“It’s a temp job,” Montana admitted, at Liz’s questioning look. “While I figure out what to do with my life. I actually have a degree in Broadcast Journalism. I went to L.A. to be in the news, but I couldn’t find a job beyond making coffee. Plus, it’s just too big-city there for me. I also work part-time at the paper. I do some reporting and…”
Montana reached for Pia and clutched her arm. “Oh, God! The book festival. Liz can be our headliner.” She turned her wide, dark eyes on Liz. “You have to say yes. I swear if I have to put out another display of easy crafts with twigs and branches, I’ll die. Or at the very least lose my sense of humor. You would be a huge draw. Everyone knows you locally, and we could get some real press. Don’t you think Liz would be great?”
“Sure,” Pia responded, studying Liz. “Assuming Liz wants to participate.”
“Of course she does.” Montana glanced at her. “Don’t you?”
“Liz is a big-time author,” Pia acknowledged, her expression unreadable. “New York Times bestsellers in hardcover. A little out of our league.”
Liz couldn’t tell if Pia was helping her or not.
Montana glanced at her watch and groaned. “Well, you can convince her because I have to be at the library in five minutes.” She grinned at Liz. “Welcome back. I love your books. We should get together and talk.”
And then Montana was hurrying away, leaving Liz alone with Pia.
Pia smiled. “Montana is the most enthusiastic person I know, and that’s saying something. While we’d love to have you sign at the festival, you were looking a little trapped. How about if I schedule time to give you my best pitch but I promise not to be offended if you refuse? Not that I won’t call your publicist and beg.”
Liz didn’t understand. Pia was being…nice. Pia was never nice. “I don’t know if I’ll still be in town,” Liz said slowly. “I’m not sure how long I’m staying.”
“You could come back for the signing. Make a weekend of it.” She laughed. “No pressure, I swear. So how are you? I haven’t seen you in forever. It’s been what? Eleven or twelve years since you were last here?”
“Something like that. You’re still in the neighborhood?” Liz did her best to make sure the question sounded as if she were interested rather than judging.
“They can’t get rid of me, although they keep trying.” Pia grinned. “Actually, except for college, I never left. Like Montana, I’m a small-town girl. Unlike her, I’ve found what I want to do.”
“I heard you plan all the festivals.”
“I’m Fool’s Gold’s party girl, and I mean that in the nicest way possible.”
It wasn’t anything Liz could have imagined the other woman doing. Pia had seemed more like someone who would marry well and join the ladies-who-lunch crowd.
“You look great,” Pia told her. “I’ve seen your pictures on the books, but they’re different. More, what? Formal?”
“Stern,” Liz admitted. “What I write requires me to look serious in my pictures.”
“You probably wouldn’t sell as many books if you appeared in taffeta and a pink boa.”
“Exactly.” Liz found herself relaxing a little. A lot of time had passed. Maybe they’d both changed and grown up. “Are you married?”
“No. I’ve never been very good at taking care of things. Although I’m looking after a cat for a friend and that seems to be going well.” Pia frowned. “At least I think it is. He hasn’t tried to kill me in my sleep and just last week he let me pet him. Well, it was more an accidental brush of my hand against his back, but we’re making progress. You?”
“I don’t have a cat.” Liz smiled. “Never married, either.”
“Really? But you’ve always been so beautiful. Back in high school, the guys practically killed themselves trying to get you to notice them. You left the rest of us semi-normal girls feeling like trolls. It was very depressing.”
Liz felt her smile fade as she stared at the other woman. “Is that what you thought? The guys wanted my attention?”
“Sure.”
Liz thought about the horrible comments, the gross come-ons, the snickers. How someone had spray-painted whore on her locker and one of the football players had claimed to have naked pictures of her that were for sale. The drunk carload of guys who had pulled up next to her while she’d been walking home from work late one Saturday night and had said between them they had twenty bucks. That should be enough for all of them to do her.
Pia laughed again. “You probably have to have extra security at your book signings to keep the love-crazed fans away. I think I would have liked being famous. Oh, well. In my next life.”
It was as if they were having completely different conversations, Liz thought, confused by Pia’s friendliness and seeming inability to remember the past with accuracy.
“There’s a group of us girls who get together,” Pia continued. “Sort of a girls’ night out. Or in, because we meet at someone’s house and drink a lot. It’s fun. I think you’d know a few people who come. We’d love to have you.” She pulled a business card out of her purse and turned it over, then grabbed a pen. “Give me your cell.”