The Muse (40 page)

I think it’s important for you to understand why I made you experience everything you did, why I let you agonize over the possibility of losing Olive despite knowing your own happily-ever-after was all but guaranteed. The reason, dear Kate, is because you were stuck. Not just in writing, but also in life and love. Two years without sex? It would be one thing if you’d chosen celibacy deliberately, but let’s face it—you were simply mired in complacency, the simplicity of a life spent mostly interacting with other human beings online, if at all.

You are an
author
, Kate, and a storyteller—one who excels at transcribing universal human emotions and experiences into sexy little distractions from the sometimes-painful grind of daily life. Some artists are able to draw inspiration solely from their imaginations. You could isolate them in a cave at the top of a mountain and they would still produce magnificent works of beauty. Unfortunately, you are not one of those artists. Your creativity needs to be fed. It needs to be challenged. It needs to be informed by real-life experience, because it is when you’re able to tap into your own emotions that your prose really soars.

And let’s not forget, your creativity desperately needs to be fucked
.

Blushing, Kate stopped reading and gave Olive a sidelong glance. “You’re sure you want to hear the rest of this?”

Olive patted her arm, then kissed the crown of her head. “Baby, I know your creativity needs to be fucked. And I know Erato took care of that before me. I’m all right.”

Nervously, Kate forged ahead.

The reason you were struggling to write Rose and Molly’s romance is because your own heart had become so hardened toward the entire concept of true love. You’ve written about passionate, all-consuming romances for years without ever experiencing one of your own. And yes, your work has been outstanding, but believe me when I say it’s about to get even better. After all, you’ve just lived your very own romance novel.

Think about it: girl meets girl, girl has a one-night stand with girl only to discover the existence of an indefinable spark hinting at the possibility of more, and then, unexpectedly, life throws girls back together. Girl fucks girl again, things start to get serious, and then life (or the antagonist, which I suppose was me) interferes, throwing the happy ending into doubt. As a crafter of romance stories, you know very well that there’s a direct relationship between the severity of conflict and heartbreak the characters suffer and the sweetness of their eventual reconciliation—and after enjoying your own reunion with Miss Olive, I suspect that now you
truly
understand on a whole new level. Do you not?

No matter what anyone tells you, you don’t
have
to write what you know, but it’s almost always easier when you do.

This time Olive interrupted by scoffing under her breath. “Neat trick, great for your writing, but she’s lucky we played our roles the right way or else she could’ve ruined everything.”

Having skimmed ahead a couple of sentences, Kate murmured, “Sounds like she didn’t consider it a risk.” She kept reading.

I suspect that one or both of you are thinking that I was taking a big chance with your hearts by manipulating the unfolding of your brand-new relationship the way I did. All I can do is assure you I wasn’t. For one thing, you’re too well matched for me to easily keep you apart. Believe me—even if I hadn’t locked Olive in that room with you, unimpeded, you two would have found your way back to each other eventually. Besides, I played the perfect villain, able to wreak havoc on your budding romance while simultaneously serving as a target for your collective rage once Olive discovered the lengths to which I would go to enforce my will. The enemy of your enemy…well, let’s just say I was certain you would eventually bond over your mutual anger toward me, which would enable Olive to see clearly that the hurt she experienced was at my hands alone.

On that note, this paragraph is addressed to Olive: Hello. I sincerely apologize for the way I grabbed you in that parking lot and for the way I embarrassed and—let’s face it—dehumanized you in front of that very handsome law-enforcement officer. My need to help Kate in a very specific way trumped your right not to be terrorized—at least according to my own internal code. I hope that the outcome of my endgame will be enough to convince you to forgive me. If not, I understand. If I’m able to make it up to you some day, I will.

“Shit,” Olive murmured, and took Kate’s hand between both of hers. “I forgive her.”

Kate gave her a subtle squeeze.

So, about that endgame. Let me explain.

I always make it a point to jump-start the separation process well before my relationship with an artist comes to its natural end. Unfortunately, that usually means turning myself into the enemy. Harsh, but necessary. My policy is to never stay with a writer for more than one project, out of concern that he or she might grow dependent upon my presence to work. That can’t happen for a number of reasons, least of all because my job isn’t to inspire. Not really (although I have been told I have some talent in that department). No, my job is to find my client’s perfect inspiration
—
their own personal muse. For some it’s a new lover, for others a new passion or even just a new perspective. I am a filler of empty spaces, to attempt a slightly lyrical turn of phrase.

Kate, Olive is your muse. Treasure her (and take her out for a nice dinner, for goodness sake! On me…I left some cash on the kitchen counter…along with both your cell phones!).

All right. In conclusion, I just want to say that I hope I imparted some lasting lessons, such as

• Write through the turmoil of your own life. From adversity flows poetry!
  
• Make sure to
  have
  a life. Your art demands it.
  
• Nobody ever achieved her dreams by watching kitten videos on the Internet (except the woman whose dream it was to watch kitten videos on the Internet).
  

I’ll leave it to you to suss out the rest—there’s more, trust me, but I’m guessing that you’re exhausted right now (after hours of frenzied writing, I hope?) and would like nothing more than a shower and a nap. You have my blessing to enjoy both.

However, consider this a warning: I expect you to hit that manuscript hard after you wake up. The book still needs to be ready for submission within the week, and if I even get slightly nervous that you’re not on track, I may just have to come back and oversee your efforts until you’re done. Thankfully, I’m confident that you no longer need—or want—my services. So be a good girl and work hard, won’t you?

On a personal note, I thoroughly enjoyed every bit of the time we spent together (admittedly, the parts where you liked me and/or made love with me were my favorites). Thank you for sharing your home, your body, and your fantasies with me. I will never forget you or the time we spent together.

Never stop creating other worlds, especially when this one proves difficult,

Erato

Kate stopped reading and stared at the letter sightlessly before folding it up and tossing it on her nightstand. Olive tightened her embrace and stayed silent while Kate processed everything she’d just read. Or tried. Now that the adrenaline of her sprint for the bathroom had worn off and she knew they were alone, her bone-deep exhaustion was finally overwhelming everything else. She yawned and closed her eyes.

With a gentle squeeze, Olive pulled her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll run us a quick shower so we’re not totally rank when we wake up.”

Kate groaned. “While I’m sure future-me will be incredibly grateful, right-now-me just wants to curl up in bed with you and fall asleep.” Despite her protest, she followed Olive into the bathroom and watched as she turned on the water and tested the temperature with her hand. “What do you think of the letter?”

Olive unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off. “I think the important thing is what
you
think.”

“I think…” Drifting off at the emergence of more and more bare skin, Kate took a minute to gather her thoughts. “I think that right now, at least, I’m happy. And I
am
writing again—better yet, I actually like a lot of what I’ve written. So I guess while I’m still not one hundred percent sure whether Erato is a supernatural being or just a diabolically manipulative madwoman, I can’t deny that she’s made my life better for having walked into it.”

Now fully nude, Olive began to undress Kate with careful patience. “But as far as wanting her to come back?”

“Nope.”

“Good, then we’re in agreement. We’ll nap, spend an hour,
maybe
two, waking up, and then I’ll bake some muffins while you head straight back to work. I’ll text my father to let him know I’ll be in late today, so I can make sure you get off to a good start. Because I’m telling you right now, you
will
finish that book in a timely manner. Understand?”

Vaguely unsettled by Olive’s no-nonsense tone, Kate sensed that she really
had
just traded one muse for another. Her slight unease lasted only seconds before turning into a warm, gooey feeling in the pit of her stomach. Who was she kidding?

This
was the happiest of endings.

Exactly four weeks later, as she walked hand in hand with Olive around the farmers’ market while Howard minded the bakery’s booth, Kate stumbled over her feet, gasping, as the crowd parted to reveal Erato standing not five feet away. Radiant as ever, she lit up at the sight of them, even as Kate shrank back in fear. Olive’s fingers tightened around hers, though she couldn’t say whether it was out of fright or in an effort to reassure.

“Kate! Olive!” Erato swept in to greet them, taking Olive by the shoulders to plant a not-quite-platonic kiss on her lips, then giving Kate the same treatment. She released Kate and stepped back with a happy, friendly smile. “I’ve been expecting to run into you. Frankly, I can’t believe it didn’t happen sooner.”

Unsure how to feel about the sudden reappearance of a woman who had genuinely traumatized both of them while also helping bring about all the best things currently happening in her life—including her amazing girlfriend, the glowing feedback her editor had emailed just that morning, and two brand-new short stories written within two weeks—Kate struggled for the right greeting.
Hello
seemed inadequate. So did
thank you
.
What the hell is wrong with you
was certainly too harsh, considering that everything had turned out so wonderfully.

Olive stepped in to break the silence. “She turned in her manuscript. The editor loves it. Why are you here?”

Straight to the point. Kate drank in the sight of her girlfriend, vibrant and confident and alive, aglow under the mild warmth of the autumn sun. She loved this woman, beyond a doubt. Olive really was her happy ending.

Erato giggled. “Don’t worry. I’m not here for your lover. I actually just forced my current artist to leave his place for a bit, to get some air. He has the rest of the month off from work to finish his novel, so I understand his intensity and focus, but the quality of his work is directly proportional to his exposure to the outdoors. He’s always been a nature guy. We decided to stop off for a few snacks before hiking out to the river for a picnic.” She clapped her hands, elated by a sudden thought. “You two should join us. We could make it a double date.”

Kate opened her mouth to decline what was sure to be an incredibly awkward afternoon, then gaped in shock as Chad strolled up to Erato with a loaf of sourdough bread in one hand and a bag of local meats and cheeses in the other. He leaned in to kiss Erato on the cheek, then froze as he registered who she was talking to.

“Kate!” Chad straightened, looking painfully sheepish. “Hi. I haven’t seen you around lately.”

She’d been busy writing, fucking Olive, and generally falling in love, so Kate hadn’t seen much of anyone over the past four weeks. Clearly Chad had also been consumed by plenty of writing and fucking of his own. “I’ve been busy.” Hoping to reassure Chad that she wasn’t jealous of his new muse, she lifted Olive’s hand to show him their entangled fingers. “Chad, this is my girlfriend Olive. Olive, my neighbor Chad. He’s the one who drove me to the farmers’ market the day we more or less broke up.”

Olive reached out with her free hand to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Thanks for helping Kate. I know she appreciated it.”

“It was no problem at all!” Chad visibly relaxed, reaching out to tentatively wrap his arm around Erato’s middle after a prolonged pause. “Actually, it was fate, I think, because it led me to this amazing creature.” He stared at Erato with moon eyes. “Now I’m almost halfway through my first novel, which is something I
never
thought I’d say.”

Oh, boy. Kate caught Erato’s gaze, tipping her head at the silent admonishment not to reveal anything about her methods. She didn’t want to spoil the surprise for Chad, anyway. If Erato was as good as she seemed to be, his life was about to change for the better—even if he had to suffer a little to get there. Beaming at him, Kate said, “That’s amazing, really. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Chad bounced up and down on the tips of his toes. “It’s the craziest thing, but I just can’t get enough lately.” His gaze slid over Erato, and then he quickly looked back at Kate and Olive, red-faced. “Of writing.”

Kate smirked. “Of course.” She cleared her throat and gave Erato a polite smile. “As much as we appreciate the invitation, Olive has to get back to work, and I should really go start on some edits. You two enjoy yourselves, though.”

Erato seemed pleased with her answer. “We will. I hope you two have something exciting planned for tonight? It
is
Saturday…”

“Bucket-list Saturday,” Olive said, saving Kate from having to decide how to answer such an inadvertently personal question. “In which we make it a point to try something new.”

That delighted Erato even more. “To whittle down any potential regrets?”

Olive startled so subtly Kate was sure she was the only one who noticed. “Exactly.”