Look! Its a book Fabio wrote almost all by himself! Dangerous by Fabio, underwritten by Wendy Corsi Staub, published 1996. No cover designer or cover photographer credited, but the cover model is definitely Fabio, himself. Unfortunately, we missed the deadline to win a date with Fabio, but according to a 2007 Inside Edition video, we may still have a chance at a virtual date with him via the Hallmark streaming service.
TITLE OF STORY: Paperback Romance
CHAPTER NUMBER/TITLE/ONE SHOT: One Shot
AUTHOR: freudensteins-monster
WHICH TOM/CHARACTER: Actor!Tom
GENRE: Romance, Fluff, Humour
FIC SUMMARY: Siobhán's new to London and decides to join a book club to meet people and possibly make new friends. That doesn't pan out the way she hoped, or ever dared hope.
RATING: T
WARNINGS/TRIGGERS/AUTHORS NOTES: Inspired by a prompt, that I’ve misplaced, about being the only two people in a book club who don’t like Nicholas Sparks. Also, let it be known that I haven't read any of the books mentioned here. Selections for the book club were not made to deliberately slight the books but to show that the book club doesn't really stray from their preferred genre and often doesn't pick the best examples from that genre. Poetry used is The Mermaid by W.B. Yeats and Shakespeare's Sonnet 116.
The grey skies rumbled softly as I dashed under the bookstore’s awning. I shook off my umbrella and stepped inside, smiling at the sight of endless shelves of books. I didn’t have time to browse though, so I checked with the cashier and was directed to a small space at the back of the store where several chairs had been set up for their monthly book club meeting. I was new to the area, having just moved from Dublin (God forgive me) and was stubbornly against keeping to myself after “the love of my life” left me and took all of my friends with him. It had been four months of misery and self-imposed isolation and I was finally ready to make a fresh start and hopefully some new friends. Unfortunately, my interests didn’t really suit a group setting, as far as I was concerned, but who knows, maybe my new best friend would be sitting across from me just waiting to get into an argument about the motivations of Amy Dunne or the main themes of To Kill a Mockingbird.
There were already a few women seated, talking quietly amongst each other, and I felt a familiar pang in my chest for what I had lost. I pushed it aside and made my way over to the woman at the front of the semi-circle fussing over a stack of paperbacks.
“Um, hi…”
“Hello,” she chirped brightly.
“I’m Siobhán, I spoke to Helen on Monday about joining the group...”
“Oh, that was me! Nice to meet you, Siobhán. And welcome!”
“Thank you very much, I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”
“Glad to hear it. We’ll be starting soon and we’ll be discussing the book from the last meeting – if you’ve read it feel free to join in, and then we’ll spend the last ten minutes or so introducing the next book. Okay?”
“Sounds great,” I said feigning enthusiasm as my eyes fell upon the books behind Helen. Nicholas Sparks, really? I took a seat and waited for the others to get settled, hoping against hope that Sparks and his ilk were a rare addition to the group’s reading list.
“Okay, ladies,” Helen said, motioning for the group to settle.
“Ah, excuse me…” The whole group turned as one and several jaws dropped at the sight of the tall, well-dressed male with blond Botticelli curls and the beginnings of a ginger beard. “I’m not too late, I am?”
“Just in time,” Helen preened. “Ladies – and gentleman – thank you for coming. Before we get started, how about we get the new additions to introduce themselves, and perhaps talk about their favourite author or the last book they read?” she asked, completely overlooking me to gaze adoringly at the only male in the book club.
“Um, hi,” he started, fidgeting nervously at the sudden attention. “I’m Tom.”
“Hi Tom,” a chorus of female voices sang.
“Ehehe, um…” he smirked, blushing under the scrutiny. Poor guy, I thought. Unless, of course, he came here looking for a date. If so, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. “Favourite author, I’m going to have to say Shakespeare. Shakespeare’s the reason I became an actor. You know, his plays are all very, very special. The tragic heroes always have a particular demand on you as an actor, because Shakespeare's understanding of human weakness was so precise, and most of his tragic heroes suffer from very relatable failings, like proud, or doubt, or vanity or jealousy or those things...you know, hubris. Ah, sorry… I could talk all day about Shakespeare.”
He finished and an awed sigh fell over the room. Tom blushed again. The man’s voice was like aural sex.
“Thank you so much for sharing, Tom. So glad to have you join us. And now, um, Shiva, was it?”
“Siobhán,” I said tersely, trying to keep my bitterness behind my clenched teeth. “As far as favourite authors go… I couldn’t possibly pick just one. Um, but the last book I read was 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami. It’s an amazing book. Originally published in Japan, it’s about this woman, an assassin, who takes a shortcut one day and winds up in an alternative reality. Nearly all Murakami's novels play with the device of a parallel dimension into which characters can slip through cracks or portals, such as (here) an emergency staircase leading down from a city expressway.”
I paused for breath and Helen cut me off.
“Well, that sounds… interesting.”
Why did I feel like I had suddenly grown an extra head?
“Okay, so… Let’s get straight into it. Did everyone finish reading The Secret Lives of Emma?”
I tuned out at that point, my eyes bulging out of my skull as these women discussed the supposed romantic elements of a crappy example of erotic fiction featuring a borderline illegal relationship. I was definitely in the wrong book club. So much for making new friends.
“Ugh…”
“I’m sorry, Siobhán?”
“Hmm?” Oops. I hadn’t meant to voice my disgust out loud.
“Is there something you’d like to add?” Helen asked, her tone turning as sharp as a kitchen knife.
“I’m sorry, I was going to speak to you afterwards but… can I ask what the last book you read was?”
“We read Safe Harbour by Danielle Steel.”
“And the next one is a Nicholas Sparks book?”
“Yes, The Best of Me. Why?”
“May I be so blunt as to ask if you’ve ever selected a book to read that didn’t have a movie premiering on Valentine’s Day? I mean, do you ever stray from this genre?”
“I’m sorry, but my selections are books that appeal to our group’s main demographic and themes that interest them, like fulfilling relationships. Not things you’d find in the science fiction section,” she replied, turning up her nose.
That was the final straw. Helen was definitely off my list of potential new friends.
“Firstly, 1Q84 is an epic romance, if you ever bothered take off your blinders. Secondly, science fiction was invented by a woman, of course I’m in its fucking demographic. So before you start talking smack about Mary Shelley, I think I’ll take my leave.”
I picked up my bag and stormed out, my anger quietly boiling away, evaporating the raindrops before they could touch my coat.
A few weekends later I ventured out for coffee with the intention of testing the waters at the only other bookstore within walking distance of my flat, because Lord knows I couldn’t show my face at the other one for a while. It was a little independent shop, with a bit of a hipster edge that I tried to ignore as I browsed the shelves trying to limit myself to two titles; a hard task if ever there was one. After half an hour I finally narrowed down my selections and headed to the register.
“Siobhán?”
I looked up and was nearly felled by a pair of baby blues.
“Tom?”
“Hi, how are you?”
“I’m fine,” I stammered. “How are you?”
“Quite well, thank you.”
“And how’s Book Club?” I asked coyly.
“Ha! Um, I don’t know. I haven’t been back.”
“Really?” I’m sure Helen was devastated.
“Yeah. You made quite the exit. It was difficult to follow but I did my best.”
I blushed, pushing an imaginary lock of hair behind my ear before freezing when I spied the book in his arms.
“You’re getting 1Q84?”
“Oh, yes,” Tom beamed. “You gave it such a glowing review. I have to admit my curiosity was piqued.”
He excused himself as the register was freed up and he made his purchase. I have to admit I was surprised – but grateful – that he waited around for me to pay for my books.
“I really hope you enjoy it,” I added, wincing slightly at the thought of him hating something I’d recommended.
“I’m sure I will,” he replied with a smile that somehow made my jaded heart swell. “What would you think about having our own little book club? Maybe… Would you maybe meet me for coffee next week to discuss it?” he asked, tapping the book against his chest.
Throwing caution and past experiences to the wind I said, “I’d love to.”
So we met for coffee the following Saturday and talked for hours about 1Q84 and I recommended a few other speculative fiction favourites. The following week we were discussing The Cuckoo’s Calling over cocktails, and before the month was out I was getting poetry recitals in bed.
“A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.”
I giggled as Tom kissed his way up my torso, his beard tickling my stomach.
“Oh, that’s terribly romantic,” I teased.
“Mmm, terribly,” he murmured, his lips never leaving my skin.
“And your Irish accent is shit.”
That got his attention.
“I’ll have you know my Irish accent is spot on.”
“Love, I’m Irish and I’m telling you it needs work.”
“Nonsense, your hearing must be going.”
He then proceeded to mock me by pretending to speak, mouthing words to prove his point.
“Quit it, y’bastard,” I laughed, slapping his arm playfully. He pounced on me and after rolling across the bed pinned me down and demanded I try and better him.
“If you think you can,” he smirked.
Never one to back away from a challenge, I tried to think of a poem to outdo his. It was difficult to focus though, with his mostly naked body pressed against mine. I smiled wickedly as I thought of the perfect poem to win our little game.
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds
Or bends with the remover to remove…”
“Oh no!” Tom cried, burying his face against my chest, hands over his ears. I chuckled and kept going, delighted that I’d found his kryptonite.
“O, no!” I mimicked. “It is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark…”
He silenced me with a kiss so passionate I could have died of pure happiness. I had once believed I’d never feel this way again. It seemed so long ago now.
“I love you,” he whispered, brushing a stray tear from my cheek.
“I love you too.”
I kissed him back but it was cut short by Tom chuckling to himself.
“Oh, come on,” I whined half-heartedly. “This is a very serious moment - what’s so funny?”
He just smiled and kissed me again. “Best. Bookclub. Ever.”
#DamselflyInnbook: The #PrintCoverReveal! One week to launch day. Can I just say how happy the paperback cover makes me? Because it really, really does.
I should be reading the next book for my book club. I should also get started on The Bone Clocks, which I've been excited for for ages. Instead I'm reading "the Tycoon's Rebel Bride." Why? I don't know. I really don't. So far it's better than I expected, though.
