11
The next day, on September twentieth, Albert Blair sat in his office pensively reviewing, for the tenth time, the background report on the superflexible and also apparently anal-sex loving Natalie Brookhart. He was torn but only slightly. Five copies of Jillian's new novel, The Leg Thing, sat on his desk. He exhaled deeply and then pulled out an overnight envelope. Inside he placed a copy of the book along with three articles on famous literary-related lawsuits and attached a Post-it note that simply said, "Enjoy this, Rebecca." He sealed and addressed the envelope, but did not include his return address information; he sent his assistant to drop it off. His frown turned into a smile.
Over a thousand miles away, Jillian walked down to the bookstore at the mall and searched for her new novel. She wore sunglasses so she wouldn't be recognized and found a few copies of her book on a shelf with other new releases; there was no special display or promotion. She asked the clerk how it was selling, and he just shrugged and made a face, and then got back to work stocking a shelf. She walked back home disappointed.
At just about the same time, on the campus of NYU, Natalie Brookhart walked into the campus bookstore and a display of books caught her attention. Her eye was instantly drawn to the silhouette of a ballerina in the exact pose that she made famous at the University of Georgia. She couldn't remember how many times she was asked to get into the position, either at parties or in the quad outside of her dorm, but she was quite well known for it. Hardly anyone knew the technical name for the pose; everyone who asked always referred to it as the leg thing.
As she glanced from the image of the ballerina to the title of the book, which read The Leg Thing, she saw that it was by Jaclyn West. She nearly had an aneurysm. She rushed into the store, looked around in a panic, and could not locate the book. She spotted a female employee. "Where is that Jaclyn West novel you have in the window?"
The woman replied, "Oh, it's wonderful. Such a great love story—funny too." Then she pointed toward the display. Natalie rushed over and picked up a copy. She read the jacket description:
Anastasia White is a disillusioned, recently divorced, world-famous fashion designer. Brice Nelson is a tennis-obsessed, college senior who’s unlucky in love, and the roommate and best friend of Anastasia’s son, Ryder. He’s infatuated with a superflexible, ex-ballet dancer co-ed named Rebecca, who’s toying with his affections. When Ryder brings Brice home for spring break, and he meets the surprisingly young and also tennis-passionate Anastasia, their shared interest quickly develops into an intense mutual attraction...
"Holy shit!" Natalie said as she stopped reading the jacket and began flipping through the book. She turned pages until she spotted the name Rebecca. Then she read a paragraph about Brice watching Rebecca get into the leg thing position as it was written in exquisite detail. She smiled and flipped through more of the book until she just happened on the term technical virgin. Her mouth shot open as she read all the explicit details of Rebecca explaining it to Brice. It made Rebecca sound like an idiot. Natalie scowled, slammed the book closed, turned to the back cover, and stared at the picture of the smiling Jillian Grayson. She glanced back to the display of forty copies of the slanderous novel, and her blood began to boil.
Natalie headed to the door with the book in hand. The clerk standing nearby watched in shock as she walked past her and was a foot from the door. The clerk said with concern, "Is there anything else I can help you find?"
Natalie came back to the planet. "Oh sorry. I'll just take this."
The clerk held out her hand, Natalie handed over the book, and then followed her to the counter, "Can't wait to dive right into it, can you?"
"Uh, no."
The clerk scanned the book then held it up. "I just love the cover. That's a real ballet move you know?"
"Uh, huh."
"The Rebecca character is a real monster. I don't want to give anything away, but she's completely out of her mind." The clerk whispered, "Into this really deviant sex stuff. I, uh, couldn't put it down though. Are you one of our reward members?"
Natalie returned a tired look. "No."
The clerk glanced at the screen. "That'll be thirty fifty-eight."
Her jaw dropped as she asked, "Thirty dollars?"
"Yes. It would be about twenty-five, but you don’t have a rewards card. I can sign you up if—"
"Are you selling a lot of this book?" Natalie asked with keen interest.
"We are. I think it could be her biggest seller ever. Her fans have been waiting almost two years for a new book."
Natalie wore an evil grin as she handed over the cash.
Once she retuned to her dorm, Natalie dove into the novel. When she finished at 3:16 A.M. boy was she pissed. Rebecca was obviously based on her—she was Rebecca. Brice and Ryder and Anastasia were Brian, Rob, and Jillian. It was worse than she thought in the bookstore. She was painted as an anal sex whore, man-manipulating lunatic. She flipped to the copyright page and read:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
"Coincidental my ass," she said out loud as she tossed the book on the bed then drifted off to sleep exhausted.
At 10:38 A.M. the next morning she was awakened by a knock at her door. She opened it and signed for an overnight package. Natalie tore it open and discovered another copy of The Leg Thing. She glanced at the Post-it note with the name Rebecca on it and frowned. She searched the envelope for a return address and could find none. Then she picked up the printed articles, enclosed with the book, and studied them curiously. She sat down and read every word. One of the cases caught her attention. A case where a young man was awarded an undisclosed settlement rumored to be in the six-figure range with a complaint similar to hers. And that author was nowhere near as big as Jillian Grayson. An attorney from New York named Josh Roth handled the case and was quoted in the article.
Natalie located the Web site for the law firm, clicked on Josh's picture, and found him to be young and attractive. She smiled when she located a recent article featuring Josh as one of New York's most eligible bachelors. He was single as well. What twelve hours ago seemed like a complete nightmare was looking more like a dream come true. She was already planning how to spend the settlement money.