at me and, with a hushed voice, admits, “I didn’t mean for that to be a one-time thing, you know?”
“Did you tell her that?”
“She won’t take my calls, and it isn’t really something I want to tell her over voicemail.”
“Give her time. She’s just a little embarrassed.”
Gabe joins Erin at her table and the doors open up. Since I just released a book last month, my line is consistently long. I try not to look up at the sea of people in this room, as it tends to overwhelm me, so I stay focused on the fans that are right in front of me. I smile and autograph books to the point of hand cramps. Getting to meet the readers who enjoy my books is what makes this job so rewarding. It’s thrilling to see their excitement.
Tori doesn’t exist in this moment, it’s all Madilyn—sizzling hot author.
Loading the dishwasher and washing her husband’s underwear isn’t a part of Madilyn’s life. No. When I’m her, I’m the woman who’s free from being tied down to family obligations. I’m the woman who can let loose, take shots, and ride a mechanical bull. I’m the woman who can laugh while being dry humped by a male stripper as an audience cheers. This is my escape; these are my moments of freedom. I love my home life, but I love this life too.
“I’m drained,” I moan as I kick off my heels and fall onto the bed.
“Don’t get too comfortable. I was talking to a few of the girls and told them we would meet them down in the lounge for cocktails and dinner.”
“How long do we have?”
“Thirty minutes,” Brooke responds.
I rest my head on the pillow and watch mindlessly as Brooke counts the money I made from book sales and separates her cut from the pile of bills. She then packs the leftover swag before freshening up her makeup.
Soon, I’m joining her. With a quick change of clothes and a mist of perfume, we are out the door. The girls are already at the table and waiting for us when we arrive. We drink and gab as only authors do. It’s a lot of gossip and sex talk. Most of these women have loud and strong personalities, so I tend to sit back and take it all in as they go back and forth.
“Congratulations on your last book, Madilyn,” Amy, the author sitting next to me says.
“Thank you.”
“Didn’t it hit the New York Times?”
“Yeah.” I respond excitedly.
“How do you keep the momentum?” she asks, garnering the attention of a few of the other girls at the table.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“What are you working on now?” another author asks me.
“Good question. I’m having a case of writer’s block. I need to find some inspiration, so I’ve been listening to a lot of music, but nothing is sparking.”
The waiter delivers another round of drinks, and as I take a sip of my lemon drop martini, Kristen, another New York Times bestselling author says to the whole group, “You want to know where I go for inspiration?” When eyes turn to her, she sets down her glass of wine and continues. “There’s this fetish website another author told me about.”
“FetLife?” Amy asks.
“That’s the one. Have you been on there?”
Amy nods and a few of the other girls announce they’ve gone on it too.
“I’m seriously the last to know about everything,” I whine in jest. “So what do you do on this website?”
Kristen looks at me from the other end of the table. “It’s kind of like Facebook for the freaky. Don’t get me wrong, there’s light stuff on there as well, but it’s a lot of different people who have various fetishes from polygamy, BDSM, swingers, group sex, voyeurism, foot worship, to adult babies and shit like that.”
“What the fuck is an adult baby?” Brooke asks as I laugh and then take another drink.
“You know, people who wear diapers and act like they’re a baby.”
“People are into that? Like, sexually?” I ask in disbelief.
“It’s a real thing,” Amy confirms. “That site has so much stuff I’ve never even heard of. But you can join groups and message people. I had to do that for one of the books I wrote.”
“The threesome one?”
“Yes. I wound up in a group chat with this triad. They were actually really nice and forthcoming, allowing me to ask questions and stuff.”
“That book was so hot,” I tell her and then turn to Brooke, knowing she doesn’t read any of these books,