It had been three years since Christina’s dream, and the obsession following thereafter had faded to fond memories every once in awhile. Sometimes it was unbearably frustrating to know it had happened and no one believed her, but she often comforted herself by playing ‘Astra Lai’ and remembering that even though none of her friends believed her, somewhere in the world Jones Aimes just might be singing this song in a concert and just might be remembering her, nobody Christina.

She had invited Denny over for dinner, and as usual, her friend was already ten minutes late. Christina was considering hiding the cheesecake she’d made and eating it later without Denny when someone rung her doorbell.

Christina went to answer it, but instead of just Denny, there was another woman behind her. The other woman had on a crisp business suit, tight bun, and a stiff expression. Christina felt unbelievably underdressed in her worn jeans and high school sweatshirt. “Um . . . Denny, hi. You didn’t tell me you were inviting someone else.”

“This is Nancy Edwin,” Denny introduced. The barely contained smiled on her face told Christina that something very exciting to Denny was about to happen. She pondered briefly whether Denny was about to “come out of the closet,” but laughed inwardly at her boy crazy best friend ever turning gay.

“Um, hello.” Christina held out a hand and felt even more intimidated by the woman’s firm grasp. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting anybody but Denny. I’m underdressed, and I just made fish and macaroni and cheese.”

Nancy smiled shortly. “I don’t mind at all. Actually, I must admit, it was I who pressured Denny to meet you.”

“Meet me? Why?”

Denny bit her lip. “We can talk about it over dinner, Chris. That is, if you ever decide to invite us in. It’s a bit nippy out here.”

Christina felt her cheeks turn warm as she stepped aside. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again awkwardly.

“Quit being so . . . you,” Denny teased, pecking her on the cheek and walking into the kitchen. “I swear, you need to take lessons on composure.” She turned to Nancy teasingly. “I can’t tell you how many times this girl blushes in one day. Last time I tried to count, I got lost at fifty.”

“She’s joking,” Christina explained quickly. “I just get embarrassed easily. It’s not something I can control.”

Nancy’s smile turned warm. “It’s okay; you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“You two sit down.” Christina gestured to the table and went to grab another plate and silverware. Once the third place setting was ready, she brought the dishes of food to the center of the table, took everyone’s drinks, and sat down finally. “Okay, end the suspense. Who is Nancy, and what’s she doing here?”

Denny smiled and took a drink of her Coke. “You’re starting to sound like me. Impatient.”

“I’m the editor of Star Fresh Publishing,” Nancy explained.

Christina arched an eyebrow. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Remember how you wrote down all the details of your dream about Jones Aimes? And I asked you about a month ago for a copy to read?” Denny paused. “Well . . . I was talking about it to Nancy one night, and she said she wanted to check it out. I knew you’d never agree for fear of rejection, so I figured I’d show it to her. That way if she didn’t like it, you’d never know.”

“I liked it,” Nancy said. “It was very good. You must know quite a bit about Jones Aimes to have written him so accurately. Well, I assume accurately from the little I know about him. Too many books about the ‘70s either try to glamorize or degrade the ‘70s. Your book is . . . it’s just there. It’s like glimpsing in on a day in the life of the ‘70s. You told it from the eyes of someone fascinated with the era, which was a great choice to go with. You left the information subtle and objective enough that for every reader it will be different. Books with different interpreting meanings are quite popular with the more intelligent readers, and it’s a good thing that those people are often times fan of the ‘70s.”

Christina sat frozen through Nancy’s speech. When the silence lasted longer than was comfortable, she finally stuttered, “Um . . . ex-excuse me? I got lost after ‘it was very good.’ “

Denny laughed. “Chris is easily overwhelmed. Don’t worry. Nancy just wants to publish it as a fiction novel. She has a few papers for you to sign, and you should be well on your way to your first novel.”

“We were going to release it next spring. We’re trying to get hold of Aimes’ manager for two reasons. We, first of all, need to have her agreement to publish a book that shows Aimes snorting coke because he could sue if we don’t get permission for portraying him in a bad light. And . . . we were thinking about publishing it along side his next CD. It will help to promote both the book and the CD, overall good for everyone.”

Christina was going to protest until she heard Denny mention contacting Jones’ manager. “Will Jones Aimes himself read this novella?”

Nancy bit her lip. “Well, we can’t guarantee it. His manager will read it and hopefully sign off on it. He’ll hear about it at the very least.”

Heart thudding, Christina began to wring her hands together. “If he reads it . . . he’ll know,” she said to herself.

“Excuse me?”

Denny waved her hand. “Oh, don’t mind Christina. The dream was so vivid that she thinks it’s real.”

“Hmm . . .” Nancy looked thoughtful. “If that’s so, we might get away with publishing as ‘based on a true story.’ What do you think?”

“I need more time-”

“Nonsense, Chris.” Denny smiled encouragingly at Christina. “This is your big chance! You can make a shitload of money off this.”

Christina sighed and looked at her feet. “I guess . . . I guess I’ll do it. Do you really think it will sell?”

“This baby? Jones Aimes?” Nancy smiled. “It doesn’t matter if it’s fiction or non-fiction because his fans will buy it. We’re actually kind of leeching off Aimes’ large fan base. I have to be honest that if it were written about any other person, we probably wouldn’t take it. But Aimes . . . yes, it will sell.”

“Then he’ll have to at least hear of it,” Christina said, repeating her thoughts. Suddenly she had a steel spine and a strong will. “I’ll do it. Give me the papers, and I’ll sign whatever you need me to sign.

* * * * *

A few weeks later Mib was just getting ready to leave the office when the phone rang. She looked at it angrily for a few seconds then decided to go ahead and answer it rather than wait until morning to try and deal with the call. With a heavy sigh, she picked up the phone. “Hello. Mib Albright here.”

“Hello, Ms. Albright. My name is Nancy Edwin, and I’m one of the head editors at Star Fresh Publishing.”

“Never ‘eard of it.”

The woman seemed a bit taken aback. “Yes, well. I have a book that we’re trying to get published. It’s a fiction novel that uses your client Jones Aimes as one of two main characters.”

“Oh, really?” Mib sat down on her leather executive chair and propped her feet up on the desk. “This is very interesting. I can’t remember ever ;aving a fiction novel with Jones in it. Who’s the author?”

“Her name is Christina Boone, and she’s a newbie. Her style is average, writing is clear and professional, but it’s really the story that I think will sell. We’re tentatively titling it ‘Astra Lai’ with the subtitle ‘My Night with Jones Aimes.’”

“Wow. I guess it just keeps getting better. Is the story ‘bout Astra Lai?”

“Basically. I’ve assumed from what I’ve read that Astra Lai is a fictional character. Is this correct?”

“Fictional name, real character. Don’t know the girl that well, and honestly, neither did Jones. We met her one night back in the mid-’70s, and Jones was so impressed by their interview that he wrote a song.”

“That part of the novel is accurate. Christina Boone has the novel from Astra Lai’s point of view. Would you like me to send you a copy to check over before signing the necessary papers? I have to be blunt and say that Aimes is not portrayed in the best light at points in this novel.”

“Well, Aimes ain’t an angel. Let me give ya my home address. I don’t want this getting mixed up in all of Aimes’ fan mail that gets to this office.”

* * * * *

The next Saturday Mib had the novella out for an afternoon reading. She’d honestly been looking forward to this. As much as Jones brought up Astra Lai, and as mysterious as that night had been, Mib admitted that the girl had intrigued her. The book was probably written by an obsessive fan who’d read everything there was about the song and decided to improvise her own story line.

An hour later, after turning the pages faster than she’d read anything in years, Mib sat on her couch, dumbstruck. Somehow Christina Boone, a supposed obsessive fan, had managed to detail that night better than Mib’s own memory.

When the initial shock had worn off, Mib picked up her cell phone and called the number Nancy Edwin had left her.

“Star Fresh Publishing, this is Nancy Edwin.”

“Nancy, hello,” Mib greeted absently. She grabbed her purse, needing a cigarette to help her deal with this situation. “This is Mib Albright.”

“Miss Albright! Jones Aimes’ manager, right?” Nancy asked. “Did you receive your copy of the book all right?”

“I got it Thursday, and today I sat down to read it.” There they were! Mib lit the cigarette and took a long drag from it.

“Really?” Nancy made no qualm to hide the eagerness in her voice. “Did you like it? I think beside Aimes’ next album, the sales for both our book and your CD will skyrocket.”

“I had thought of that,” Mib admitted. Another drag. “I like the book very much, Nancy, I have to admit.”

“I knew you would,” Nancy said smugly. “It’s a good piece, isn’t it? Do you think Jones Aimes will appreciate it?”

“That doesn’t matter because he’s not the one in charge,” Mib said.

“He’s not going to read it? We were hoping he could release a quote for us to put on the cover.”

“I will release it for him.” Mib winced as she realized she came off as a greedy, controlling manager who barely let her client breathe. Thirty five or so years of being Jones’ manager, and she knew what he wanted; Mib didn’t need to check with him when things were this . . . weird. “I’ll get that to ya in a week or two. That all right?”

“That’s fine. Perfect, even. I’d like to schedule an appointment between you, me, and the record company if need be. I’d like to get everything sorted out for the release date and all that.”

“Jones is still working on the album,” Mib said contemplatively. “We were expecting the release date to be ’bout six months away, possibly another year.”

“We’d rather wait for the CD than publish this novella by itself. If word of it got out, I think it would sell well, but we need something to break the ice since Boone is a new author.”

“That’s all very nice,” Mib said, getting impatient with the conversation. “We can discuss it during our interview. I want to know more ‘bout the author.”

“Christina Boone?” Nancy paused for a moment. “She’s twenty-seven and virtually unknown. I think she works at a record store or something. Sweet, sweet little girl. Gets embarrassed easily and seems very pure-hearted.”

“Mm-hmm. And what inspired this novel? Do you know?”

“According to her friend Denny, who introduced me to the book and Christina herself, it was all in a dream she had a few years ago.”

“A dream? That’s extremely unlikely.”

“Yes. She’s a sweet girl, but I think she’s a bit caught up in the Jones Aimes scene.” Nancy laughed softly. “She thinks the dream really happened, but she tries to keep that quiet. Doesn’t want to appear too crazy in front of me, I imagine.”

“So this girl . . . thinks she’s Astra Lai?” Mib closed her eyes tightly and rubbed her temples.

“We were actually thinking of using that to our advantage. What do you think of naming it ‘My Night With Jones Aimes’ by Astra Lai? I thought it would sell more copies if people thought it was actually written by Astra Lai.” Nancy sighed. “But I suppose we’ll have to discuss that later. I’ve heard Astra Lai was a real person, so if you still have her contact information-”

“Astra Lai was a made up name,” Mib said. “Jones tried to find her, and she never turned up. It’s such an unusual name that I’ve always assumed she made it up.”

“Yes, well. What date do you think we could all get together?”

Mib made arrangements with Nancy, hung up the phone, and pulled out another cigarette. This was certainly a strange situation. The phone caught her eye, and she had the urge to call Jones.

No. She’d better not get him worked up about a silly fan who wrote a book about what she imagined happened that night. Even if this fan seemed to have impossibly been there herself.

* * * * *

Time in the next ten months passed either too slow or too fast. Deals had been made, meetings had been held, and assurances were made that her book would be a bestseller. Yet Christina’s excitement in the matter faded into annoyance at the book taking so long.

Sometimes Christina wondered if Jones would read her book, and if so what would happen? If she was honest, she wanted him to seek her out and confront her. Perhaps he’d confess an undying love for her or something of that sort.

Then Christina would laugh at herself and go on day by day.

There was no other way to live when she was on the edge of getting a book published, something she’d never dreamed of before in her life. It made her a little guilty that on her first try, without even really trying as a matter of fact, she’d gotten a deal. There were people out there who devoted their lives to writing and never caught a break.

When Nancy finally called her up to tell her they were having an opening party for her book where she would sign a few copies, Christina had been filled with relief.

“But if it’s the first day on the shelves, why would people even come to get a copy signed?” Christina had pointed out.

“Jones Aimes has a large fan base. Trust me, they’ve already heard about this novella,” Nancy had replied, amused.

Clothes never really interested Christina much, but as usual, she felt underdressed. Everyone else at the small party was wearing a suit of some kind, but Christina was in a simple skirt and sweater.

“You look fine,” Denny assured her when she recognized why Christina had winced. “I love that sweater.”

“Thanks,” Christina said even though she knew Denny was just trying to calm her. “Who all is supposed to be here? I don’t know half these people, and nobody’s said anything about signing.”

“I don’t know much, but I think Nancy said something about reporters.”

“Reporters?” Christina repeated in dread. “Why didn’t she say anything to me about reporters?”

“Probably because she knew you’d react like this. Relax, Chris. A few reporters will do nothing but give you publicity.” Denny grinned. “And don’t worry. It will be good publicity. Just so long as you don’t try to convince them your dream really happened.”

“Well, duh. I’m entirely stupid, you know.” Christina looked around. “Is anyone representing Jones Aimes going to be here? Do you think he read the book? Do you think he liked it?”

Denny sighed. “Look, I’m just here for support. The only things I know are secondhand from Nancy. But . . . honestly, Chris? I don’t think he read your book. Even if he did, don’t disillusion yourself about his reaction.”

Christina stopped looking around and stared at her feet. “I wasn’t.”

“Uh-huh,” Denny said dryly. “Oh, don’t mope. Come on - let’s go get some punch and mingle a little bit. People will want to meet the famous Christina Boone.”

“Ah, but they don’t know who Christina Boone is,” Christina pointed out. “As far as they know, my name is Astra Lai.”

“Well, Astra, would you like a crab puff?”

“I don’t quite know what a crab puff is, so I’ll decline such a generous offer.” Christina smiled slightly. “Thanks, Den.”

“For what?”

“Being here. I would be so lost without you.”

“Christina! There you are,” Nancy suddenly said, coming out of a doorway with a shorter woman trailing behind. “I want to introduce you to Aimes’ manager. She’s taken an interest in knowing you.”

Christina froze as she recognized Mib. To be honest she’d heard Nancy and some of the other editors refer to Mib a few times, but Christina hadn’t actually fathomed meeting her. Maybe . . . maybe she would recognize her. Maybe this was . . . just maybe. All Christina’s mind could think was different maybes.

“Hello.” Mib nodded curtly, and Christina searched her eyes for any recognition. “I’m Mib Albright. Nancy insists on calling me Ms. Albright, but most people call me Mib.”

“I know,” Christina said softly as she shook Mib’s hand.

“What am I saying? ‘Course ya do. You wrote the book, right?” Mib winked. “It’s a good storyline.”

“Tell me . . . “ Christina coughed slightly, choking on her words. “Exactly how accurate is my novella to the real story behind Astra Lai?”

Denny laughed as if she’d made a joke. “Oh, sorry. Chris has such an active imagination, and she’s such a big fan of Aimes’. She’s probably going to get on the internet tonight and blab to all her other Aimes friends about your answer. Don’t mind her.”

Mib arched an eyebrow at Denny, looked at Christina, and kept her mouth firm. “You ‘ad the date and the names right,” she said simply.

Christina felt her heart drop to her knees and tears spring to her eyes. “R-really?”

“It’s a good work of fiction, doll,” Mib said shortly.

When the tears threatened to spill over, Christina sucked in her breath and wished so hard for composure. “Excuse me, please,” she whispered before turned jerkily and walking out of the room.

Christina had hardly made it to the ladies room when Denny burst in after her. “What was that, Chris? You just gave that woman the impression of a teenage girl who-”

“I don’t need this right now, Denny!” Christina snapped, whirling around and glaring at her friend. “Do you know what just happened in there to me?”

Denny paused at the uncommon anger in Christina. “What?”

Christina waved her hands around as she talked. “My whole belief system - everything that I’ve . . . everything just fell out from underneath me by a few words from that woman.”

“Chris . . . you know that it didn’t really happen.”

“No, I didn’t. Denny, you were there that entire night with me. All I had was wine, right? We didn’t do any kind of wild partying?”

“No.” Denny looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Because there were traces of cocaine in my system when I went to the doctor the next day,” Christina said softly. She squeezed her eyes shut; never before had she revealed this, too afraid that they could rationalize it, her one last hope, away, too.

“Are you sure you didn’t-”

“What? Smoke something the night before?” Christina laughed hollowly. “I’m positive, Denny. There’s no fucking possible way for that drug test to have shown up positive. But it did. It did. I have the paperwork - I can show you!”

Denny reached out and grabbed a hold of Christina’s arms, flattening them to her sides to keep her from hitting the air anymore. “I don’t need the paperwork. I believe you.”

The tears already falling down Christina’s cheeks intensified. “Thank you. Oh, god. Thank you.”

“But . . . could the test have been wrong? I’m just asking because it’s possible.”

“I guess it’s possible,” Christina whispered. Denny let go of her hands, and she buried her face in them. “It probably was. Oh, god. How could I have been so stupid? That woman doesn’t recognize me - she confirmed that my book is complete and utter fiction. Maybe . . . maybe I’ve just been . . .”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for years, Chris,” Denny said kindly. “It’s nothing bad. You just had a realistic dream and went with it.”

“For three years,” Christina scoffed. “That’s bordering off pathetic into the land of padded walls and straight jackets.”

“It’s okay,” Denny said intensely. “Just calm down, reapply your makeup, and go back out there. We’ll just say that you’re nervous about this whole day - the first day your book has been published. No one will think worse of you.”

Christina shakily stumbled to the sink. “I guess . . . I guess I can do that.”

* * * * *

A few weeks later after an interview promoting his new CD, Jones rode quietly with Mib in a limo. She was on her cell phone yapping about something, and his thoughts were occupied by another comment today that he’d heard several other places in the past month.

Mib snapped something and shut her cell phone. She bestowed her kindest smile on Jones. “ ‘Ow ‘bout some Chinese food to celebrate?”

Jones raised his eyebrows. “Chinese food? Can you say cheap?”

Mib rolled her eyes. “Come on. Ya know you want some.”

“Oh, all right.” Jones smirked at her as she opened her phone again. “Order something elaborate because Eric said he might stop by later tonight.”

Mib nodded, dialed the number, and clipped out her order from memory. Jones reflected on how they ordered Chinese food quite often considering his being a famous rock star with a few billion in his bank account.

“I know ya don’t like that reporter Phil Rudy, so ignoring that, ‘ow was your interview?” Mib scanned her nails, searching for any imperfections.

“What is the big deal about this book?” Jones asked, ignoring her question. “I’ve heard about it in all of my interviews, and I think I should read it just so I can actually give them a comment when I’m asked.”

Mib’s hand twitched ever-so-slightly, and she tensed in her seat. “It wasn’t a very good book. I didn’t think ya’d want to trouble yerself with it.”

“Hmm . . . maybe not.” Jones shrugged and looked out the window. “It would be interesting though. A fan’s point of view on the history behind one of my songs. A song that means a lot to me.”

“Honestly, Jones? I don’t think ya should read it,” Mib said, looking at him with hard eyes. “I didn’t like it, and I don’t want ya moping about for weeks about Astra Lai and why she never contacted ya again. The book portrays something that never happened. That would be why it’s fiction.”

“I guess you’re right,” Jones conceded,

They traveled to Jones’ house in silence; Mib didn’t even make any calls. This was strange behavior, and Jones looked at Mib suspiciously. Something was off, but he couldn’t figure out what. Had he screwed up his interview? No, Mib would have been blunt about something like that. In fact, Mib was always blunt. To see her obviously trying to hide something was . . . well, weird.

“Mib, what’s wrong?” Jones asked after putting their coats up and following her into the dining room.

“Nothing, dear.”

“Don’t try and hide it from me,” Jones drawled, giving her a look. “I know you better than I know myself.”

“Maybe not,” Mib said jokingly, but there was a shred of truth that made Jones heart pick up a little bit.

“Seriously, Mib. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing,” she insisted. “Don’t snap at me either, or ya might just end up dead in your sleep one of these days.”

“Should never have given you a key,” Jones said softly, more to be said than anything else. He watched Mib carefully from then on out.

“Go get me a plate, will ya?” Mib kept her back to him as she pulled out the dishes. “Call Eric and tell ‘im to come over right now so we can all dine together.”

Jones nodded and went to the cordless phone sitting out on the counter. He dialed Eric’s number quickly and waited for him to answer. “Hey, Eric. You said you were going to come over tonight.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve got something to show you - something unbelievable,” Eric said.

“Why don’t you tell me over the phone?” Jones suggested, his patience already tried with Mib.

“This needs to be said in person, you know?” Eric sighed. “Uh . . . mind if I come over in an hour? I forgot that I’ve got a half hour lesson to give, and I think they’re at the door.”

“Sure. Mib ordered us Chinese, so don’t eat before you get over here,” Jones said before hanging up the phone. “Eric will be over in an hour or so.”

Mib looked up. “Oh. I ‘ave to leave soon for an appointment.”

“An appointment? At this hour?” Jones looked at the clock and shook his head. “What kind of appointment is this?”

“It’s the kind of appointment some people refer to as a date,” Mib said.

“Then why are you eating dinner with me?” Jones asked curiously as he went to the cabinets and pulled out two plates.

“Because, boy, if I eat in front of ‘im, he’ll remember that I’m an over the hill excuse of a woman who needs to lose at least twenty pounds,” Mib said patiently.

Jones laughed. “You could never be any of those things, Mib. You’re fabulous, charming, and skinny as a stick.”

“I ought to hit you ‘round the head for lying to me,” Mib said, but her smile gave away that she was secretly pleased.

Jones settled his nerves as they sat down and enjoyed dinner. Mib didn’t like appearing weak, and being nervous about a date would be a weakness in her book. That was why she’d been acting strange.

“So who is this guy you’re going out with?” Jones asked with a teasing smile.

Mib rolled her eyes as she sipped her Coke. “Nobody you know. He’s older than me, which is saying a lot, but he’s dashing. And he has money.”

“So do you,” Jones pointed out. “Quite a bit, I might add. Thanks to me, of course.” He paused to toss his head vainly, earning laughter from Mib. “Seriously, though. I get the feeling you really like him.”

Mib looked surprised. “Do ya?”

“Of course. You’ve been secretive and keep staring off in space,” Jones said, waving his hand as if it was obvious. “You can’t fool me, Mib.”

“No, I s’pose I can’t,” Mib said uneasily.

“Oh, now what’s troubling you?”

Mib stood up and wiped her lips with a napkin. “I’ve got to go to my date now. Can I use your bathroom to freshen up?”

“Why even bother asking?”

Jones watched her retreat with critical eyes. He’d really like to meet this fellow who had Mib Albright’s panties all up in a bunch.

* * * * *

About an hour and a half later Eric showed up at the door with an excited look on his face. “Hey, man.”

Jones smirked slightly. Eric, like Jones, was well past his youth, but Eric still acted like he had when they were all in their twenties. “The food’s in the dining room if you wanted to know.”

Eric sniffed the air and started towards the room. “It smells so good,” he said almost to himself.

Jones followed him and sat down across from him at the table. The food had probably grown cold sitting out on the table, but Eric didn’t seem to mind at all as he piled the empty plate with it.

“What was so exciting that you had to come over to tell me?” Jones inquired after a few moments.

Eric continued to shovel food in his mouth. He gulped noisily and smiled. “You’re going to love this. I think I found your Astra Lai.”

Jones arched an eyebrow. “Really, now?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Oh, no. Of course I believe you.” Jones held his smile in. “Where did you find her?”

“In a book,” Eric said smugly. “I was at the store waiting in line, and you know how they put little stands up to try and get you to buy things? Well, there was one with the Chicago Times Bestsellers, and I was just looking at the covers, amazed that I can still read.”

“So there is a book written about Astra Lai?” Jones asked, pretending to be surprised. He didn’t want to ruin all of Eric’s fun.

“Written by Astra Lai,” Eric clarified. “At first I was like, yeah right. But I picked up anyway because it’s short, and I hoped I would be mentioned in there somewhere.”

“Were you?”

“Yup!” Eric looked at his empty plate blankly for a second. When he realized there was more food in front of him, he started scooping it out on his plate. Jones sighed. Eric certainly still acted like their twenties - drugs and all.

“Are you sure you weren’t high?”

“I’m always high.” Eric shrugged. “Anyway, so I started flipping through it while I was waiting in line, and it was really boring.”

“Why are you telling me about this if it was boring?”

Eric stopped eating suddenly and looked like he was struggling to remember himself. “Um . . .” There was a long pause. “Oh, right! Then I got home and started reading again. Well, skimming. And then I saw my name! So I started reading for real, and . . .”

When it was clear Jones was supposed to act like he was on the edge of his seat with this story, he pretended to be annoyed. “And what, Eric? Get on with it.”

“Okay, I was extremely high that night, And . . . well, probably that entire year. Decade.” Eric paused. “Um . . . anyway. I swear to God that this book was exactly what happened that night. From what I remember, I mean.”

“Do you have the book with you?”

Eric finished the rice on his plate. “I don’t know. Do you have a fortune cookie?”

Jones sighed and went to the kitchen where the bag from the Chinese restaurant was sitting on the counter. He dug through it for the cookies he and Mib had looked over. When he found one covered in the sauce from one of the dishes, he grimaced and took it back to Eric. “Satisfied?”

“Let me read my fortune first.” Eric opened the bag, licked his fingers clean of the sauce, and then cracked the cookie in half. As he munched on one half, he read the fortune to himself, smiled, and crinkled it up on his plate. “Now. What were we discussing?”

“Do you have a copy of the book?” Jones asked, punctuating each word carefully.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. I’m not entirely brain dead, you know.” Eric reached into his jacket and pulled out a small paperback. “Here you go.”

Jones took the book and looked at it carefully. He’d, of course, heard of it before in interviews and brief comments by Mib every once in awhile . . . but he’d never actually seen it before. “My Night with Jones Aimes by Astra Lai.” Jones looked at it musingly. “What an original title.”

“Do you not want to read it? Page twenty four is when I get into the picture. That’s the best part,” Eric said teasingly.

Jones nodded vaguely and opened the book to the first page. “Dedicated to my dream,” he read aloud. “That’s very sweet.”

“Okay, now that I’ve gotten free food, I’m going to head back home. Read the book, Jones. All jokes aside . . . I think this thing is for real.” Eric took his plate in the kitchen and left with another ‘good bye’ shouted from the front walkway.

Jones stood up slowly, book in hand, and walked to the living room. Settling down comfortably on the large arm chair, he flipped the book open and began reading.

* * * * *

Mib really liked this guy . . . George something. He had taken her to a nice restaurant, and even if she hadn’t eaten anything but a salad, she had appreciated his food from across the table. George had said all kinds of nice things about her appearance, and as she pushed sixty, Mib really needed to hear these things.

That was why Mib deemed him worthy of coming up to her apartment. She’d smiled teasingly at him and offered a drink that would never happen. George took the bait and followed, making Mib feel very powerful indeed. Forty years, and she still had that magic touch.

Mib laughed as he pushed her up against a doorway. “Mmm . . . next one, George. To the left.”

“This right?” George asked, dragging her along the wall and plopping her against the doorway.

“I think so.” Mib laughed as she reached into her purse for the key. “If it isn’t, I don’t care. I never really liked any of my neighbors.” Mib triumphantly held up the key and stuck it in the lock with her back turned to it. The click of the lock opening could be heard as George kissed his way along her throat.

Mib opened the door and led him backwards into her apartment, grateful that he thought of kicking the door shut with his foot. Mib noticed the light was on in her kitchen, and she stiffened. She never forgot to turn the lights off in her home.

“I think somebody’s been here,” she whispered to George, pulling away to walk into the kitchen. Her heart, already thudding fast, about dropped to the floor when she saw Jones sitting down at the table, cigarette in hand. “Oh, thank god! Ya scared me to death, Jones.”

Jones shoved something forward on the table as George walked into the room. “J-Jones Aimes?” George asked in wonder.

“Didn’t I mention I’m his manager?” Mib asked casually.

“No, you didn’t.”

Mib shrugged and looked at what Jones had shoved across the table at her. When she recognized the cover of My Night with Jones Aimes, her heart started up again. “Oh, god.”

Jones’ eyes were cold as they regarded her. “You weren’t excited about your date tonight.”

“No,” she whispered.

“You started acting strange after I mentioned reading this novel.”

“Yes.”

“And why is that, Mib?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” she said, sitting down because she wasn’t sure her legs could hold her very much longer.

“What’s going on here?” George demanded.

“Shut up,” Jones snapped. “You can have her once I’m through. Now, Mib, could the reason that you told me not to read this book possibly be that it details in exact account the night I met Astra Lai?”

Mib bit her lip sharply to keep from bursting out. “I didn’t want you to start all that crap up again. I couldn’t risk it.”

“You’ve known about this book for how long now?”

“Almost a year.”

Jones went even more livid than he’d been before. “Mib, we’re friends, but you often remind me you’re also my manager. Which one were you when you decided not to tell me about the book?”

Mib felt some of her control coming back in the form of anger. “I don’t know! I was both. I can’t . . . look, I didn’t want you to believe it.”

“It’s true,” Jones said calmly. “I read it once at home and again waiting for you. Every word this author wrote is true.”

“It can’t be,” Mib whispered. “You-you don’t understand . . . I thought it was really her when I first read the novella last year, but I called the editor to ask more about the girl. Her name is Christina Boone, and she lives in California-”

“Thank you.” Jones stood up and started for the door.

“Wait!” Mib jumped up to go after him. She had to tell him about this girl, about her age, about the freakiness of it all. “She thinks it really was a dream. She’s crazy.”

“Mib, I have a suggestion to make.” Jones’ eyes were stonier than she’d ever seen them before in her life. “Decide whether you want to be my friend or my manager. I can’t have you be both anymore.”

Mib stopped in mid-step, his words flung at her as if he had slapped her. Jones didn’t speak another word, but left the apartment in absolute stillness. Mib stood for a few seconds, dumbfounded. Then she turned around slowly to tell George to go home.

Manager or friend? The line had always been fine enough for her to get away with both, but it seemed Jones wouldn’t allow her that anymore.