Wild Fiction

‘It’s this year’s top selling fiction novel. It’s called Wild Fiction and I have it here. It’s the most original, intriguing, cleverly written and amusing book that’ll be on the shelves this year. You’re going to be the first editor to look at it.’ Rebecca was out of her chair and walked around the editor’s desk with the neatly bound manuscript in her hand.
The editor stared at her for a moment and then took the sheaf of papers from her. He opened the cover and stared at the first page for a minute before turning to the second. The author, perched on the edge of his chair, leant forward. Rebecca waved her hand at him and he pushed himself back. His eyes flicked between Rebecca, the editor, and the manuscript. Rebecca was staring intently at the editor’s face, watching for any sign of approval.
‘You know that if this didn’t have a synopsis at the beginning I would have thrown it back at you don’t you?’ the editor said in his squeaky voice. He was looking up at her from his seat. She was now leaning back against his desk and had let her skirt ride high. Not so high that it would have be indiscreet but high enough to show a lot of slender brown leg when she crossed them in front of him.
‘Of course,’ Rebecca replied smiling at him.
‘Well...okay then...I’ll have a look at this then...yes, I’ll do that and then maybe we should meet again. Yes, we should meet again to discuss this.’ Mr. Kent’s voice wavered and his bespectacled eyes danced around his face as he focussed on various parts of Rebecca’s body. ‘Yes, I’ll call you and we’ll discuss this,’ he said repeating himself and standing up. He walked to the door and held it open for them.
Outside the building they looked at each other.
‘He rushed us out of there, didn’t he?’ the author said with a scowl on his face.
‘I know. I think he was getting a bit excited by me.’
‘Do you think he’ll read it?’
‘Of course he will. If he doesn’t he won’t have an excuse to call me will he? I have every confidence that the phone will be ringing within twenty-four hours. Let’s celebrate.’
Rebecca took the author by the arm and led him down the street towards Marks & Spencers. ‘Do you know how embarrassing it was in there having no surname when the editor said “Miss...Miss...” and all I could say was to call me Rebecca? Don’t you think it’s time to name me fully? Actually, don’t answer that. I gave myself the name Rebecca and I can give myself a surname as well. I know what, I’ll be du Maurier. Rebecca du Maurier. Named after Daphne du Maurier. She even wrote a book called Rebecca. “Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.” Yes, that’s it. I am now Miss R. du Maurier.’ Rebecca was smiling broadly again and stuck her chin out and her nose in the air.