Nerissa: A Modern-Day Romance

By Bill Mooney

In this contemporary romance, a determined writer must create her destiny around a spontaneous sham that lands her in a world of trouble. Vicky West, an exceptionally good looking young blond woman whose lovely face, fine body and bright smile are accouterments to a sharp intellect and an easy going disposition.

Vicky has always known that she was born to be a writer but her path to being one has not been easy. All she needs is a break to prove her talent. She quits her job at the Airline, says goodbye to Minneapolis and moves to Paris, then London and eventually to New York City.

Many writers stretch the truth at times but what Vicky does is unmatched in its audacity. It was crazy to attempt to take it all the way and that is just what she told herself at the beginning. How could she ever hope to get away with it? And could she fool the one man who is wily enough to see though her guise?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475959499

Bill Mooney

Bill Mooney spent the early years of his career living and working in London where he produced for theatre and television. In his later life, he enjoyed a diverse career in writing and producing that took him around the world as well as to Hollywood and New York. His fourth and final book, How to Rob a Nice Old Lady was published posthumously.

Book preview

One

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Captain Mitchels speaking. We have cleared Heathrow airspace, and in a few minutes we’ll turn to the west en route to New York.’

The 747 lifted gracefully into a clear twilight sky and began a lazy, wide turn. It would soon leave a thin contrail over many of the easily recognized London landmarks.

Inside the plane, about halfway down the economy section, Vicky sat in an aisle seat while watching the seat-belt sign. She wanted the light to go off because her plan was to make a quick trip to the toilet and then work through the night. She wanted to get as much done as possible so she could hit the ground running when she reached New York. This was a fresh start, and she wanted to make the most of it.

The first part of the plan was accomplished quickly, and then she was back in her seat with some loose pages and her HB 110 pencil at the ready. But suddenly a large, very wet lollipop plopped down on her leg. The sticky goo went through the stocking to her skin before she could get it off. Vicky lifted the small hand that held the gooey confection from her leg and pushed it away, none too gently, while treating the four-year-old boy who put it there to her meanest glare.

The captain made another announcement. ‘Our flying time to New York’s Kennedy airport will be eight hours, thirty-five minutes. The weather for tonight is fine all the way, so we can look forward to a comfortable ride. Our route tonight will take us . . .’

‘Beat it, kid,’ she said menacingly.

His mother was sitting across the aisle with her back turned the other way and her feet up on the empty seat that should right now be occupied by this little thug. The woman paid no attention whatsoever to the boy. Instead, her head was bowed in the pages of a trashy magazine while her jaws worked vigorously on a mouthful of gum. The boy took another whack at Vicky with the confection. She took his hand and placed it, sticky top first, deep in the woman’s open and expensive-looking cloth handbag.

The boy let go with a loud squawk.

‘Shut up, Arthur. Can’t you see I’m reading?’ The woman didn’t take her face out of the magazine.

Vicky was not a model, but she surely looked like one. Although at five feet five she might have been a little short, everything else was there. In fact, she had worked part-time as a model during her senior year at college. But she always knew she was going to be a writer, not a model. She was a beautiful young blonde woman whose lovely face, fine body, and bright smile were accoutrements to a sharp intellect and a generally easy-going disposition.

The passengers enjoyed the smooth flight as the captain had promised, and efficient cabin attendants served refreshments and then dinner. Vicky ate with gusto. She didn’t mind the airline food that so many people complained about and finished the meal rather quickly, but as usual, she had to wait for the attendant to take her tray as well as that of the elderly lady sitting in the window seat; the seat between them was empty. The old lady began to engage Vicky in conversation. She had noticed the boy and the candy crime but had only shaken her head.

‘Oh, yes, that is annoying, yes very, but we must remember they are just small people who have yet to learn good behaviour,’ the old lady said.

Vicky really wanted to get to her work and was reluctant to waste time in vapid conversation with anyone, so she made up her mind to politely guide the talk to a quick conclusion. But the old lady was quite charming and spoke softly with a cultured English accent. Her clothes were of fine quality and definitely on the conservative side, and one would certainly call her a gentlewoman. ‘And they must be taught in the best way if they are to make anything of themselves,’ the old lady went on.

‘I guess so,’ Vicky said, preoccupied as she pulled another folder from her carry-on bag and began to make notes on the typewritten pages. ‘Hmmm. I suppose I just don’t like kids, period.’

‘What’s your name, dear?’

‘Vicky, Vicky West.’

‘So nice to meet you. My name is Emily. I’m glad to have you for a travelling companion Vicky, and you’re such a pretty girl.’

‘Nice to meet you, Emily. Thank you. I can sure use a boost.’

‘Forgive me, Vicky. Are you a . . .’

‘A writer, yes. Discovered, no.’

‘An author, how wonderful.’

‘Writer, Emily, writer. You upgrade me when you say author. I finished my third novel, unpublished of course, now I’m working on this one. Only magazine articles and a few odd pieces have made it into print.’

Vicky was doing a lot of the talking in spite of her resolution not to do so.

‘And now you’re on your way to New York. Splendid, perfectly splendid,’ Emily said with a kindly smile.

‘London was definitely not my oyster,’ Vicky went on. ‘I worked for a regular newspaper, freelance, then for a small free weekly just for the experience, you know, then another that went belly up. After that, I had to take all kinds of jobs, not writing jobs I mean, like secretarial, and jobs were tough to get because I’m not very good, you know, as a secretary. The last straw came when I was offered a job as a nanny. I turned it down flat and bought a ticket back to the States. I’m hoping for better luck in New York. At least I hope I’ll do better there. Huh, a nanny.’

A flight attendant leaned in. ‘Coffee, ma’am?’

‘Oh, dear me, no,’ said Emily. ‘Dreadful stuff. Do you have tea?’

‘Sure.’

‘Thank you. Tea would be lovely.’

‘You’re welcome, and for you?’

‘Coffee, thanks,’ Vicky said quietly, thinking she might offend the old lady by ordering the evil brew.

‘When I was a young girl, Vicky,’ Emily said while stirring a little sugar into her tea, ‘I was nanny to a very nice family, and I must say it wasn’t so bad.’ Emily took on a wistful expression with the recollection of fond memories. ‘Well, you don’t have to worry. I’ve a feeling that you will be an enormously successful and prodigious author.’

Vicky nodded her thanks. She really wanted to get on with the notes for the new book, but the old lady was very nice and she didn’t want to be impolite. Emily suggested that they exchange seats so that Vicky could be more at ease in her writing, Emily would not disturb her, so they did.

Vicky thought that now she could really get down to business, not waste time talking. But it was she and not Emily who kept restarting the conversation.

‘I know my writing is good. I mean I think it’s good,’ Vicky said after they had talked about writing in general for a while, ‘but it isn’t really, really good, and I just can’t seem to see where it isn’t, you know?’

Emily was sympathetic. ‘Oh, I’m sure it is very difficult, but I have a feeling that you will be able to find a way.’

‘I sure hope so.’

‘I have a cousin,’ Emily told her, ‘a distant cousin, hardly ever see him, who is a writer, an historian. He’s a very serious fellow and very secretive about his work, as I imagine most writers are, afraid someone will misappropriate their creations I suppose. Is that common, Vicky?’

‘I think it is. I guess I am too, but I’m not paranoid. Anyway, nobody has tried to lift anything from me yet. Why should they? I’ll sell all I have at bargain basement prices.’ Vicky laughed.

‘Oh, you must not do that. Think about it, Vicky. Other people are going to be the judges of your writing.’

‘That’s true.’ Vicky thought that was a reasonable comment.

‘My son says this cousin of ours is a great historian because he has a total disregard for facts.’

Vicky told her about going to New York for the first time after graduating from college and the time she tried her luck in Los Angeles, finding out rather quickly that film writing was not for her—even if she could have gotten a foot in the door. Then Vicky told her about her aunt who had died a few years back, about how she decided to go to Europe after that, and a little about her life in Paris, and later London.

Emily was a good and encouraging listener, and Vicky felt as though they had known each other for a long time instead of being two people of disparate lives and interests who found themselves sitting beside each other on a plane. Vicky was thinking that it had been a long time since she had been so open about herself; it wasn’t like her. But Emily, she thought, was so, well, so nice, and so, well, so sympathetic. I really must stop thinking the word ‘well,’ she thought.

They talked, even throughout the movie, which neither of them was interested in because it was a film that, they agreed, should be seen on a big screen.

So much for Vicky’s plan. Nevertheless, she was happy to have the company of such a refined, well-read, and cultured person. Even after the movie ended and the lights were dimmed, Vicky still did no work. Instead, she fell asleep . . .

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After graduation in 1999 from Minnesota State with a bachelor of arts degree in English literature, Vicky left her home town, St Paul, so where else would she go but that Mecca for all writers? California, of course. Six months later, she was headed back east, this time to that other Mecca, New York. Several temporary jobs later, none of them in writing, she was on her way again. Disgusted, disappointed, and generally dejected that the literary world could see no merit in her efforts, Vicky went home. She went to work for an airline—not flying but in the office—and moved in with her only living relative: Aunt Sophie. Vicky’s father, a drunk and a dreamer, had left the family home and disappeared when she was just a baby. She didn’t remember him. Her mother had passed away from the flu during Vicky’s junior year in college. Sophie said she died from grief over the only man she had ever loved and he had left her. But it was the flu. Vicky knew that.

Sophie was really her great-aunt, but they got on very well despite the age difference because Sophie loved having someone, especially Vicky, in the house with her. And Vicky was very fond of Aunt Sophie. She was a great old girl with a lot of energy and things to talk about—nothing remarkable, just simple things that had happened in her life, but she thought they were wonderful. Vicky would listen even though she knew that the old lady had never been anywhere or done anything. Listen as though the tales were intriguing.

Vicky stayed with the airline for more than a year, and then something she never really thought about happened. Aunt Sophie suddenly became sick. The illness was of short duration, and she died at the age of seventy-nine just a few days short of her eightieth birthday. Vicky was devastated. She was pretty sure that she would leave again as soon as she could. That decision was academic, as it turned out.

Sophie’s lawyer, who was also one of her dearest and oldest friends, asked Vicky to come to his office, where he told her that some distant relatives had come out of the woodwork to claim whatever Sophie had in her estate. They had, he told her, a good enough case, and even if she were to contest it, the matter could drag on for a long time. And the estate was just the house, which was pretty old and not worth a lot, and not much else. Vicky told him to forget it. In fact, she had never given this any thought, so what did it matter? The lawyer said he thought she was making the best choice. Besides, he said, he was about ready to retire and would not be available for a long litigation.

Once he heard her decision, he handed Vicky a thick envelope. He made it very definite that he had no knowledge of the contents. It was addressed to Vicky and had been given to him by Sophie sometime before her death. She began to open the envelope but he stopped her. He said that if the contents were of any value, then he would have to, by law, hold it and report it to the relatives. He told her to take it away and that he had never seen it. He was a good friend to Sophie and now to Vicky.

The envelope contained twenty thousand dollars. Of course, he had to know about it, but he was doing exactly what Sophie wanted.

Vicky thought she couldn’t bear to use Sophie’s money, but she knew that if she didn’t find success in writing, eventually she would have to. So she put it with the rest of her savings and handed in her notice to the airline. Before doing so, however, she took advantage of the discount fares that airline employees were able to purchase and secured several tickets to and around Europe.

She left as soon as she could. Vicky went directly to Paris.

In high school and later in college, she had taken part in a great many activities, including writing for the school newspaper and dramatics. Because she was so good looking, she was at first chosen for the leading lady roles, but she very quickly found that she didn’t like being on stage. It was strange, but in a way, her good looks got in the way of the production and kind of discombobulated some of the scenes. Anyway, she knew that she wasn’t that good