* * *
The words played in endless repeat in Charlie’s head and swam before his eyes.
“He hooked his fingers into the edges of her cotton panties and slowly slid them off her.”
“Suddenly the buzzing started up again between her thighs, but this time, she knew that somehow, some way, Zane was manning the controls to her vagina.”
“’You’re not wearing panties,’ he said. ’I was wondering when you’d notice.’”
“I want you to soap me up.”
Charlie ran his hands through his hair and dropped the manuscript back onto the table.
He had read the words, but he still couldn’t believe it.
Candace had detailed their lessons act by act, scene by scene, in her book Hell’s Angel. He couldn’t deny that it was powerful writing, and yet the hole in his heart was so deep he could hardly feel anything at all.
“Damn it!” he exclaimed as he punched his hand into the wall. Some of the plaster crumbled beneath his fist just as the event organizer knocked once.
“What?” Charlie said in a gruff tone.
“We’re ready for you,” said the voice from the hall.
“I’ll be right out.”
He had thought he was special to Candace, but now he wondered if he was just a fool for believing that she truly loved him. For all he knew, she was going to take her new knowledge and find another “mentor”, one who knew more than he did, who could give her things he couldn’t.
Charlie took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. And then he stepped out of his dressing room, wondering what the hell he was going to say to her when they finally came face to face on stage.
* * *
The MC said, “Thank you for coming to the 15th Annual Erotic Writer’s Contest awards ceremony! We had some incredible entries this year, but for the first time in the history of this contest, our judges voted unanimously for the winner. Here to present the $10,000 check to our winner is none other than best-selling author, Charlie Gibson.”
Sitting out in the audience, Candace was hardly aware of the raucous hoots and hollers from the crowd. Charlie was the surprise celebrity guest?
She looked around for the nearest escape, but knew that she couldn’t take the coward’s way out. Not this time. Even if she ran tonight, he’d find out that Candy Lane was her pseudonym, that Hell’s Angel had been inspired by their astonishing lovemaking.
It was finally time to face her fate.
Charlie took the stage and she could see him scanning the crowd, looking for her. His eyes locked with hers and she forced herself not to look away. She didn’t know what she expected to see in his eyes—pain, hatred maybe—but not the awful blankness that radiated down to her in the audience.
Her stomach heaved, but she swallowed the bile back into her throat and clasped her hands tightly in her lap, her spine as straight as rebar.
“Writing is a funny thing,” he began, as he looked out over the large, well-dressed crowd with a small smile. “We think that we can separate ourselves from the stories we weave, but no matter how much we lie to ourselves, there is always a piece of us in there. Some where, some way, we can never disguise what’s in our heart.”“An hour ago Steve Holt handed me a copy of the winning manuscript. Truth is, folks, I couldn’t put it down. It was compelling. It was sensual. And most of all, it was honest.”
A tear slipped down Candace’s cheek. “Stop, Charlie. Please, stop.”
“It is with distinct pleasure that I award this year’s Erotic Writer’s award to Candace Whitman, for her erotic novel, Hell’s Angel, writing as Candy Lane.”
The applause was deafening as Candace unsteadily rose to her feet. Strangers reached out to shake her hand in congratulations. She smiled and murmured thanks, but she was held prisoner by the intensity of Charlie’s gaze.
I love you and I’m sorry, her heart cried out to him, but by the look in his eyes, she knew he was lost to her.
Wiping away the tear that had rolled down her cheek, she carefully climbed the small flight of stairs up to the podium where Charlie was standing.
“I’m sorry,” she mouthed to him, but he ignored her, his face devoid of all emotion.
Putting the check into her trembling hands, without touching her, he stepped back into the shadows. Fearing her knees were going to buckle beneath her, Candace clutched at the podium and held on for dear life.
Looking out at the rapt crowd who was waiting for her acceptance speech, she swallowed nervously.
“Hi,” she said softly into the microphone, surprised by the volume of her voice through the speakers.
“I, uh, want to thank the judges for...” She cut herself off, shaking her head, her face crumpling. “The truth is, I can’t accept this award. I’m sorry,” she cried as a sob escaped her.
She ran off of the stage and down through the tables and chairs in the banquet room. She continued to run through the lobby and out into the cool evening air, not stopping to breathe until she tripped in her high heels and landed hard against a street lamp.
Clutching the street lamp, she gasped for air, hating herself more and more with every passing second.
She felt a warm hand on the small of her back through her thin silk dress.
“It’s a wonderful book, Candy,” Charlie said as he gently rubbed her back.
She shook her head so hard, her gold clip fell out of her hair and clattered to the sidewalk. “No. It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice tender, “I love you.”
She finally turned around to face him, anger mixing with her sorrow. “Is that what you told Sherryl Ann last year?”
“What does Sherryl Ann have to do with this?”
Candace crossed her cold hands across her chest and held onto her shoulders, rocking slightly back and forth as if to comfort herself.
“What kind of lessons did you set up for her? Were they hotter than ours?”
“God no! I edited a couple of her manuscripts and then passed her off to my agent.”
Candace knew the look of shock and disbelief on Charlie’s face was pure and she felt like an even bigger fool than before.
“I understand if you never want to see me again, Charlie,” she said, staring at the dirty sidewalk between them.