Orchard Grove by Vincent Zandri Page B

my arm. We stood there for a while, over my typewriter, kissing and petting, until she pulled back to come up for air.
    “Did I take you by surprise?” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper.
    “A little,” I said, wiping my wet mouth with the back of my hand.
    She was still holding onto the book. I glanced at my watch. I knew that Susan would be home in one hour. But I didn’t care. Or, at least a part of me didn’t care. I hadn’t felt this good about myself in ages. Not since I’d left LA.
    “Let’s have it,” I said, holding out my hand for the novel.
    “I almost forgot,” she said, her breathing still labored.
    She set it into my hand. Looking down at the novel, I could see that it was in very good shape for a used book. No dog-earing. Maybe the previous owner hadn’t read it at all.
    “I have a pen right here,” I said, setting myself down hard in my chair before my typewriter, and placing the book on top of the pages I’d written earlier. At the same time, I leaned the crutches up against the table to my left-hand side. Opening the book to the front title page, I picked up the pen that was set in between the typewriter and the bowl of apples, and brought ballpoint to paper.
    I had a choice here. I could either write a profound, authorly inscription. Or, I could keep it short and sweet and to the point. Knowing in my gut that Lana was going to turn out to be as much trouble for me as that blonde on the cover of Break Up , I went with the latter and penned …
     
    For Lana,
    For a wonderful fruitful life on Orchard Grove.
    Love Ethan
    XOX
     
    Maybe “Love” and “XOX” was a little over the top considering I barely knew her. But what the fuck. Closing the novel, I handed it to her.
    Turns out, she was one of those people who had to gaze lovingly upon the inscription only a split second after you’ve written it. Being a scriptwriter who’d only penned one novel, and not a very popular one at that, I hadn’t had the good fortune of signing a lot of books, but I’d signed a few. And truth be told, I preferred fans who chose to read the author inscription later on when they got home.
    In my mind, Lana seemed the type to enjoy her instant gratification however, and she did nothing to prove me wrong. Her face lit up when she read it. You could almost identify the very moment she eyed that XOX as if it were an open invitation for her to jump me inside my own home. Inside a home-sweet-about-to-be-gone-baby-gone-home I shared with a woman I loved. Even if we had drifted apart over the past year. A woman whom I’d never cheated on, as God as my judge. And I might not have been a church going man, but I believed in God, or something like Him. I also believed in good and evil and that we had a choice when it came to embracing either one.
    Setting the book gently down on top of my typewriter, Lana smiled. She held out her hand, grabbed an apple, brought it to her mouth, took a bite. Without uttering a single word, she held the apple to my mouth, as if I had no choice but to take a bite. As I bit into the apple, I realized that she didn’t need to speak. That her actions spoke far louder than words ever could. They were the actions of a woman who wasn’t the least bit in love, not with me necessarily, but any man. A woman who, more than likely, had never experienced a single day of love in her entire life. They were instead the actions of a lust-filled woman who also lusted power. Power over a weaker man like me, and a man like her husband. A man who only pretended to be strong.
    But that’s not right either.
    Lust was one thing, but hatred was another. If hatred was her motivation, then lust was simply a tool or a weapon that she used for seizing power over a pathetic man like me. I’ve lived long enough to recognize pure hatred when I saw it, and Lana Cattivo possessed more than her fair share of it. I could see it in her blue eyes, smell it in her lavender scent, see it in the way she chewed and