Kitty Pandora checked the time, it was close to ten and it had been a long day. She’d undressed and put on her robe before heading into the bathroom to run the tub. The idea that someone below her social status had offered to send up a bottle of champagne amused her. For heaven’s sake, the old acquaintance acted as if she owed them something. She ran her fingers through the bubbling suds and smiled. Kitty’s room was very luxurious. Her husband was a very wealthy man, and she deserved to be the best author his money could buy. Oh, she came up with the ideas, usually based on her own extravagant lifestyle and, she had to admit, gleaned from every book or TV show she’d enjoyed. Every word of her manuscript had been polished and primed by the best editors her husband could employ. She’d pitched them to a host of literary agents and had always been rejected until, at a time of vulnerability, she’d reached out for help to a fellow author who had the ability to write an engaging pitch letter. The offer of help had come as an act of compassion and done the trick. After all, as a person of standing, she deserved to be published. Now, she just had to make a bestsellers list. She’d encouraged all the workers in her husband’s employ to buy her books and vote for every coveted readers’ award available until she’d gained one. When she’d volunteered to do an authors’ workshop free of charge at the convention, how could they have possibly refused? People would flock to see her. After all, being the best had its own attraction.
The room filled with fragrant steam and piles of foam bubbled to the lip of the tub. Kitty sighed as she turned off the tap. She dried her hands, took out the hairdryer, and checked to see if it was working before placing it beside the basin. She searched her makeup bag for products she’d need to style her hair. After removing her watch, she shrugged. The offer of champagne was obviously a lie, but then she didn’t believe her friend had the money to buy champagne. She walked into the sitting room and poured a glass of white wine and headed back to the bathroom. The tub looked inviting and after placing the wine on the edge of the tub, she turned to remove her makeup and peered at her reflection. Condensation covered the mirror and, irritated, she grabbed a towel to wipe it clean. As the mist cleared, she gaped in horror. Someone was standing right behind her.
She opened her mouth to scream and then recognized her friend’s strange twisted smile. Annoyed, Kitty glared at the reflection. “How did you get into my room—and where’s my bubbly?”
“What an ungrateful excuse for a person you are.” Her friend leaned casually against the vanity and lifted a pistol and aimed it at her. “Get into the tub.”
Heart thundering in her chest, Kitty stood her ground. Nobody gave her orders and not this lowlife. “I’m not getting naked in front of you.”
“Well as sure as hell, I’m not turning my back.” Her friend waved the pistol. “You’re an author. Use your imagination. Once you’re in the suds I won’t see a thing.”
Terror gripping her, Kitty tried to reason with them. “But the water is getting cold.”
“Do I look like I care?” Her friend’s lips quivered into a grin. “Better hurry.”
Unnerved by the pistol aimed at her, Kitty stepped into the tub, turned her back, disrobed and dropped down, sinking to the shoulders in the rich foam. She pulled the suds around her. “Now what?”
“Duck under and wash your hair.” The intruder pressed the muzzle to her head. “Hurry, we need to talk.”
Trembling with fear, Kitty complied. “Okay now say what you need to say and leave and I won’t tell anyone you broke into my room.”
“You’re in no position to bargain with me, Kitty.” Her acquaintance took a nonchalant pose. “You’ve used people all your life, haven’t you? Bought your way rather than earned it.
Most of the unpublished authors here have more talent in their little finger than you will ever have. The talent to write is a gift and not something you can buy. You can go to all the classes you like, employ the best editors, and attend all the seminars, but the magic comes from inside. Your first mistake was writing about yourself. You see, nobody cares because you’ve never actually achieved anything on your own merit.”
Annoyed, Kitty shook her head. “That’s not true, my published book is about a wealthy woman crime fighter. I’m not a detective, so how could it be me?” She pulled more suds around her. The water was cooling fast. “I’ve done a ton of things in my life. All my friends admire me.”
“Have you ever heard of the expression cupboard love? No?” Her acquaintance grinned broadly. “It means when people visit, pretending they’re friends to get handouts. They believe if they crawl up your ass, they’ll get something from you, but that’s not the case, is it? You see, I know you for what you really are and, in a crisis, you’d step over a dying child to save yourself.” Her friend put down the revolver and picked up the hairdryer. “This brings back memories. I’ve read the back cover of Frizzled. That was an idea I brainstormed with you for my own story. It was such a great idea to electrocute someone with a hairdryer. Why did you steal it? That could’ve been my breakthrough novel.”
Panic shivered down Kitty’s spine. Vulnerable and naked in the tub, she scrambled for a way out of the situation. This person didn’t have her wealth and she could usually buy her way out of anything. “Oh, I don’t remember. We talked about lots of things, but I don’t recall discussing the climax of my story with you.”
“You’ve used my ideas almost word for word and you sure didn’t mention it when you asked me to write the pitch. I wouldn’t have helped you if I’d known you’d intended to change up the ending to the same as my story. Clever though. Did you get one of your editor friends to change the pitch so it matched the new ending? I guess so. That would’ve been out of your ballpark, right?” Her friend turned on the hairdryer and wafted the hot air over her.
Teeth chattering, Kitty shook her head. “I never used all of your pitch. Well, just the elevator pitch because that was ambiguous and very catchy. What was it now? Ah yes, I remember: No place to run, no place to hide. She knew he’d always be there right behind her. I must admit you do have skill in writing an elevator pitch and we all know agents love a hook.” She wrapped her arms around her. The once-warm water was cooling fast and goose bumps prickled her arms. “You’ve had your say, now leave. I’m getting cold.”
“Oh, I haven’t finished with you yet.” Her acquaintance waved the hairdryer around. “Aren’t you enjoying our little chat?”
Not that she cared what this nobody thought of her but relieved not to have a gun pointed at her, Kitty lifted her gaze. “No, I’m not. You’re batshit crazy.”
“I think I am too and I kinda like it.” Her friend laughed. “Well? Is there anything else you want to say to me? An apology, perhaps?”
This was just another jealous person Kitty could do without. A leech wanting to bathe in her success. They wouldn’t dare hurt her. She’d call their bluff. “I’ve nothing to apologize for. You’re acting as if you wrote my book. Get it into your head that I wrote the damn book. Now, I need to get out of the tub, my skin is wrinkling. I’ll look a mess in the morning and the press is everywhere.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I figure you’ll make the news headlines.” Her friend smiled and moved closer. Dangling the hairdryer a few inches from the water.
Terror gripped Kitty as she stared into the menacing face but she refused to back down. “Get that hairdryer away from me. I’ve had enough of your stupid games. I’m getting out the water.” She gripped the sides of the tub, her feet slipping on the bottom as she tried to rise.
“Sit back down. You do know what will happen if I drop this?” The smile widened as her friend twirled the hairdryer from the cord just a few inches above the water. “You’ll be frizzled.”
Trembling with fear, Kitty swallowed hard, trying to think. “What do you want? Money? There’s a few hundred in my purse.”
“A few hundred?” Her friend moved the roaring hairdryer up and down like a teabag. “Nope, that just won’t do it.”
Blinking away tears of frustration, Kitty stared at the uncaring face. “What then? A job. You need a job and my husband—”
“I’d never work for you.” The voice was as cold as the blizzard outside.
The hairdryer swung back and forth like a hypnotizing pendulum of death. Rigid with fear, Kitty dragged her eyes away. “Please, we can work this out. Whatever you want—money, real estate… My husband will give you anything I ask him to.”