Participants:
| Scene Title | Stan |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | While not quite a stalker's tale, Savannah finds yet another fan. This time it's unexpected. |
| Date | April 21, 2011 |
An Out of the Way Coffee Shop
Dear Miss Potter,
My name is Delia, I'm twenty one this year and I live in Eltingville Blocks in New York City. I wanted to write you sooner but I didn't have a return address, this is the first time since I read Mean Heat that I could get a letter to you and hope for a reply. My favorite part of your book is that Jessie is a redhead. Do you think the next book, the hero could have black hair? I read somewhere on the internet that you were planning a sequel. I can't wait.
Anyway, I hope this letter finds you in good health, I enclosed a self addressed stamped envelope, maybe you could write me back?
Your biggest fan,
Delia Ryans <3
The letter is written on a pale lilac shade of handmade paper, scented like lavender, and carefully folded so that none of the penned characters are creased. On the table beside a cup of steaming tea, there is a stack in a rainbow of pastels. The bottom one is attached to a brown wrapped package that is presumably a book.
The cafe is crowded today, with barely a table empty but Savannah has managed to confine herself to a rather private corner, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Surrounding her are only two other tables. The first is occupied by an elderly couple enjoying an afternoon in each other's company. A sight that isn't seen very much anymore. Two sets of venerable eyes, clouded by cataracts, gaze deeply at each other, not allowing the activity around them to distract. The second is a sofa, covered in deep rusty velvet and stained on the arms and cushions. Its occupants are a young woman with hair almost the exact shade of the upholstery and a young man with dark hair. Every once in a while the female's rosy lips part in a vacant smile, she's really staring out the window. The man she's with looks to be about college age, dark hair with blue eyes and pale skin. Nothing more about him is remarkable, he seems like just another face.
Pressing the paper to her nose, Savannah breathes in the scent of lavender with a tiny smile. Gladys Potter doesn't get a remarkable amount of fanmail, not nearly as many as Savannah herself, but she can't help but smile at the letters she gets for her pseudonym. They're always a special breed.
Or a lewd one.
Her teacup is lifted and she delicately sips, setting the cup down before she focuses on the package. A book? The package has her curiosity, at least. Her gaze drifts around the room idly before it settles back on the package and the letter attached to it, carefully starting to open the envelope. She idly wonders what this one might smell like.
Dear Miss Potter,
Hi, it's Delia again. I figured that the first few letters that I sent might not have gotten through, you're famous after all, I just have to be persistent, right? I met Smoov the other day, at the Studio he works at. I didn't really meet him, more like I saw him through the window. it was still pretty exciting. Sometimes when I read your book, I wonder what sort of exciting life you must lead to be able to write like that. My life isn't very exciting at all, mostly full of running.
I sent a copy of Mean Heat. If you sign it and send it back, I promise it'll get the best place on the book shelf. I've never been able to find anything online about any appearances you make, you must be pretty private. Or maybe you're too busy being exciting. Probably the second one. Anyway, thank you for spending the time to read this, I know I get boring sometimes.
Your Biggest Fan,
Delia Ryans <3
Pale yellow, the color of a watered down daffodil is a sunny surprise to such an overcast day. The scent of the paper, much like the one before it. Lavender. A second intake of breath reveals a hint of mint, just enough to make one wonder. The copy of the book sent is obviously well loved. Dog eared in some spots, the spine creased in multiple places, as though it's been read so many times that it should have fallen apart. The pages of the book, when flipped, emit a scent that's just like the letters. Lavender and mint.
The table for two clears, the little old man taking the woman gently by the elbow to lead her toward the door. She pauses in front of it as he hurries his old legs to open it for her. She only just makes it over the threshold before he is at her side again, guiding her by elbow and hand toward the sidewalk.
Setting the letter carefully down on top of the last one, Savannah takes the book, careful that it won't fall apart. Leaning down, she fishes a pen out of her bag as she moves, pressing back the cover of the book as she signs the well-loved copy of the book. Setting it aside, she shifts to count the letters. Clearly, Delia Ryans was a persistent fan alright.
The harrumph of a male clearing his throat interrupts Miss Burton as she sets the pen to book and a waiter sets down a plate with a chocolate dipped cookie on it. "Excuse me ma'am, there's a couple over there that wanted to buy this for you?" He seems perplexed by handing a dessert treat to a woman from a couple. This isn't a pick up bar after all, it's a coffee shop.
As the waiter points out the couple, the redhead on the couch turns her gaze in the direction he's pointing in, she's followed suit by the dark haired man she's with. On the other side of the shop a tiny blonde woman with a bouncy bob hairdo is jumping up and down and waving to the author. The man she's with is just as blond as she is, his tanned skin betraying him from a sunnier state than the one they're in.
Once they know Savannah's seen them, the blond rushes over and sits without invitation. "Ohmygodyoursavannahburtonihaveallyourbooksican'tbelievei'mmeetingyoulikethis!!" The quick succession of words just pours out of the dainty woman's mouth as she juts a hand in Savannah's direction, expecting a handshake. By now, all of the attention in the coffee shop is focused squarely on the author.
Tourists. It must be! For the most part, Savannah's New York fans had been a little tamer. Well, enough so that she could go to a coffee shop and not worry too much about being interrupted. It does, however, take some guts to have the courage to go talk to someone with any amount of celebrity status, so the blonde author offers a warm smile towards the blonde fan, reaching out and shaking her hand. "Hi," she nods towards the cookie. "Thank you for that."
"Ohmygodican'tbelievei'mtalkingtoyourightnow,i'mdanathisismyboy— " She's cut off as the man she's with finally reaches the table and clamps a hand over her mouth.
An apologetic smile is delivered to the author before he reaches out his other hand, keeping the fan's head tucked firmy in his grip. She's still babbling excitedly, trying to talk around the fingers that are muffling out her words. "Hi, I'm Bobby, this is my girlfriend Dana. I think she's your biggest fan. We're visiting from Texas, you ever been there?"
From the sofa, a pair of wide blue eyes are staring at the trio, a slight blush creeping over the face of the crimson haired woman sitting there. Maybe it's envy, not many people have enough guts to just walk over to a celebrity like that. Long fingers lace together as she averts her gaze back to the man she with, giving him a placating smile, like she's listening to what he's saying.
"It's alright, it's nice to meet you, both of you," Savannah offers. Everyone is always her biggest fan, but she offers the pair of blondes a genuine smile. "Only passed through Texas once… a brief stop in Dallas during my book tour, and then there was a layover in Dallas one time when I was flying out west, but I've never spent much time out there."
A grimace appears on the man's face just as he pulls his hand away disgustedly, wiping it off on his pants. Apparently Dana has no aversions to licking her way out of trouble. "Gosh!! Next time you come down you have to come visit my daddy's ranch! We raise the best horses in the entire tri-county area." Of course counties are nothing compared to states or nationals, but everyone needs to brag about something.
The woman babbles on and on and on until her boyfriend taps her shoulder and points to the letters. "I think we're interrupting some work. Maybe we should get going?" It's a suggestion he makes to save himself boredom as much as it's designed to help the author go back to what she was doing.
"We'll see about that, Dana," the author says with a laugh, glancing back between the two, a slightly grateful look offered to the boyfriend. "Yes, I'm actually a little busy… but thanks for stopping by and saying hello. I always appreciate it when people do." Savannah's eyes move around the rest of the room, as if scoping out more potential interruptions.
When Savannah's eyes land on the redhead, she averts her quickly reaching out to grab the hand of the young man she's with and pointing toward the menu. It's a blatant attempt to keep from having too much attention garnered on her. They get up, abandoning their cups and coats, his is a nylon athletic thing and hers is a bright blue vinyl slicker with pink and red roses printed all over it. Hand in hand, they meander toward the counter and point toward the chalk scribbled specials. The attempt is made by the man to lace his fingers through hers but she pulls her hand away and shakes her head.
"It was nice meeting you, Miss Burton, thanks again for lettin' us talk to you." Neither Bobby nor Dana asked for an autograph before they left. Dana looking a little put out by the fact that she wasn't offered one, she did buy the cookie after all. After the blond couple exit the building, they linger near Savannah's window for a moment, waving to catch her attention again and then walk off.
There's a friendly smile and wave offered to the couple from the window before Savannah looks back down at her letters. This encounter wasn't so bad. Fans could get pretty crazy, and as enthusiastic as that pair was, it wasn't so bad. Nor were the letters under her fingertips. Lifting an envelope, she carefully starts to unseal it. Back to the task at hand! There were letters to read!
Dear Miss Potter,
Hi, my name is Delia Ryans, I've tried writing before but I don't know if you got my letter or not. I'm a huge fan, I think I've bought about ten copies of Mean Heat, New York gets sort of crazy and I keep losing my copies all over the place. Good news is I'm really settled now. I live in Eltingville Blocks, over on Staten Island with a few other people. I'd send you pictures but I don't think that they like those very much. Instead I just sent one of me and my room mate's dog. Her name is Cheza.
Will you be writing another book soon? I keep looking for more in your name but I can't seem to find any. I think you're the best romance novelist ever, no one can write characters like you do. It's like you sort of want people to get to know them instead of just writing the regular stuff. Maybe I'm biased because I love Jessie and her red hair. If you ever do a sequel, do you think you could make the hero with dark hair? I'd really love that.
Your Biggest Fan,
Delia Ryans <3
Chronologically the pale blue letter, scented with the same mix of lavender and mint, fits in between the first one and the parcel, but the date on the postmark has it arriving only a day or so ago. It's possible that it only got lost in the shuffle but how often does that happen?
The pleasantly scented letter makes Savannah smile a little as she reads through it. Picking out the picture, she takes a long look at it. Dog! Maybe she'd have to see about convincing Kam to let her have a dog. "Cheza's a cute name," she comments to herself, reaching idly for the chocolate-dipped cookie.
The slight sound of someone's throat clearing can be heard to Savannah's side. The young woman from the sofa, who looks oddly identical to the one in the photograph, is standing with her hands folded in front of her. "Uhm.. uhm.. M-miss P-potter?" Apparently the eloquence in her letters carries over to her speech, full of quiet stuttering and ill places breaths of air. "I— I wasn't going to bother you… I just. I wasn't sure if you got any of my letters."
A fleeting glance is sent to the pile and she gives an awkward smile, shy, and complete with a rose tint to her cheeks. "I'm Delia, by the way…" It's an unnecessary introduction but a polite one. Her thumbs circle each other and her body sways as she rocks back and forth, nervously, on her heels. "I acn't believe that you're here, I mean… You're so famous."
Miss Potter. Savannah's never actually been called that in person or anything. "It's nice to meet you Delia," she says, grabbing the beloved copy of Mean Heat and offering it towards the redhead. "I signed it for you. To be honest, that's actually only the second signed copy out there." She looks at the stack of letters. "You put a lot of thought into these. They're very sweet. Did you want to sit down?"
A pale hand trembles as the young woman reaches out to take the book and hug it against her chest with a brilliant smile. "Thank you," the breathy statement of gratitude is accompanied by the redhead slipping into the chair so recently vacated by another one of the woman's fans. "I— uhm.. Wow, I have like.. a bazillion questions I want to ask you. Are you writing a sequel? I mean, I know I asked in pretty much all my letters but I just— "
A long shaky breath is let out as the book vibrates between her hands. "Well there's only one Mean Heat and all my friends have a copy, you know? We're all dying to find out. Do Dusty and Jessie live happily ever after? Does Dusty die and Jessie leave Oregon and make her way to Texas or something?"
"I usually don't get so many Gladys Potter fans… usually all my fans are just interested in my more recent work," Savannah admits. There's a bit of a laugh, though, at talk of a sequel and questions about the characters. "I'd thought about a sequel a few times. Mean Heat was something I just kind of wrote for fun… it was just something when I was in the mood for some romance or feeling lonely or just play wanting to have something simple and straightforward. Sometimes I feel like that again, so thoughts had crossed my mind. Especially at your mention of a dark-haired hero. Maybe you should be writing the sequel." The author grins.
"No, no, I couldn't… I can't write. I'm not a writer at all. I couldn't tell a story if my life depended on it. I'm just a reader, I'm not a storyteller." As much as her ability depends on it, the redhead doesn't believe herself capable. Fidgeting a little, she can't help but peek inside the book to see what is written on the inside.
A quick glance is given to the man she let behind on the sofa and she offers the author an apologetic glance. "I should get back to my date, I really just came over because I saw my letters." Delia smiles a little and looks down at her book and hugs it to her chest again with one hand, offering the other to shake. "Thank you again, I'm happy that I met you. Miss Burton."
"I think you've got a storyteller in you. At least, there's a story you want told. So tell me, you're the red-haired heroine… who is this dark-haired hero?" Savannah takes a small bite of her cookie, then looks back towards Delia's date. "Don't think it's him. You didn't want to hold his hand earlier." She offers a wry smile. "But I won't keep you from your date. I'll let you enjoy that story and see how it plays out. I'll just finish reading your letters."