The Writing Retreat(11)

“Was she on scholarship too?”

“Oh, yes.” Jett liked his women self-made, just like him. “And she waitressed.”

“June the writer-waitress. How long were you together?”

“Uh… about four years, I guess. Most of college and then a bit after.” His brows furrowed with a new thought. “Why, is she here? Do you know her?”

“I don’t. I just find writer relationships fascinating.” Roza leaned forward. “I was with a writer, once. We were always butting heads, each of us convinced that we were the real genius. Did you ever feel that way?”

“Not at all.” He said it vehemently. “She was always better than me.”

“And yet you’re published and she’s not.”

“Yeah.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I’m not sure what happened. We lost touch after we broke up. I don’t know where she’s at with her work.”

“That must be hard for her.” Roza steepled her fingers. “Her ex getting a big fancy book deal, moving on to bigger and better things.”

“As much as I’m enjoying this stroll down memory lane, should we actually get to the book?” Jett grinned wryly at Asha.

“Good idea. Let’s get to the book, Jett.” Roza’s voice went down an octave. “Let’s talk about the book that June wrote.”

Jett’s eyes widened, then narrowed. His thin lips stretched into a humorless smile. “What?”

“Maybe that’s an overstatement. You worked on it too. But it was her idea, her story.”

Roza was half smiling, as if to soften the blow of her words.

Now a stunned Asha asked: “What?”

“I know you had to pay her off to keep her mouth shut, but it was so little compared to the advance; she just didn’t know.” Roza wrinkled her nose. “And the book was so much of her. Because she’s a car mechanic, Jett, not a waitress. Right? But that would raise some questions if you made that known, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s not true.” Jett waved his arms. “I don’t like speaking badly of anyone, but June was—is—I mean, she’s a little crazy—”

“Oh, yes?” Roza whipped out her phone and scrolled through it. “She contacted me last week. I wasn’t going to bring it up like this—it’s really none of my business—but when you told us that sob story, Jett, how you worked so, so hard, I guess it was just a little too much for me.”

“It’s not true. Can you stop this?” Jett beseeched Asha. “She’s making this up. I don’t know where she’s getting this—”

“She has a recording of you both talking about it.” Roza held up her phone. “The deal you made. She needed that money at the time. Her shop doesn’t pay a lot, you know. But she didn’t think it was fair, you making all that money and getting so much acclaim. Did you know, Jett, that most people have only one good story in them? And you took hers.”

Jett jumped up. “Stop. Just stop.” A knot pulsed in his neck.

Roza bit her lip, eyes on the screen. “And she tried and tried to get in touch with you but you just didn’t want to talk to her, did you? You blocked her, in fact. And so she had to turn to alternative plans. None of the reporters believed her. Your editor and agent ignored her. I guess you could say I was her last chance. That she was grasping at straws.” Roza looked up at Jett. “She’s still working in that shitty garage in Raleigh. And she’s too depressed to write.”

The crowd murmured, shock and glee and horror pulsing like little eddies of current. At some point Wren had grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh.

Even from this far back I could see Jett’s hands shake. “Okay, you are actually fucking crazy.” He turned to the moderator. “What the hell, Asha? How could you let her do this to me in front of…?” He gestured to us and turned. His foot connected with his water bottle, which skittered over the side of the stage. He collected himself and strode off.

Asha appeared to be frozen in her chair, staring after Jett. Finally she turned and mouthed something to someone offstage.

“Let this be a lesson to everyone.” Roza stood and faced us, hands on hips like a TED speaker. “If you’re going to do stupid shit, do it well. Don’t be lazy enough to get caught so easily. Try a little harder. Otherwise you don’t deserve any of it. Okay?” She looked at Asha. “That’s all for today, I think.” She turned and sauntered offstage. Asha jumped up and followed.

The crowd billowed into confused, excited chatter. Beside me, Wren let out a shriek of delighted laughter.

We hadn’t gotten our books signed that day. But as the event and the revelation exploded online, causing Jett’s publisher to cancel the second half of his two-book deal, we agreed that being there to witness a show of Roza’s vengeance had been more than enough.





Chapter 5




The shout from the conductor startled me out of a half sleep.

We were approaching the station. The floppy-haired boy next to me was long gone, the car nearly empty. The train slowed with a juddering whine. A fuzzy, electronic voice repeated: “This is… [inaudible].”

If I’d been sleeping more deeply, I would’ve missed the stop altogether. Rushing to pull my suitcase from the rack, I found myself waiting behind the only other person disembarking. She was short, with blond hair spilling out the bottom of a bright orange ski cap. Could she be going to Roza’s too? The train steps were steep and both of us stumbled, righting ourselves on the pavement. Outside, the wind slapped our faces. She turned and squinted at me.