The Original Sinners: The Red Years

“Are you blaming my books for this?”

“Of course not. It’s only that stories with sexual violence in them will attract violent people. It appeals to the baser instincts.”

“Baser instincts? Violent people? My readers are housewives and college girls and a few straight guys who are trying way too hard to find out what women want in the bedroom. I don’t write for insane people. Is it Salinger’s fault that Mark David Chapman misread Catcher in the Rye?”

“That is not what I’m implying. But when you market yourself as a sex object, it can’t come as a shock when someone decides you can be bought.”

“Bought?” she scoffed and met Zach’s eyes. She looked at him so coldly he was almost afraid of her. “I can’t be bought, Zach. And even if I could I’m out of your price range.”

“Nora—” he said, trying to apologize.

Lex opened the door with Wesley right behind him. Nora raced across the room and ran straight into Wesley’s arms.

“You okay, kid?” She ran her hand over him as if checking him for injuries.

“I’m fine. The cops have him. He’s apparently a Bellevue resident off his meds.”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“Nah,” Wesley said. “He went down hard, fast and easy.”

“Sounds like one of my characters,” she said, wrapping her arms around Wesley.

Zach met Wesley’s eyes from across the room. His voice had been glib with Nora, but Zach could see the sheer panic written across the boy’s face.

“Come on. We’re going home,” Wesley said, letting Nora go.

“Home? That’s ridiculous. All those people are out there. We’ve got to finish the signing.”

“No, Nora.” Wesley’s voice was stern and intractable. For a moment Wesley seemed older than Nora. “We’ve got to give the cops a statement and then we’re going home. You can finish the signing when Lex gets some more security in here.” Lex voiced his agreement with Wesley, and Nora promised she’d reschedule as soon as possible.

“That guy didn’t hurt you, did he?” Wesley asked as he opened the door for Nora.

Nora stopped and looked back at Zach. Zach stomach’s flinched from the look of pure pain in Nora’s eyes.

“No worries, Wes. Just sticks and stones. It’s the words that hurt.”

13

Zach returned to his flat after the book-signing but found himself unable to concentrate on work. All he could do was replay Nora’s words in his head. “I can’t be bought, Zach…” It didn’t take long to realize how unconscionably he’d acted. A fan had attacked Nora, and he had blamed the victim.

He checked the time—still only five o’clock. He couldn’t spend the rest of the day agonizing over Nora. Racing from his building he made only one stop on the way to the train station. He stood on Nora’s porch trying to collect his words. He wanted to have them just right so when he said he was sorry she would know he meant it. But he knew something would change between them if he crossed her threshold for any other reason but her book. Zach took a step toward the door but it opened before he could knock. Wesley was standing there with a sardonic half smile on his face.

“Nora told me to let you in. She said you were starting to look a little cold.”

“May I see her please?”

Wesley took a step back and let Zach enter.

“In her office,” Wesley said. “She’s writing.”

Zach followed Wesley to the office and remembered how very different things were just three weeks ago. He’d come here determined to be rid of Nora and her book. Now here he was ready to beg for another chance to make their partnership work.

Before they reached the door to Nora’s office, Wesley stopped and turned to him.

“You know, your opinion means more to her than anything,” Wesley said. “I came home today after the signing and came pretty close to throwing up. She just went into her office and got back to work.”

Zach nodded, humbled by this nineteen-year-old child.

“I’ve come to apologize if she’ll let me.”

“She’ll let you. Maybe she shouldn’t, but she’ll let you.”

Wesley knocked on Nora’s office door and entered without waiting for her response.

“Nor? Got a minute?” Wesley asked. Nora was at her desk in black silk men’s style pajamas. Her hair was piled high on her head and held up with two ballpoint pens serving as chopsticks. She was typing away furiously, not even stopping to look at them.

“What are you still doing here, Wes? I thought you had something at church tonight.”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to help chaperone the middle school retreat this weekend,” Wesley said, walking around the desk to stand behind her chair. “But I’m not going to leave you alone after today—”

“Yes, you are. You just go and keep those kids from making out in the coat closet. Sexual repression must begin as early as possible. Go, Wes. You deserve a night off from my dramas.”

“Are you sure?” Wesley put his hands on Nora’s shoulders and tilted her chair back toward him. She leaned her head against his stomach and looked up at him.

“Yes. Go. Have fun. You’ve earned it.”

“If you let me go, I’m going to eat pizza,” he warned her and smiled down at her.

“One slice,” she said, raising her arm and waving her index finger in his face. “One.”

“What if it’s thin crust? That’s low carb.”

“Hmm…” Nora held up a second finger. “Two. But no more than two.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be home tomorrow morning. Zach?” Zach turned to face Wesley who was looking at him with determination. “You’ll keep an eye on Nora tonight, right?”

“Wes, I’m fine,” Nora said. “You were in the hospital last week. I have survived much scarier shit than what happened today.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t,” Wes said. He touched Nora’s shoulder and she laid her head briefly against his hand. Wesley’s touch and Nora’s response was light and chaste, but Zach felt he’d witnessed something very private between them. “I’ll see you later.”

“Be safe,” she said. “It may snow again tonight.”

Wesley left them alone and Nora returned to her typing. Zach didn’t wait for an invitation that was likely not forthcoming. He sat in the armchair across from her desk and watched her. He heard the house door open and close and Wesley’s car start and back out of the driveway.

“Nora, will you please look at me?”

“I can’t. I’m working. I’ve only got three weeks to get the last three hundred pages out of the gutter.”