“You want me to do a diary entry? How about I do a piece on how erotica and science fiction shouldn’t be written together.”
I grinned at her. “Yes, on the diary. No to the op-ed piece.” It is Sunday afternoon, and the is the first chance in some time that Savannah and I have had to sit together.
It is the same pub that we met almost eighteen months ago. That time was just three days before the release of Just Prey – Savannah Book One. Since that time, about five months ago, Darwin’s Sword – Savannah Book Two was also released. Today, we are here to discuss her assistance with the marketing for the finale of the trilogy, The Orphan War – Savannah Book Three that will be out October 7, 2016.
Savannah glared at me with brown eyes blazing as close to red as they could without her flashing somewhere. “Forty fucking days until my novel releases, and you want a diary entry?”
“It’s my novel,” I reminded, “I’m the author.”
“I’m the talent. You’re not the one getting shot at and dodging explosions while trying to fly a spaceship.” She lifted the pint of ale to her lips and sipped without taking her eyes from me. Long straight black hair glistened from the sunlight streaming in the pub’s tiny windows. Her fashion was the usual; tight black t-shirt showing off her belly button above blue jeans, with black leather boots over her knees and a matching leather jacket.
“You get the orgasms, too.”
With hand wrapped around pint, she pointed at me and nodded. “I’ll give you that. There have been some good ones this time.”
“Good to hear.”
“That was my complaint about book two. Not enough sex for me. Need more gratuitous sex, period.”
“I was saving it for this one. The final chapter.”
Her eyes widened. “Final?”
“Really?” She smirked and sipped again.
“By the way, you don’t fly a spaceship.”
The smirk vanished. “What?”
“Nigel learns to fly the ship.”
“Fuck you! It’s my ship.”
I laugh and sip from my beer. “It’s been too long since we’ve done this.”
“I was hoping for longer. Besides, don’t you usually publish these in winter or early spring? This is much too hot for me.”
“Toronto’s been unseasonably warm this summer, true.”
“Funny you never use Toronto for a setting. I mean, Winnipeg had a huge section in the second novel. Who the fuck goes to Winnipeg? How many of your readers have been to Winnipeg?”
“I don’t have many readers.”
“Probably because you used Winnipeg.” She rolled her eyes. “Guy uses unknown places and wants me to write a diary about my experiences. Why the fuck couldn’t you use Las Vegas or something?”
“We use London a lot in the new one.”
“In the fucking Nineteenth Century!” She drained her pint and slammed it on the wooden table as her way of signaling the barmaid for a refill. “London was no fun then. London in the 60s with free love and such, that I’d be good with.”
“But you enjoyed all the killing.”
“Hell, yes!” The smile spread fast and violently across her face.
The barmaid wandered over with swishing kilt and lowered a new pint for Savannah.
Savannah eyed her, hungrily. “How come you never write me any lesbian scenes?”
From the look on the barmaid’s face, this was not a question she had anticipated ever being asked.
The question, of course, was intended for me, so I dismissed the barmaid with a pleasant smile and quiet thank you before I responded, “You want a lesbian scene?”
“In the first book, you gave me a threesome with a guy and a girl, a couple of scenes with Sheila and Nigel, and some swinger club scenes. Nothing since.”
“Have you read the ending of the new book?”
“Yes,” she answered with the smirk returning. “That’s why I question you saying this is the end.”
Glancing over to the wooden bar area, I could see barmaid was already pulling another pint for me even with my current one being only half done. “Good girl, I’m gonna need that.”
“This diary post you want, am I supposed to give my deepest desires and thoughts of this final part of the trilogy? Am I supposed to talk about how I want to rip everyone’s clothes off and have a massive orgy?”
“Rather than killing the bad guys?”
“All relative as to who the bad guys are. So long as they’re respectful at the orgy, they can stay.” Lifting the pint, she drained half of it.
The barmaid returned, eyes still deer-like, and lowered the second pint for me.
Savannah stood and looked down at me. “Will you excuse me for a moment?”
Her eyes turned to the barmaid. “Come with me.”
Without objection, the barmaid followed Savannah to the door labeled as “Washrooms” and vanished behind her.
“This feels oddly familiar,” I whispered as I turned my attention to the screen showing the Toronto Blue Jays. “Why baseball? No paint to watch dry?”
After twenty minutes, Savannah returned, sat down, and drained the rest of her pint. “That’s better.”
I glanced back at the door. “What did you do to her?”
“She’s fine. She just needs to collect herself.”
I pointed. “You still have some…ah…the corner of your mouth.”
Savannah lifted a napkin and scraped it off. “Sorry, she tasted good.”
“Okay, so we’re running out of words here.”
“Yeah, like you ever do that,” she scoffed.
“Do you want me to go back and add a lesbian scene in the book for you?”
“No, the book is fine. No one will be reading it, anyway.”
I sipped from my pint.
“Although, if you wouldn’t mind, I could do Sheila.”
“Sheila died in the second book,” I reminded.
Savannah waved at me as if dismissing the thought. “You’re the writer, figure it out.”
The barmaid stumbled back into the pub area with a wild, silly grin plastered across her face.
Savannah stood. “Anyhow, this has been a slice, but I gotta go.”
Her eyes shot to the barmaid. “You write that bit, and I’ll tell you later.”