Ghostwriting (6 page)

Stage Five: Depression

As he finished the final sentence, Liam turned the last page over. ‘This is really good.' He sounded a little amazed.

Amy wandered in from the balcony where she'd been absorbing the early morning rays. ‘I owe it all to you, my magical gypsy.' She took a seat beside him and lured him into a kiss.

‘Oh no.' Liam wasn't taking any of the credit, although he was amused by Amy's image of him. ‘I just facilitated the process. You did this all on your own.'

‘I suppose I ought to read it.' She ran her fingers through her hair and pulled it back off her face. ‘I have absolutely no idea what I wrote. It felt rather like I was in a trance, taking dictation from some unknown entity.'

Liam was intrigued. ‘That's funny … I was going to say that I could almost swear my mother wrote this.' By the look on Amy's face, he could tell he'd put his foot in it.

She stood up, her elated state dwindling to depression in a matter of seconds. ‘Then perhaps it wasn't me at all … perhaps I didn't write this.'

‘I didn't say that.' Liam rose, holding out the pages before him. ‘Of course you wrote it, here's the proof!'

She shook her head to reject his rationale. ‘You don't really believe that. Olivia found a way to finish her damn book, at the expense of my aspirations … letting me think I had finally tapped into my creative flow, when in reality I was just being subservient to her will … Same old, same old, really.' Amy
wandered cross the room, shell-shocked; she didn't know what to think or feel.

‘Come on, Amy. I know my mother was self-centered at times, but she would never purposely repress anyone's creative aspirations when she spent her life encouraging people to follow their heart's desires. Do you think I would be what I am if that were true? You're just exhausted.' Liam put down the pages to give her a hug, but he got waylaid by the shrilling of the phone.

As Amy watched Liam take the call, she witnessed the perfect world she'd been part of only minutes before, crumble down around her ears. It was Liam's agent calling from New York. Apparently, Liam's replacement had done himself an injury and they needed Liam to catch a flight back to the US asap.

As he had come to know a little of Amy's temperament, Liam hung up the phone and turned to face her, both brows raised in apology. ‘That's showbiz!' he proclaimed light-heartedly.

All Amy could do was nod. She wanted to burst into tears, or rage at the very least! Still, judging from the way Liam was acting, that's exactly what he was expecting her to do and she refused to be that predictable. ‘If I were to take up every spare second you've got before you leave, how long would we have?'

Liam's smile became more sincere; he was
grateful that Amy was not going to crumble on him. ‘You really are an extraordinary individual.'

Amy shrugged, trying not to crack a smile; she was rather astounded herself. ‘I couldn't keep you from your one great love.'

‘You could for a little while.' He strolled over to give her that hug.

For the euphoric experience making love to Liam was, Amy sure cried a lot: tears of sorrow, tears of elation, tears of confusion and release.

Liam was rather teary-eyed himself.

As the time fast approached when he must leave the warmth of Amy's body, pack a bag and catch a plane, Liam was bemused to discover he was actually having second thoughts about leaving.

‘Perhaps I should call Frederick and tell him to find somebody to replace me?' Liam expected Amy would be overjoyed by this suggestion and shower him with affectionate approval.

‘Don't you dare!' She pulled away from him to sit up. ‘I shan't be held responsible for ruining your reputation and career, Liam Clairmond.'

‘Hold on a second,' Liam was actually annoyed, which he hadn't been in years. ‘I don't think you understand. This never happens to me.'

‘What never happens?' Amy's heart was thumping in her chest from a mixture of annoyance and expectation.

He sat up next to her. ‘I want to stay. I can't leave you at odds like this.'

Amy backed up off the bed. ‘I admit I'm going through a few changes, and you have been of amazing aid in that department, but I believe I can take it from here. I'm going to edit that chapter and then hand over Olivia's completed manuscript to her agent, because that's my job. Whether I wrote the conclusion is irrelevant … Olivia deserves to rest in peace. So you see,' Amy threw her hands up in resolve, ‘there's really no reason for you to stay.'

As Liam eyed her naked form, he raised his brows. ‘I beg to differ.' He pulled Amy back on to the bed and rolled over to get on top of the situation. ‘There'll be another flight later.'

 

When Liam carted his bags to the front door and opened it, Amy became a little disconcerted. ‘Aren't you going to call a cab?'

He shook his head. ‘I'll wander up to the taxi rank at the train station.' The look of dismay on her face broke Liam's heart. ‘Come here,' he said softly, motioning her closer.

She had expected to have a least ten more minutes to build up her strength before his departure, but now that it was upon her, a fear of loss gripped her chest so tightly that she could barely breathe. She rushed to embrace Liam, savouring every last second she could spend close to him.

‘I know you're going through hell, Amy,' Liam said, stroking her head as she squeezed him. ‘But when the flames have died away, amidst the charred remains of your old self, you will find the woman of great sensuality, beauty, wonder and power that I have glimpsed these past few days.'

Amy's heart leapt into her throat at his words. Her eyes immediately filled to overflowing.

‘My mystical phoenix,' he called her, and with a gentle kiss of farewell, took up his bags and departed.

In a daze, Amy wandered into the misty rain. ‘Break a leg!' she yelled after him. ‘And come back to me,' she uttered to herself.

Liam turned around to walk backwards … ‘I'll be back in four months, six months tops!'

Amy nodded, waved and blew him a kiss, knowing full well he would not return. After this show there would be another, then another, and so Liam would go on doing what he loved and was best at, whilst filling the lives of others with joy and inspiration along his merry way.

Once he had disappeared over the rise, Amy inhaled the cool, damp air. ‘Time to put the ghost to rest.'

Stage Six: Acceptance

As Amy typed the last paragraph into the computer she felt so removed from the text that she was
convinced the work was that of Olivia's ghost and not her own subconscious.

It is my understanding that the Grail is a gateway to the divine, a point of contact with the supernatural realm, which Jung called the ‘collective unconscious'. All information, imagination and inspiration flow from this source, through those who would follow their heart, their talent, their reason for being. I have known the transcendental time phenomenon, the sense of inner peace and profound awareness that is associated with the Grail experience: a realm of delights for the soul, which once sampled shall be forever craved.

Amy was almost in a trance by the time she finished typing the last sentence, and it gave her a rude shock to realise that the paragraph seemed incomplete, or at least not an apt ending for this work.

‘Oh, great.' She threw her hands up, exasperated. ‘So we're a sentence short now?' A devilish smile crossed her face as she realised there would be a little of her in this book after all. ‘A profound summary sentence,' she tapped her chin with her index finger, ‘now let me see … Ah!' Her fingers hit the keys to take down her thoughts.

My investigations at an end, I realise that I have spent most of my life being seduced by a conundrum that I already understood — I held the essence of the Holy Grail in my hand the whole time, in the form of a golden pen.

Amy smiled. For the first time ever, she was sure that Olivia would approve of her addition.

 

‘There you go, the completed manuscript.' Amy handed
The Grail Seduction
over to Asta, who gasped in awe.

‘Where did you find the missing chapter?' Asta rushed straight to the lounge and sat down, discarding the bulk of the pages to skip straight to the conclusion.

‘In Olivia's bedside table.'

Asta's heart skipped a beat and her eyes narrowed as she looked over at Amy, undecided as to whether to believe her.

Asta had spoken with Olivia the night before her death and at that point her client had yet to put pen to paper on the conclusion. When Olivia died the following morning and the summary chapter was not to be found with the other pages, Asta had assumed the worst. She was the first to notice the AMY FIN scribbled on the top of the box, and had taken the liberty of preempting Olivia's dying wish by writing ‘ISH' on the desk.

The agent devoured the last few pages, tears filling her eyes as she read. ‘Fantastic!' she decreed, piling the precious pages back in order. ‘It is everything it should be, and more. Good job, Amy, very well done.'

Amy was rather taken aback by the amount of credit Asta's tone awarded her, and she wondered if
Asta suspected her involvement. ‘Olivia was a great talent, and she will continue to inspire the masses from beyond the grave.' Amy reached for her handbag.

‘So what shall you do now?' Asta stood to prevent Amy's escape. What if this young woman had written the brilliant conclusion? She wasn't about to let potential like that escape her stables. ‘Any aspirations to write?'

Amy was a startled by the question, and the attention. ‘To tell you the truth, Asta, I've never seriously tried. Aspiring is one thing, doing is something else again. Still, if the muse ever does strike, you'll be the first to know. Ah, make that the second,' she decided, smiling briefly as Liam came to mind. ‘With any luck, I'll be seeing you.'

As Asta watched Amy walk to the front door, she knew the truth behind the chapter. ‘I'll look forward to reading your work,' she said.

Stage Seven: Death and Rebirth

With the golden pen in hand, Amy spent two days staring at a blank piece of paper. At first Liam's parting prophecy concerning her undiscovered potential kept her positive, then her faith began to wane. The nagging suggestion that the chapter had all been Olivia's doing slowly reduced her newly-found esteem to the level it had been before she met Liam. On the third day Amy cracked.

She paced around her tiny unit, going insane from staring at the same four walls. Where was this woman of great sensuality, wonder and power Liam had spoken of?

She paused from her frenzied movement to observe herself in the bathroom mirror. All she saw was an average, sloppy-looking woman who needed a bath.

‘I'm so sick of you,' she yelled at her reflection. ‘Sick of this place, this city, this whole fucking existence!' The anger welled inside her, until she felt fit to explode. The love of her life had come and gone, along with the fiery ambition he had aroused in her briefly. ‘Right!' She opened the cabinet and found herself some pills with a bit of kick.

With capsules overflowing from her mouth, Amy lent down toward the running tap. As the water seeped through the mass of pills, Liam's voice sprang from her memory.

Take a break, have a bath, read your notes, get inspired!

Her mouth strained under the pressure of its growing load, but Amy struggled to refrain from swallowing.

If writing is what you want to do with your life, then you have to learn to have fun with it. You can't expect to do great work when you're so tense.

Amy spat the pills into the washbasin, digging out those that remained wedged in the far reaches of
her mouth with her fingers. She looked back to her reflection, which appeared very different sporting a large smile. ‘There she is.'

 

After a few hours shopping, Amy's attitude had made a significant adjustment for the better. She trundled in the door of her unit, dumping her spoils on to the kitchen table. From the shopping bags she pulled all her favourite food, a bottle of red wine, some incense, a CD of gypsy music and a pile of research books. Amy was tickled with enthusiasm as, from the last bag, she produced a rainbow-coloured peasant-style dress, with a full skirt and long draping sleeves trimmed with gold. The black clothing Amy was wearing was discarded in seconds and, slithering into the dress, she laced up the golden tie at the front which left her breasts spilling over the neckline. Amy rushed to the full-length mirror in her bedroom and squealed with delight as she danced around in front of it.

‘If only he could see me now.' She halted to admire her reflection. ‘No matter,' she decided. ‘I see myself.'

With a platter of food laid out before her, the wine poured, her books at the ready, Amy lit her incense and turned on the CD.

Once she was seated comfortably before the blank pad, Amy took up the golden pen and admired it a moment as she sipped her wine. Drawn
in by the mystical tune that wafted through the room, Amy closed her eyes and allowed it to fill her being with a sense of exhilaration and anticipation.

When Amy's eyes opened she lowered the pen to the paper.
The Gypsy Road
, she wrote. Amy went to write ‘by' and hesitated as she reconsidered using her own name.

‘A ghostwriter?' Amy kind of liked the idea of that, it had a bizarre kind of symmetry about it.
The Gypsy Road
, she mused, by … Then the right name dawned on her. Phoenix Finley. As she wrote the name something stirred deep inside her and words began spilling out on to the page. The dream of the gypsy shrouded her from the bleak reality, and her soul took flight on a journey of mystery, adventure and delight.

The next time Amy looked up, the afternoon had disappeared and lying scattered on the table in its wake were the first two chapters of her novel.