“Cool!”Noahsaid. “Does that mean Baylor can stay with me?” Hobie and Juliana exchanged a look. They slowly turned to look at Baylor.
Baylor’s short fingernails dug into her palms as she clenched her hands into fists inside her pockets.
“I know it’s a huge imposition...” Hobie left the question unasked.
Baylor opened her mouth to come back with some smart-ass reply when she looked down at Noah. The boy’s face beamed with excitement. He absently pushed his glasses up and hopped from foot to foot in anticipation. Baylor didn’t see how she could stand to put a look of disappointment there. “Well, what do you say, Bubba? Pizza from Mama Lia’s for dinner?”
“All right!” Noah pumped a fist in the air.
After settling Noah and Baylor into the guesthouse, Hobie and Juliana prepared to leave. Baylor kept pretending that it didn’t matter. It was her fault, after all. The reality of it was that she was angry and heartsick. She plastered a fake smile on her face.
“You know my cell phone number. Mom should be home any minute, so don’t feel obligated to stay. Thanks, Baylor.” Hobie gently squeezed her hand. “It’s a nice thing you’re doing.”
Baylor smiled. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say. “I hope you have a good time.”
Juliana slapped her friend’s shoulder and shook her hand. “Thanks, mate. I’ll bring you a doggie bag.”
Baylor’s smile turned to a smirk. She lowered her voice so that only Juliana could hear her words. “You, on the other hand, I hope you choke on a very large piece of food.”
Chapter 19
“So there I was on one ski and crossing the finish line. It was a miracle I didn’t break every bone in my body.” Hobie couldn’t believe she was telling the story, but Juliana had such an easy manner about her that the words just seemed to spill out. “I’ve been monopolizing the entire dinner conversation. I’m sorry. I can talk quite a bit, but it’s been a long time since anyone’s wanted to sit through these stories. Usually, I have to know someone for quite some time before they hear this stuff.”
“You’ve kept me on the edge of my seat.” Juliana smiled, knowing how it affected women. Perfect white teeth were framed by flawless pink lips. She’d endured five years of orthodontic servitude as a teenager to get that exceptional smile. Funny thing was, Hobie didn’t seem particularly affected by it. She smiled, laughed, talked, and generally enjoyed herself, but Juliana noticed there was no sexual tension between them. She felt that their big night out had all the atmosphere of a blind date with her sister. The good part was that Juliana liked her sister and they always had a great time when they went out. “I saw the picture on your mantel, the one of you holding that trophy. I wondered how a teenager who could barely hold up those water skis won first place.”
“Well, now you know it was twenty percent skill, thirty percent luck, and fifty percent sheer determination.” Hobie laughed.
“I’m betting that determination is something you’ve always had and that it serves you well.”
Hobie blushed and lowered her head. She hadn’t expected Juliana to be able to read her so well. “You’re a literary agent, right?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“I think you missed your calling as a therapist. I’m not usually one to chat about my past or myself much, yet you have me talking about things I haven’t told anyone about, ever.”
Juliana smiled an almost sly smile. “That’s why I’m an exceptional agent. It takes a certain kind of person to handle the massive ego of a writer or anyone who performs, for that matter. They put everything they have inside themselves out before the world. Most people have no idea that goes on. They think that Grisham and King don’t go through that anymore when they put out a new book. The truth is, they get attacks of paranoia and doubts about their talent, or their latest effort, even more so than a new novelist. ‘Is it as good as my last one? Will it make as much money? Will I still be on top?’The list of their fears goes on and on.”
Juliana paused to take a sip of wine. “Writers have to talk to someone about all of this, and not many people know what to say to talk them off the ledge. Family members try, but unless they’re writers, too, they can’t really empathize. Awriter can’t possibly go to friends or other authors, that would be like admitting weakness. So at three in the morning when the rest of the world is asleep, they call the one person who understands them. The one person who can stroke their ego, make them feel as though they can walk on water. They call their agent.”
Juliana poured them both another glass of ’95 Tullio Zamo Pinot Bianco. “So you see, in a way, I am a therapist. My authors tell me the things they can’t even tell their shrinks.”
“That’s absolutely amazing. I had no idea. Geez, you should write a book.”
Juliana opened her mouth for a snappy retort but saw Hobie’s teasing smile. “Very funny...write a book.”
“Thanks, I thought it was pretty good. At least now I know why I find myself spilling my guts to you.”
“It’s my curse, I guess. Besides, I know your type.” “My type? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that I understand a little bit about people and human nature. I know when someone’s not the type to open up of their own accord, so I use a few tricks and techniques to get them to start talking.”
“Oh, really? And just what tricks did you play on me?” “You’re not angry about that, are you?”
“I don’t know.” Hobie sat back in her chair. “Why don’t you tell me what you did first and I’ll let you know.”
“It’s no Jedi mind game or anything.” Juliana laughed. “You don’t like to give out personal information about yourself. You’re textbook, actually. I simply created the kind of environmentwhere you felt safe enough to talk. Nothing outlandish.”
“But how did you know?”
“Sometimes it’s just a feeling I get for people. I thought right off that you were someone who loves people. You’re caring and giving. Eight times out of ten that’s because it draws attention away from you. You like being middle management. You’d rather be a cog in the wheel than stand out. You never fill out questionnaires or answer those annoying e-mails where friends want to know all your favorite things, your likes and dislikes. You feel like you’ll give away your power if people know too much about you. Perhaps somewhere along the line, someone close to you might have hurt you because you opened up completely. You’re determined not to make the same mistake twice. And last but not least, your favorite books are George Orwell’s 1984, C.S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy, and Alcott’s Little Women.”
“You forgot To Kill a Mockingbird,” Hobie added. “Good Lord, I think you better give me your jacket.”
“Are you cold?” Juliana started to rise from her seat. “No, but I feel distinctly naked.”
Juliana sat back down. “Touché.”
“Who do you tell your secrets to? Who listens to the listener?”
“Hmm, good question. Baylor, I suppose. She’s the one who listens to all my insanity.”
Hobie saw the opportunity and carefully baited the hook. “Have you and Baylor known each for a very long time?”
“We met as kids.” Juliana’s voice seemed tight, which didn’t go unnoticed by Hobie.
“I’m sorry, do you feel uncomfortable talking about this?” Juliana smiled. “No apology necessary. I’m sorry if I seemed abrupt. I guess I feel a little strange talking about Baylor to you.” “Strange...to me?” Hobie stammered. Oh, God. What did Baylor tell her? Maybe she warned her about giving me personal info. What if Baylor put Jules up to asking me out just to get me out of her hair? Have I been a pest? Wait a minute, Hob. Baylor is the one who’s always nipping at your heels whenever you turn around.