Love Between the Pages: 8 Romances for Booklovers Read online

  “True. But I knew when I started that I had to be more careful. My student population is a lot younger than Claudia … ah, Professor Manchester’s … is.” He leaned on the desk. “She doesn’t deserve to have her work for the university dismissed because of where her beautifully written books are shelved in Barnes and Noble. And she shouldn’t be punished because she was reluctant to tell you about her extracurricular activities when she knew there were people in the department who would disdain her work without even reading it.”

  “I think you’re being a little unfair. We all appreciate the work Professor Manchester does for our students. She’s one of our most popular teachers. Every year, a number of students change majors and end up becoming teachers themselves because of her passion for literature and for her students.”

  “Then why are you denying her tenure?”

  “What makes you think she’s being denied tenure?”

  “A conversation with her agent. Who, it happens, is about to become my agent. So we’re close.” With luck, Mary Lynn, if asked, would let his white lie about their “closeness” slip by.

  “Oh, I see.” Professor McNulty squirmed in her chair. “Well, yes, the tenure committee has tentatively voted to put off offering Claudia tenure. Not a denial exactly but …”

  “But it works out the same—no tenure.”

  “I suppose you’re right, although there hasn’t been a final vote yet. Besides, what exactly do you think I can do about it? I’m only one member of the committee.”

  “One member with a great deal of influence, I’ll bet, if academic politics are the same here as they are everyplace else I’m familiar with.”

  He was rewarded with a small smile and a slight shrug of one shoulder.

  “What I want you to do is be fair. Before you make a final decision, read one or two of Professor Manchester’s books. See how good she is. Get other members of the committee, the ones who might have open minds, to do the same. Surely you understand the attention she can bring with her success as a writer. That must be important to the head of the department.”

  “I’m not sure we want the kind of attention steamy romances would give us.”

  “Just read the books. The love scenes are as well written as every other part of the book, and her readers love her for them. There’s not one crude or vulgar word in all those books combined. Hell, even I use a crude word or two in my books, and no one thinks it makes them trash.”

  “No, I did some research on you before I asked you to guest lecture the first time. As I said, I’ve read some of your books. Your impeccable research is what impressed me. Before all this happened, I was even thinking there might be a place for your books in one of our summer classes for nondegree students.”

  “Thanks, but I’m more interested in having you read Claudia’s books right now.”

  Brad watched Ann chew on her lip for a moment, her gaze flitting from one book cover featuring a headless, shirtless man to another with the same type of image. “I do wish the covers weren’t so …so …”

  “Tawdry? Yeah, it’s a convention in the romance world that a number of people dislike, including Claudia. She’s trying to get some say in selecting a cover, which might make a difference down the line, but it’s a hard sell.”

  Ann rose and put out her hand. This time, Brad took it. She said, “All right. I’ll read one of these and pass a couple along to other members of the tenure committee. That’s all I can promise you.”

  “That’s all I’m asking. Claudia’s talent will do the rest. I guarantee it.”

  Chapter 18

  Claudia had been dragging her tail feathers for almost ten days. She had finally stopped crying about the situation, accepting the blame for her role in what she was calling “The Debacle in the Park.” After all, she was the one who’d wanted to keep her secret life as a romance writer hidden. She was the one who invented the backstory of another life for Brad. She was the one who fell hard for him but couldn’t find a way to tell him the truth.

  But he was the one who brought it all crashing down around her ears. If she didn’t love him so much, she’d hate him.

  Her classes were going well, which was a blessing. Her writing certainly wasn’t. She hadn’t even looked at her new book since their confrontation. Trying to plot a positive outcome for Ross and Jules, her Romeo and Juliet standins, was a little difficult when she couldn’t find a positive outcome for her own life.

  Mary Lynn checked in with her on a regular basis, to make sure she hadn’t done anything stupid, like run away again. Her friend knew her well enough to know she’d never do anything to harm herself, but her track record did include bolting. Especially recently.

  But nothing lightened the gray atmosphere surrounding her. She got through her days trying to be upbeat and interesting for her students while saving the gloom and doom for when she was home. Alone. It worked pretty well. She found comfort in her routine, enjoyment from watching students fall in love with literature, and solace at home reducing her To Be Read pile of books.

  Then one Friday, a couple weeks after the Debacle in the Park, she got a message in her e-mail inbox asking her to come to Ann McNulty’s office when she was finished with classes for the day. It could only be one thing—the tenure committee had met and made a final decision. She had been turned down.

  It was a long day for her. Even her most oblivious students noticed she was off. Several asked if she was feeling okay. One young man, who had been a royal pain in the butt over having to read a second Jane Austen novel, even volunteered to go get her coffee after class was over, a kind gesture that brought tears close to the surface.

  But then, almost everything brought tears today.

  Finally, her classes were finished. Claudia went to the ladies’ room to comb her hair and refresh the little makeup she wore. A new coat of lipstick wouldn’t make the news any easier to bear, but at least she could look good while she got it.

  Ann was waiting with her office door open when Claudia arrived. “Come on in, Claudia. Close the door and have a seat. Can I get you a coffee or something?”

  “Thanks but I’m coffee-ed out for the day. But if you want something …”

  “No, I was being hospitable, hoping you’d be more comfortable with a hot drink.”

  “Offering a last meal for the dead woman walking?”

  Ann cocked her head and frowned. “That’s an interesting—even creative—way of looking at this meeting. No wonder you have such a devoted fan base.”

  Claudia wasn’t sure what she meant and was even less sure she wanted to ask for an explanation.

  Ann went to the other side of her desk and sat. She picked up a book from a pile to her right and said, “Over the past week or so, I’ve read several good books by an author I was unfamiliar with. They were well-written, beautifully plotted, interesting updates of classic literature. Several other members of the department have read them, too.”

  Claudia still didn’t know where this was going but thought it wise to appear interested in what seemed to be a random conversation about literature. “Written by anyone I would know?”

  “Oh, yes. I’d say you know this author quite well. Her name is April Mayes.”

  Claudia was stunned. And silent. When she could finally speak, she said, “You read my books? Why?”

  “A friend of yours brought six of them to me recently and insisted I read them. I was reluctant at first, but once I read the first one, I couldn’t stop myself. I had to read more. I passed them along to three other colleagues. We all had the same reaction. You are a wonderful writer, and your clever use of classic literature is brilliant.” She leaned back in her chair. “The only thing we can’t figure out is why you’d want to hide your talent the way you have been.”

  Claudia swallowed hard, trying not to choke up. “You read my books? My romances? Really?”

  “Yes, really. But you didn’t answer my question. Why did you keep this hidden from us … from me?”

&nbs
p; “I was sure no one would accept the genre. It would stand in the way of my getting tenure. And I was right, wasn’t I? Because of what happened after my lecture on commercial fiction, the tenure committee voted to deny me tenure.”

  “Not quite accurate—they voted to delay a decision—but I can see how you’d think what you do.”

  “The outcome is the same. They’ll never give me tenure now.”

  “That’s actually not true. We met earlier today, and the vote was six to two in your favor.”

  Claudia was stunned. Stunned, relieved, and sure if she didn’t get herself under control, the few tears she could feel leaking from her eyes would be joined by hundreds of their relatives. The thing she had worked for all her career, which had seemed out of reach only a few minutes before, had just dropped into her lap with a far stronger vote of support than she had ever imagined she’d get.

  Ann continued, “I don’t imagine you have to ask who the two no votes were.”

  Laughter now bubbled through the tears, and Claudia almost choked before she got out, “No, I’m sure Statler and Waldorf voted against me.”

  “Who are Statler and Waldorf?” Ann handed her a tissue.

  Claudia wiped her eyes and blew her nose before answering the question. “The two old guys on the Muppet Show who sat in the balcony and always had bad things to say about what was going on. Those curmudgeons on the committee remind me of cranky Muppets.”

  “And that will be an image I’ll never be able to shake now, thank you very much. I shouldn’t laugh, but it fits them perfectly.” She stood and walked to the other side of her desk. “I normally give newly tenured professors a hearty handshake, but you deserve a hug.” She acted on her words. “I have to tell you, however, there was one condition for your tenure.”

  “Do you want me to stop writing romances? I’ve signed a contract for four more, and I don’t know if I can—”

  “No, no. Quite the opposite. We want you to claim your place in the Portland literary world. First of all, we want you to ‘come out’ as a romance writer. Then we want to have you help us explore the possibility of a minor in commercial fiction for the English department. Other places are developing similar programs. Seton Hill even has an MFA in it.”

  “Oh, my God, Statler and Waldorf must have had apoplexy when you suggested that.”

  “We had already floated the idea of a curriculum change after the lecture you gave on the subject so they weren’t exactly surprised. They weren’t thrilled, either, but they will be massively outvoted. We’ll be discussing it at the next departmental meeting so can I ask you to do a little research on the subject to bring before the group? Find out which schools are doing something similar and if there’s any research on how successful the programs are.”

  “I’d be happy to. And I can’t thank you enough for supporting me like this. It means the world to me.” She started toward the door. “One more thing. You said a friend of mine brought you the books. I assume it was my agent, Mary Lynn Elliot?”

  “Oh, she called all right. Several times. I enjoyed talking to her. I see why you’re friends as well as professionally connected. But she wasn’t the person who brought the books to me.”

  Not Mary Lynn? Who then? Who else would have done something like that? Could have done it? Her old fear of being exposed as a fraud made a brief appearance until her curiosity overpowered it. She had to know the answer. “Can you tell me who it was, then?”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t. No one other than Mary Lynn knows my real name. Well, except my publisher, but they’re in New York.”

  “You’re forgetting one other person, Claudia.”

  “Who?”

  “Brad Davis.”

  Chapter 19

  Brad half expected, maybe even half hoped, Claudia would contact him when she found out he’d gone to her department head. How she would react to what he’d done was another story. But as days passed and she didn’t contact him, he gave up hoping. At least not hearing from her meant he wouldn’t have to worry what she would say about his meddling, yet again, in her professional life.

  Mary Lynn told him the tenure committee had voted in Claudia’s favor. His new agent was positive his intervention had been what tipped the scales. He no longer had to carry around the guilt about screwing up Claudia’s chance to get what she’d worked so hard for.

  Nothing, however, could help him shake a certain melancholy. He’d hoped for so much from the relationship with Claudia. Maybe too much. Maybe that was the problem. He’d been seeing happily-ever-after. She’d been seeing happily-for-now. Which had become happily-for-then.

  Or maybe it was just the fall days gradually getting shorter, dusk coming earlier, and the rainy season setting in for its long winter run. This time of year always had the effect of making him a bit sad and serious.

  A friend wanted to set him up with a blind date who he said was hot, beautiful, and starry-eyed about the chance to date a real author. Brad gently refused. He hated blind dates. They always ended up making him wonder how the friend who was setting him up knew so little about him that he thought the woman he’d recommended would interest Brad. And he was seriously not up to a one-on-one with a starry-eyed fangirl.

  The only thing making him happy was his writing. He got the manuscript for his new book finished months ahead of his deadline, the research that usually took him a year getting done in a few months of intense work instead. When he’d sent it to Mary Lynn to review, she’d raved. So had the history professor at Lewis & Clark College who was his reader for historical accuracy.

  With one book finished and off to his publisher, he outlined the next one—a book on the Chinese Exclusion Acts. Hours spent in the Oregon Historical Society happily searching out reference materials and old photographs were hours during which he didn’t have to think about Claudia Manchester, the relationship they’d had, or what had happened to it. He was beginning to think he should move into the building, it was such a comforting place to be, mostly because it held no memories of his failed romance.

  Enough time eventually passed for him to feel pretty sure he was over Claudia. Then he went to a reading at the Mt. Tabor Presbyterian Church, which was not far from his home in Southeast Portland. The reading was in an elegant room dubbed Taborspace. With old wood and stained glass windows setting the mood, it was an ideal site for lectures and readings. He often wandered over without knowing who would be there, hoping it was something interesting. On this night, he hit on a poetry reading by Christopher Luna, the poet laureate of Clark County across the river in Washington State. After a delightful reading and a short chat with the man, Brad took a look at the list of upcoming events to see if there were any he couldn’t miss.

  His heart missed a beat when he saw listed for the following week, “A reading from Ross and Jules, a work in progress by Claudia Manchester, writing as April Mayes.” It was sponsored by the Rose City Romance Writers and billed as the very first public reading by the author.

  He debated for days whether to attend. One day, he’d think he wanted to see her. The next day, he didn’t think he could bear it. Certainly, he was curious about how she’d react to seeing him. Would she smile at him? Hug him? Hit him? Hate him?

  In the end, he decided he wanted to hear her voice again, see her big brown eyes, watch the light shine on her hair, red or not, with or without extensions. Even if it turned out to be the last time, he wanted to drink in how beautiful she was and hear her read from the book she’d been working on when they had their weekend at the Washington Coast, which now seemed like another life.

  The place was packed when he got there, so crowded he had to join the standing room group in the back. He was happy for Claudia. This would certainly spike sales of her books, a table full of which was already arranged in the outer hall in anticipation of just such a result. He immediately spotted her at the front of the room, talking with several women. She wore a midcalf-length skirt and a sweater. He
r hair was piled up in a soft bun. It was what he now knew was her Professor Manchester look. The only concession to her April Mayes persona was the pair of stilettos she was wearing and her bright red lipstick. She looked lovely, confident, and in charge. Not sure whether he wanted her to see him, he kept out of her line of sight and watched as she laughed with the women, leaning closer to hear them over the buzz in the room. Right at seven o’clock, one of the women asked for quiet and announced the reading was about to begin.

  • • •

  Claudia was more nervous than she’d ever been in a decade of teaching at the university level. She hadn’t expected this kind of turnout, although the Taborspace organizers had warned her it was likely to be full based on the dozens of calls they’d had asking for information about time and date.

  Her mouth was dry so she gulped half her glass of water, then refilled it from the pitcher on the table beside the lectern. The original plan had been for her to sit and read from her manuscript, but with this many people in the room, they had to do something else. She’d have to use the lectern so everyone could see and hear her, which she hated doing because it felt like she had a barrier between her and the audience. But it couldn’t be helped.

  She listened as the president of the Rose City Romance Writers introduced her in such glowing terms, Claudia wasn’t sure she could possibly live up to the hype. And she said so when she began to speak.

  “I’m tempted to thank the Rose City Romance Writers and Taborspace for inviting me here this evening and ask if there are any questions before I sit down and shut up. I surely cannot live up to the description of the woman you heard introduced. She is not, I assure you, me. Thank you, Madame President, for making me sound so much more impressive than I really am.”

  When the laughter died down, she continued. “But since I make a living standing in front of any audience that’ll sit still long enough to pay attention, I won’t. Seeing this wonderful turnout brings out the lecturer in me, I’m afraid, and encourages me to do this more often.”