonder.

“Really?”

There was another short burst of talking from the caller, and then Leticia nodded her head, thanked the man, and ended the conversation. She put the phone down on the bed beside her, like she was in a dumbfounded daze.

“That was the editor,” she said softly, staring into my eyes, but her gaze somehow distant and out of focus. “The articles… he loves them. He is selling syndication rights to the biggest papers in the country…”

I propped myself up on one elbow. “Congratulations,” I said. “I assume this means he will have no trouble with you taking the next three months off work.”

Leticia frowned. “Jonah, it means much more than that,” she gushed – and then choked the rush of words off.

I frowned warily. “Go on…” I said carefully. “Tell me what else it means…”

Leticia made a face. She flapped her hand in the air, but her voice dropped to an almost guilty whisper. “It means… well it means you’re going to become even more popular, I’m afraid. It… um… it means a lot of exposure for you, Jonah. All around the country, and maybe internationally.”

I sat up. My expression turned to stone. “From just those interviews?”

Leticia nodded. “Once they’re syndicated… well we’re talking about millions of people reading your advice and suggestions.”

“Millions? From a few interviews in a local newspaper?”

She nodded. “Syndicated,” she said the word again.

I swung my legs off the bed, and reached for my clothes. I felt the boil of dark thunderclouds threaten my mood, so that my voice was strained and flinty as I began to button my shirt. “I had no idea…” I began and then broke off. “If I knew the price I was going to have to pay to be with you was the loss of my privacy…”

Leticia’s face became pale and stricken. She reached out to me and there was a distraught haunted look in her eyes. “Jonah – I didn’t expect the editor to sell the rights to these articles. Please don’t hate me…” Her words trailed off and her outstretched hand fell to her side like a bird that had been shot in flight. There was just a few feet of space between us but the gap seemed to stretch and become covered in ice. I felt heavy shutters slam down behind my eyes and my manner became distant and brittle.

“I don’t hate you, Leticia,” I said flatly. “The mistake was mine. I should have had a better understanding of the risk, but I was too focused on the reward.”

“And that will still happen, Jonah!” Leticia vowed. “We have three whole months ahead of us. Three months where nothing in the world matters apart from you and me. We can go away. We can go anywhere in the world you want to.”

I said nothing.

I went into the bathroom and filled the vanity basin with steaming water that I splashed over my face. I scraped my fingers through my hair and when I glanced up at my reflection the eyes that stared back looked suddenly black and hunted.

I came back into the bedroom and Leticia was standing by the window, staring at the distant mountain ranges made blue and misty by the sunlight. She was dressed, her shoulders slumped, her poise uncertain, and there was an air of resignation in the way that she stood with her hands clasped before her. She heard me and turned her head slowly.

“I… I have to go into the office again today,” she said. “The editor wants me to re-work one of the articles, and I need to go back through my notes of what you said to me.” She shrugged her shoulders as though helpless and somehow deflated by my steely mood. “I’m sorry, but I promise after today everything will be finished with the newspaper, and it will be just you and me.”

“And a million crazy women, who think I have the answers to all their sexual problems,” I muttered.

Leticia wrung her hands in exasperation. “Jonah, we could go away,” she offered again. “This doesn’t have to be a problem for us – not unless we let it become a problem.”

I narrowed my eyes and felt my lips press into a thin pale line. I said nothing.

We walked in silence to Leticia’s car, our feet crunching on the gravel of the driveway as bright sunshine warmed my shoulders and painted color into the flowerbeds and the trees. I had my hands thrust deep into my pockets, bunched into fists, and my head lowered thoughtfully.

Leticia unlocked her car, pulled the door open, and then turned back to me. “Jonah…” She was searching my eyes for some flicker of hope, or some small sign that my cool reserve had begun to melt again.

“Do you wish to meet tonight?” I asked.

Leticia nodded her head willingly. “Yes, of course.”

I nodded. “Very well,” I said, my expression like stone. “Your place?”

“Yes. I should be finished at the office no later than six,” her voice became enthusiastic. “I will pick up something for dinner on the way home.”

I nodded and kissed her chastely on the cheek. “Very well,” I said. “I will see you tonight.”

Chapter 19.

When I knocked on Leticia’s apartment door she flung it open after a moment, looking breathless and agitated. She smiled genuine pleasure and beckoned me inside.

There were several small plastic containers on the kitchen counter. Leticia unpacked them like she was disassembling plastic building blocks.

“Chinese,” she explained, and then lifted the lids off several of the containers and pulled open a cutlery drawer. “I only just got home a moment ago.”

I glanced around the kitchen and then narrowed my eyes. “Leticia, your co-workers and friends must think highly of you,” I said abstractly.

She looked at me and blinked. “Pardon?”

“I said that your friends and your colleagues at work must have a high opinion of you.”

Leticia began serving the takeout onto two plates, sharing the contents evenly. She frowned, puzzled. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s a theory I have,” I explained. “In my experience, women judge other women in three

ways. If you have children, women judge you as a mother on how well dressed and how well behaved those children are. They judge you as a home keeper based on how clean and well organized your kitchen is… and they judge you as a woman based on the quality of the clothes you wear and the way you present yourself in public,” I said, then arched an eyebrow. “Based on those three factors – and bearing in mind that you don’t have children – your friends and colleagues must have a high opinion of you considering how clean your apartment is and how well you dress.”

Leticia’s face crinkled with a bemused expression and she smiled at the compliment but said nothing. We carried the plates to the dining room table and sat opposite each other.

We ate in silence for several moments. The food was good. Each time I glanced across the table I saw Leticia gazing at me furtively. I set my fork down, put my elbows on the table and laced my fingers together, resting my chin on my knuckles. “Tell me about your day,” I offered. I glanced at my wristwatch. “I thought you would be finished at the newspaper before now. It’s almost seven.”

Leticia nodded. She dabbed delicately at the corners of her mouth with a paper napkin and carefully set down her fork. “I ran into some unexpected delays,” she said evasively. “There were some additional things the editor wanted for the articles.”

I resisted the urge to pry. Instinct told me that the less I knew, the more easily I would sleep tonight. “Is the newspaper still publishing?”

“Of course,” Leticia said. “The first article is being rushed for publication. It will be on the streets in a couple of days from now.”

I balked. “So soon?”

Leticia nodded, more slowly this time, and with cautious reserve. “Yes.”

She said no more.

We finished the meal in silence, and I brooded darkly over the troublesome implications of being exposed and being pursued by a voracious media. The heavy pall of gloom that had hung over me throughout the morning swept back to darken my mood like a horizon of brewing storm clouds.

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