Georgie's Heart (22 page)

“You should.” Hunter came and sat beside him in the semi-darkness. “Old Glen is known for trying to bed his guests.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. Relax, Zane. The guy is a happily married man with three little kids. Hugging is his only interviewing skill.”

The brothers listened in silence as Georgeanne talked about what it was like to be Fritzi Field and answered questions about
Faking It
. Her replies sounded natural and polished, and Zane sighed. He was so far gone, even her voice over the television set moved him.

“How much longer are you going to put up with this?” Hunter asked, during the first commercial break.

Zane scowled. “With a career like Fritzi Field's, what woman wants to be a pediatrician's wife?” He laughed with some bitterness. “Did I ever tell you that Roxanne was after me to switch to cardiology?”

“Gawd,” Hunter said.

“Lots of social prestige in cardiology these days,” Zane said. “Don't see anything in it, myself. If people would quit smoking and drinking and get some exercise … ”

“Georgie seems to like pediatricians. Who's that with her?”

Zane scowled again when the talk show resumed. “It's one of the nurses from the clinic where Georgie works. She's big fan of Georgie's book.”

Georgeanne said in her rich voice, “Glen, I'd like to introduce you and the viewers to Fritzi Field's official spokeswoman, Ms. Denise Devereaux. She's the administrator of ‘Fritzi's Front Porch,' a website devoted to
Faking It
, and she will be answering all reader mail. Every letter will be answered, and readers with questions can be assured … ”

“Well, I'll be,” Zane said, astonished. “She's turning it all over to Denise.”

“She isn't going to write a follow-up to
Faking It
?” Hunter chuckled. “This is the first time I've ever seen a bestselling author dump her fame into someone else's lap and take a hike.”

Onscreen, Georgeanne listed Denise's qualifications and said, “No, Glen, I'm afraid I have nothing further to say about
Faking It
. But Denise has been hard at work for weeks, planning a sequel and answering reader mail. Believe me, no one is more qualified or better able to fill Fritzi Field's shoes.”

“She's quitting.” Zane still couldn't believe it.

“You didn't know about this?” Hunter asked.

“I've only talked to Georgie twice since she left.” Zane frowned at the memory. “I was tempted to tell her to come back home, but she owes her readers something.”

“Looks like she's taken care of that end on her own.” Hunter got to his feet. “I'll go make coffee. So why haven't you called her more often?”

“Georgie deserves a chance to reap the benefits of her hard work,” Zane said, wondering why the words left him feeling so hollow. “I don't want to influence her unfairly.”

Hunter halted at the door to the kitchen. “So while you're busy being noble, the woman you want is getting the idea that you don't care about her?”

Zane gazed at Georgeanne, who looked a little thinner than he liked. “She can't possibly think that. I told her we needed to put our relationship on hold, and that we'd talk about us later.” He watched Georgeanne's face, noting her practiced words and expression even as he remembered how hard he'd had to argue in order to get Georgeanne to see her duty. “It was the hardest thing I've ever done, but she deserves a chance to enjoy her success.”

Hunter lounged against the doorframe. “For what it's worth, brother, poor old Georgie doesn't look particularly happy to me.”

Georgeanne lay on the bed in a Las Vegas hotel suite, which was exactly like the hotel suites she'd recently left in New York, Atlanta, Chicago, and Los Angeles, among other cities and stared at the television screen. It was one o'clock in the morning, and Georgeanne couldn't sleep.

“Our guests today are Miss Georgeanne Hartfield, also known as Fritzi Field, author of the best-selling book,
Faking It
, and the official Fritzi Field spokeswoman, Denise Devereaux,” the hostess said. “Ms. Hartfield, Ms. Devereaux, welcome to ‘Late Las Vegas Lights'.”

The camera focused on Georgeanne's face while she politely thanked the hostess. Georgeanne realized that no amount of exposure would ever make her like seeing herself on television.

Worse, she had lost nearly fifteen pounds during the past four weeks. Even Georgeanne had to admit that she was probably the only woman in the United States whom weight loss didn't benefit.

Small wonder she had lost weight. She had toured the country and appeared on a grand total of sixty-four radio and television talk shows, sometimes doing four or five shows a day. She had autographed what seemed like sixty-four-thousand books, and she had spoken to what seemed like sixty-four-million fans.

Zane had been right, she realized. She did owe her readers this chance to see and hear her. He was also right in saying she was a writer, something she had never fully realized. She thought she had just gotten lucky. Thanks to Zane, she now knew that although a bestselling book might indeed be a lucky break, it was also the result of doing a lot of things right, and that
Faking It
was a book that Georgeanne Hartfield had been uniquely qualified to write.

Unfortunately, the only thing Georgeanne wished she had done right was tell Zane immediately that she was Fritzi Field. If she had, then maybe she wouldn't have fallen in love with him. Maybe she wouldn't have to face the American reading public with a stiff little smile and a heart that felt frozen.

“I remained anonymous because I was so ashamed of my own failure as a wife,” she heard her television image say. “The book was an attempt to find a solution to that failure.”

That was another thing Zane had been right about. She had nothing to be ashamed of. She had spoken for every woman in a situation similar to hers, and she had obviously hit quite a large target. And she offered a solution, for what it was worth. Not every woman was in a position to end her marriage and go in search of “Mr. Right.”

Georgeanne watched herself turn the discussion over to Denise, who took over talking about
Faking It
while holding the book so the viewers could get a good view of the front cover. Denise defended the book to a couple of male hecklers in the audience with considerable verve and smilingly accepted the accolades of several loyal female fans.

Denise handled the discussion with aplomb, and Georgeanne sighed with relief. She had now appeared on a grand total of five talk shows with Denise beside her, and Georgeanne had seen immediately that Denise had what it took to send
Faking It
even higher on the bestseller lists. She exuded enthusiasm and dedication, and no question asked could throw her. Moreover, Denise had made vast inroads into the two boxes of Fritzi Field's letters, besides answering questions and posting essays daily on the official Fritzi Field website.

Denise, for all practical purposes, had become Fritzi Field. She probably knew as much about the book as its author, and she had already put together an outline for a sequel. Georgeanne had promised to help with the writing, but the ideas this time belonged to Denise, and Denise would be the one defending them publicly.

Thank God
. She, Georgeanne, was going home. She wanted her old job back. She wanted to man her desk at the Saturday Clinic. She wanted her house and she wanted Roscoe and Jack beside her. She couldn't write without the proper surroundings and stimulation from people she liked.

She wanted Zane.

Sighing, Georgeanne turned the television off and flopped back down on the bed. Thank goodness she hadn't quit her job at the Gant Clinic. She could go home and take up her life again.

She'd see Zane on occasional Saturdays when he did his stint at the Saturday Clinic, and he needn't worry that she would embarrass him. She had plenty to do. But at least she could see him. That was better than not seeing him.

True, Zane had not officially ended their relationship, but she had figured that when he encouraged her to do the book tour, he was taking the polite way out, now that he knew she was Fritzi Field. She had hardly heard from him since.

Georgeanne frowned over the memory. At the time, she had believed him when he said he was proud of her. She hadn't realized the truth until she was a week into the tour, when she suddenly remembered his intense arguments about her duty to her readers. He was taking the least hurtful way of ending their relationship before it really got started.

Someone knocked at her door. She peered through the peephole then unlatched the door so Denise could enter.

“What are you doing still up?” she asked. “You're supposed to be up at five in the morning for the next show.”

“I know. I'm too excited, I guess. I've been answering more of Fritzi's letters.” She studied her friend. “Are you sure you want to quit the tour like this? We're selling books like crazy, and like it or not, you're still the real Fritzi Field.”

“No, I'm not.” Georgeanne was positive on that point. “You've taken on the job, so that makes you the real Fritzi Field as of right now. The truth is I have to have my dogs and my house and lots of peace and quiet in order to write. So if you want help with that sequel, your job is to keep the reporters and talk show hosts happy while I get the writing started.”

“That's why I'm here.” Denise clutched a sheaf of papers. “These are the ideas that came to me while I was answering questions this evening.” She waved the papers at Georgeanne. “We may have to do two or three sequels, Georgie. It's unbelievable what the readers are telling me. They're writing the books for us.”

Georgeanne smiled and agreed.

It was two o'clock by the time Denise wound down a little and returned to her own room. Georgeanne immediately returned to thinking about Zane.

She wondered what he would think when he turned up at the Saturday Clinic in a week or two and found her sitting at the front desk. Or what he would think if she visited him at his clinic under some pretext or other. More to the point, could she interest him in taking up where he left off?

She probably couldn't, Georgeanne's incurably honest alter ego answered. He had intimated that her career as a writer had taken off, and her duty was to nurture it. He seemed to think that a career as a famous writer was her life's dream or something.

Which was ridiculous. She liked writing, but she hated being famous and having everybody ask her things, as if she was some sort of know-it-all oracle. She wasn't cut out for doing talk shows and publicity tours, especially when they focused all eyes on her.

It was one thing to sit in her own home and write intimate advice to a nebulous but carefully targeted audience. It was quite another to advise a member of that audience in person. She was definitely not cut out to be a clinical psychologist, and she had been right to realize it before she signed up for courses.

She was destined to be a clinic receptionist and volunteer who wrote as a hobby about whatever interested her. Why couldn't Zane see that?

Georgeanne covered her face with her hands. She would have sworn Zane wanted her as much as she wanted him. She recalled him telling her they were involved in a serious relationship and heaved a deep sigh. He had meant it at the time. She knew he had.

So why had Zane practically pushed her onto an airplane to begin her book tour if he really wanted their relationship to prosper?

Unless he believed she had been faking her sexual response to him, once he discovered she had written
Faking It
.

Now that she thought about it, he had sounded almost angry when he told her what she owed her readers. The very idea was a stab to her heart. Surely it wasn't true.

Georgeanne had no answers to the questions circling in her brain, but she did know one thing. When she got home, she was driving to Houston. She would not return home until she knew, once and for all, exactly where she stood with Zane Bryant.

They had experienced wonderful sex together, something she had believed herself incapable of. He had shown her a whole new life, then he had taken it away. He owed her an explanation, by God, and she was going to get it.

Another knock sounded on her door. Georgeanne looked at the clock. Three o'clock in the morning. Denise was going to be a zombie on that early-morning talk show.

She went to the peephole, and gasped with astonishment when she saw Hunter Howell's handsome form through the tiny lens. She grabbed her robe off the bed and belted it securely before opening the door. If he intended to give her some sort of stay-away message from Zane, she wasn't sure what she'd do.

“About time,” he said.

Georgeanne felt as if someone had thrown her off a cliff. “Zane? Why are you trying to look like your brother?”

Zane threw back his head and laughed. “I told him you'd recognize me right off. He seemed to think I should snow you for a few minutes.” He forked his fingers through his hair and it fell back to its usual style. “Hunt's been reading too many movie scripts.”

“Why did he think it would be a good thing for me to think you were him?” Georgeanne felt winded and dizzy. No doubt she was suffering heart palpitations on top of that, because she couldn't seem to think. “Or am I supposed to think he's you?”

Zane came inside and waited while she locked the door. “To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what he thought, but he's trying to be helpful. Georgie, you've lost entirely too much weight. Do you mind telling me what you think you're doing?”

“What I think I'm doing?” she echoed, baffled. “I've been doing this book tour you talked me into. But Denise is taking over for me, and I'm going home. Denise does Fritzi Field a lot better than I do. She's already planning a sequel, and talk show hosts love her personality. So I'm quitting with a good conscience. Why? Is that what you're afraid of?” she demanded.