Copycat Read online

  Simone knew she needed to get back to work, and she would…just as soon as she Googled Traci’s name and clicked on the images. She browsed all the different photos of her that displayed, and she could tell that Traci always wore her thick, shoulder-length hair down and very loosely curled. Simone didn’t see one shot where she’d worn it up or back in a ponytail, and suddenly Simone wished she’d allowed her own hair to grow out. She’d always loved wearing extra-short haircuts, but for the first time, she wanted something a little different. She’d also never worn extensions, but now she was very much open to the idea. Long, thick hair seemed much more becoming for an author or any public icon, and Simone needed to make some changes to her appearance. Lots of them.

  When Simone’s phone rang again, she sighed in a huff. “What?” she said to herself as she looked over and saw that it was Freda. Still, she didn’t answer it. But not two minutes later, the receptionist called and Simone knew she needed to pick up the phone.

  “This is Simone speaking.”

  “Hi, Simone. I have a Freda Jamison on the line for you. She says she left you three messages yesterday and called you three more times this morning and really needs to speak to you.”

  Simone cringed. “Please put her through.”

  “Will do,” the receptionist replied. “Thanks so much.”

  Simone took a deep breath. “Good morning, how can I help you?”

  “It’s about time,” Freda bellowed out. “Because I know you saw me calling. I’m not stupid. Big companies now have caller ID screens just like anyone else.”

  Simone pretended she hadn’t heard a word of what this woman was saying. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Jamison?”

  “You know exactly what you can do. Reinstate my policy.”

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t do that.”

  “What you mean is that you won’t.”

  “No, I mean we can’t.”

  “Why?”

  Simone shook her head. Only two days ago, she’d gone out of her way to explain everything to Freda, yet here she was asking her what she already knew. “Not only have we covered two other accidents that required the repair of your car and those of the people you collided with, but both accidents were your fault. You were ticketed both times. But we’re still going to cover this third accident as well.”

  “Then I don’t see the problem.”

  “The problem is that even though we’re covering you this one last time, we’ve had to end our relationship with you. We can no longer cover someone who’s had three accidents in less than two years. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  “Excuse me? Sweetheart, if I understood it, I wouldn’t be wasting my time on this phone with you.”

  Simone didn’t say anything.

  “Hello?” the woman yelled. “Are you there?”

  “I’m here, but I’m not sure what else I can say.”

  “You’re a real piece of work, and if you can’t reinstate my policy, I’ll have to call your boss. Someone who has some real say-so over there. Someone who won’t be happy when he or she hears how I’ve been treated.”

  Simone almost wanted to laugh. So now Freda was threatening her? Please. “Do you want me to transfer you? Because it’s certainly not a problem. To be honest, I’d be more than happy to do it.”

  There was silence, and Simone knew Freda hadn’t expected the answer she’d gotten.

  “Hello?” Simone said.

  “No, you little heifer, I’ll make the call myself.”

  Simone raised her eyebrows, but before she could respond, Freda hung up on her. Simone couldn’t stand dealing with irate customers, and even more so when they were completely in the wrong. Freda was lucky they hadn’t canceled her policy after the second accident, what with the level of damage that had been done and the amount of money they’d had to spend to fix everything. But here she was livid because they weren’t allowing her the opportunity to hit yet a fourth vehicle somewhere down the road.

  Simone looked back at her computer, and although she’d spent much of her morning focusing on everything but her job responsibilities, she took another look at Traci’s public-figure Facebook page. Traci had posted a graphic of her new book, a buy link for preordering it, and another link so readers could read the first couple of chapters. Over here, she had 25,117 followers, which was more than twice the followers she had on Twitter, and more than five hundred people had clicked “Like” on each status update. On top of that, fifty of them had written some amazing comments: “I’m not reading the first two chapters when all it’s going to do is make me spend the next few months wishing I could read the rest.” “I just read the excerpt you posted, and now my heart is racing a mile a minute! I so can’t wait for September to get here!” “How dare you post two chapters, knowing it will be six months before we can even buy the actual book! Shame on you, Traci, for doing this to us! LOL!” “Ms. Traci. I’m a senior in high school and when my mom bought me both your books for Christmas, I read them in two days, back to back. So I literally can’t wait for your next one to be released. My mom can’t wait either!”

  Simone admired the love and support that Traci was receiving from her readers, but she also wanted to experience this for herself. She wanted her book to be published, she wanted it to make as many bestseller lists as possible, and she wanted to make a good living from it. She didn’t want to be rich, but she did want to be financially comfortable. She also wanted to be as well-known as Traci. Simone could already tell that she and Traci had great chemistry and a lot of the same tastes when it came to clothes, boots, and cars—which was the reason she’d changed her mind about driving over to Chicago after work to pick up that Gucci purse. She’d known that taking the trip had meant she would physically have the bag in her possession by this evening, but for some reason, she hadn’t been able to wait. So, instead, she’d pulled up Gucci’s web site this morning, hours before getting dressed, and had placed her order. And as she’d done with the blouse she purchased from Saks last night, she’d chosen Saturday delivery.

  But it wasn’t just clothes, boots, and cars that Simone and Traci shared the same tastes for, because Simone had also discovered that they even liked the same hairstyle. It was true that Simone had never worn long hair, but it was only because she’d always been pretty set in her ways and hadn’t realized that, like Traci, she loved shoulder-length hair. So Simone knew it would only be a matter of time before she saw her dreams come to pass. She just had to work hard at it and stay persistent. She would learn everything she could from Traci, and before long, she’d have a huge publishing contract—like Traci—and she’d be able to write full-time from now on…the same as Traci was.

  Chapter 5

  Traci responded to a few business emails she’d received from her editor, her publicist, and a blogger who’d sent her interview questions she needed answered by next week. But because Traci preferred handling to-do items as soon as she could, she decided to answer the questions now. There were only five of them, so it wouldn’t take her very long anyway.

  When she finished, she reached for her office phone and called her literary agent.

  She picked up after the second ring. “Helen Stone.”

  “Hi, Helen, it’s Traci.”

  “Hi, Traci. How are you?

  “I’m doing well. You?”

  “Doing great. So what’s up?”

  “Well, I met a new writer yesterday. Simone Phillips. And she’s written her first romance novel. I know you don’t represent that genre, but I was wondering if you could recommend someone else.”

  “Yes, absolutely. There are actually two that she should definitely contact. Both are excellent at what they do, and they represent both new and veteran romance writers. Some have written twenty or more books and many have New York Times bestsellers.”

  “This is wonderful, and I know it will be very helpful.”

  “Tanny Matthews is one, and the other is Michaela Vanderbilt. They’ll expect to receive the
standard query letter rather than initial chapters, and your friend can find their contact information on their web sites.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I wish I could be of more help, but without reading her work myself, I can’t personally call and recommend her to Tanny and Michaela.”

  “I understand.”

  “Actually, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you why I don’t represent romance.”

  “No, I don’t think you have. I just knew you didn’t.”

  “Well, it’s not that I don’t think it would do well for me, because in all honestly, romance sells more than half of all fiction. And sometimes I love reading a good romance story. But I’m also much more of a contemporary and women’s fiction reader, and I believe that the best agents represent the kinds of books they would read all the time, even if they weren’t agents. In other words, they best represent books they love the most and have the strongest passion for.”

  “That makes perfect sense.”

  “It’s the same thing for editors. The only way editors can truly edit a book to the best of their ability is when they love, love, love the author’s writing style and genre. Otherwise, it’s impossible to have a true connection to the work. And when that happens, they can’t always champion the book or the author to higher-ups in their publishing company.”

  “Very interesting, and I definitely agree. I also think that this philosophy holds true for any job. The more passion you have for what you do, the better you’ll be at it.”

  “Some agents represent all genres because they want the business. But again, if they don’t love the work it doesn’t always benefit the author.”

  “I can certainly see where it wouldn’t. And we all know what happens when folks become jacks-of-all-trades.”

  “Yes, masters of none. But the good news, missy, is that you don’t have that problem,” Helen said with a smile in her voice.

  “No, I can tell I don’t, and I’m really grateful to you for that. You have been a writer’s dream, and you also sold my books to the best editor ever. Someone who cares about my work and me. I also love everything that Ford represents,” she said, referring to her publisher, Ford-Anderson Press, “and a person just couldn’t ask for anything more than that.”

  “Well, you’re quite welcome. You’re a joy to work with, and I only want the best for you. And speaking of which, I just want to say again how much I enjoyed reading Copycat.”

  “I’m so glad, and I really think a lot of women will be able to relate to it.”

  “I agree. I’ve always known that some women like mimicking others, such as a close friend or sister, but I think your book will get women talking about it much more openly.”

  “That’s my hope. Thankfully, I don’t have any friends who do this kind of thing, but I’ve definitely come across women who have identity problems. Those who want to be like someone else.”

  “It happens more than I think most of us realize, so I’m glad you decided to tackle this subject.”

  “I’m glad, too.”

  “Your readers are definitely going to enjoy it, and I can already imagine what some of the book club discussions will be like. Especially if club members have dealt with a copycat of some kind.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll see soon enough, because September is only six months away.”

  “Time is flying, but things are coming together very nicely—thanks to the number of copies that were sold of your second book. Sales were fifty percent higher than your first novel, and because of that, Ford is sending you on a ten-city tour this time and increasing your marketing and advertising budgets. It’s also still pretty early, yet your readers have already begun preordering.”

  “I’m really hoping Copycat does well.”

  “I believe it will, and I’m excited for you. I also can’t wait to see what you’re planning next.”

  “I’m almost finished with my synopsis, so I’ll be sending it to you soon.”

  “Good, because with the way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised at all if Ford offered you a three- or four-book deal this time.”

  “You think?”

  “I do. An increase in sales can mean everything.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “This is going to be a great year for you. I can feel it already.”

  Traci smiled, and without warning, tears filled her eyes. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough, Helen. You took a chance on me when no one else would, and I am forever grateful to you for that. I’ll never forget all that you’ve done for me.”

  “You’re quite welcome, and this is only the beginning.”

  Traci got up and walked toward her office window. “Oh and hey, how is Rick doing?”

  “He’s coming along fine,” Helen said about her husband. “Still hard to believe he just had open-heart surgery, but his doctor says he’s recovering much better than expected. Getting stronger every day.”

  “This is such great news, and I’m praying for him daily.”

  “We really appreciate that. And how are Tim and your parents?”

  “They’re all doing well. Tim got the promotion I’d told you about, the marketing VP one, so we’re pretty excited.”

  “As you should be. Please tell him I said congratulations.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay, then, I’m going to head out for a meeting now. You enjoy your day, though.”

  “You too, and thanks again for the agent information.”

  “Anytime, and please let me know how things turn out for your friend.”

  “Will do. Take care, Helen.”

  Chapter 6

  It was finally twelve noon, and while Simone would normally be raring to head out for her lunch break, the email she’d just received from Traci was all she could think about. So she sat there, rereading the names of the two literary agents Traci’s agent had recommended. Simone also read the last part of the email again:

  My agent says that both Tanny and Michaela do require query letters, but before I sent you this email, I checked their web sites for submission requirements and saw that both of them accept submissions electronically. I’m also looking forward to reading your chapters, so please send them when you’re ready.

  Have a great weekend!

  Traci

  Simone loved how personable and helpful Traci was, and as she glanced at Traci’s Facebook page—this time her personal page and not her public one, which she’d now read postings for as far back as two years—she considered sending Traci a friend request. Simone could tell that this particular page was protected with certain privacy settings, because she could only see a few old entries, but the more she stared at it, the more she wanted to see what else Traci had posted. She wanted the same access that Traci’s close friends and family members had. Yes, Simone didn’t know Traci well enough to necessarily connect with her on her personal page, but she also knew that many writers sometimes accepted friend requests from readers and new acquaintances.

  Simone sat, debating back and forth. Should she or shouldn’t she? Was she overstepping her bounds or wasn’t she? Would Traci feel awkward about Simone sending her a request, or would she be happy about it? It was just too difficult to say one way or the other, so instead of making a final decision, Simone scrolled down Traci’s page farther than she had earlier, checking out the few photos that were set for public viewing. And it was then that she saw a photo of Traci and a woman who looked to be Traci’s mother. Simone wasn’t positive, but with the exception of the woman being older than Traci, they looked almost like twins. They favored each other in every way, and they dressed in the same type of classy-looking clothes.

  This just had to be Traci’s mother, and when Simone clicked to read one of the comments under the photo, her assumption was confirmed: “It was such a pleasure meeting you, Traci, and I was also very honored to meet your sweet, beautiful mom. What an amazing lady. And of course, I can’t wait to read your next book!”

/>   Simone smiled at the kind words being said about Traci’s mom, but then her face turned somber. The reason: she thought about her own mom, LeeAnn, and how awful her mother had been to her. LeeAnn had given birth to Simone when she was fifteen, but she’d also started using drugs a year later and hadn’t stopped until about ten years ago. However, her recovery hadn’t lasted. Simone knew this because when LeeAnn had contacted her three months ago, asking if she was planning to send her a Christmas gift, she’d sounded drunk, which likely meant she was now back on drugs.

  She’d been a terrible mother who Simone hated for many reasons she still wept about, and because Simone’s father had been killed in a robbery when she was two years old, she didn’t remember him; which meant it felt as though she’d never had a father in the first place. Worse, her paternal grandparents hadn’t wanted anything to do with Simone, and she didn’t know who her maternal grandfather was, either. In other words, back in the day, Velma, Simone’s maternal grandmother, had slept with a lot of men and had no clue who she’d conceived her only child with—that child being LeeAnn. Of course, it was true that Velma had taken custody of Simone and had raised her the best that she could, but she hadn’t been a stellar example for her granddaughter. She’d actually been the worst role model a child could have, what with the way she’d continued to sleep with one man after another and had done so right in her own bedroom—the same room that shared a wall with the one Simone had slept in. Even when Simone had been only a small girl and was too young to fend for herself, she’d still been old enough to know that hearing her grandmother and all those men—doing whatever it was they’d been doing—wasn’t right. Even now, she remembered all the loud moans and groans and cursing that had kept her wide awake until the wee hours of the morning, and she doubted she would ever be able to forget it.

  Simone pondered her dreadful childhood until her cell phone rang. She half smiled when she saw that it was Chris, because he tended to make her feel better about everything.