“What’s so important about meeting your publisher?” I asked over my shoulder as I lit the last lantern.
“I don’t have anything new written to show him, and all my old pieces have already been turned down by most of the notable publishing houses,” I pointed out.
“He isn’t a he; he’s a she. And, I wasn’t implying you should submit anything to her. I just thought you might like to meet her,” she shrugged with an air of indifference. “In a way, she’s your publisher, too, since you did the illustrations for me. I just thought you might like to meet the person who signs your royalty checks.”
Facing her in the flickering firelight, my irritation returned. It was true. I had sketched the illustrations for her last two publications. Drawing was a hobby of mine, and when Summer began reading her children’s stories to me, I absently made a few sketches based on her description of the characters. Summer and her editor liked them well enough they proposed I illustrate the remaining books in the series. I agreed because I enjoyed drawing and even I had to admit that my sketches were far better than her last illustrator’s were.
As for the royalty checks, the amounts were dismal, barely enough to pay my portion of the living expenses. I managed on my savings, and the profits from a few wise investments in the stock market, but I had no steady income to call my own. Still, I was grateful for the royalties her books brought me. Without them, and without Summer to lean on, life could have been a hell of a lot worse. But, to the people Summer associated with, it must have looked as if I was a kept man.
“She’s your publisher, not mine, and I’m sure she’s been kicking herself in the ass for not meeting me before now,” I quipped more sharply than I intended.
“Come on, Sonny. Just meet her, for Christ’s sake! Mel’s a nice lady and you just might find you like her,” Summer argued.
“Mel?” I asked with a squint of suspicion. The image of Mel as an overweight, middle-aged, cigar-smoking grandmother sprang into my head.
“Her name is Melanie, but everyone just calls her ‘Mel’. I think it’s kind of cute,” she sniffed indignantly.
“Well, what does Mel look like?” I dubiously inquired.
“If you’re curious, you’ll just have to come with me Saturday night and you can find out for yourself,” Summer ventured tentatively.
She was treading lightly around the subject. So far, most of Summer’s friends had been pure knock-outs, but I was highly skeptical about publishers named ‘Mel’. At that point, I needed more incentive than Summer was giving me to even consider the idea; wading into the Everglades at night had just about as much appeal.
I gazed at Summer silhouetted in the flickering torchlight, her hair blowing in the summer breeze and I hatched a plan to counter her offensive maneuver.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Sis. I’ll go with you this weekend on one condition.”
Summer tilted her head and narrowed her eyes at me. “What condition?” she asked suspiciously.
My gaze trailed along her silky-smooth legs. Her knees were slightly parted and it gave me a fleeting glimpse of the white crotch of her panties. A small thrill for a teenaged boy, perhaps, but there was no justification for the immediate spark it ignited in my imagination.