MY BARE FEET are propped up on the railing as I watch the surf in the distance. The clouds have dissipated, and the sky is a clear blue. I got back from New York yesterday and have received a dozen messages from my publicist. She’s pissed about the talk show fiasco, which is what she refers to it as, not me. On the other hand, the publishing company has reported an increase in sales. I’ve been told that I’m not going to be doing any talk shows in the near future, but my book sales are up.
I call that a win-win.
The doorbell rings and I’m not expecting anyone, so I go to the door cautiously. When I peep through the hole, I see Amber standing on the other side of the door. It’s never a good sign when she just shows up. This is twice in a matter of a few weeks.
When I open the door, Amber
