Some of It Was Real - Softcover

Fischer, Nan

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593438698 ISBN 13: 9780593438695

Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

"Fresh, surprising, and compulsively readable."--New York Times bestselling author Andrea Bartz

A psychic on the verge of stardom who isn’t sure she believes in herself and a cynical journalist with one last chance at redemption are brought together by secrets from the past that also threaten to tear them apart.

Psychic-medium Sylvie Young starts every show with her origin story, telling the audience how she discovered her abilities. But she leaves out a lot—the plane crash that killed her parents, an estranged adoptive family who tend orchards in rainy Oregon, panic attacks, and the fact that her agent insists she research some clients to ensure success.

After a catastrophic reporting error, Thomas Holmes’s next story at the L.A. Times may be his last, but he’s got a great personal pitch. “Grief vampires” like Sylvie who prey upon the loved ones of the deceased have bankrupted his mother. He’s dead set on using his last-chance article to expose Sylvie as a conniving fraud and resurrect his career.

When Sylvie and Thomas collide, a game of cat and mouse ensues, but the secrets they’re keeping from each other are nothing compared to the mysteries and lies they unearth about Sylvie’s past. Searching for the truth might destroy them both—but it’s the only way to find out what’s real.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Nan Fischer is a two-time Oregon Book Award finalist for her novels, When Elephants Fly and The Speed of Falling Objects. Additional author credits include co- authored sport autobiographies for elite athletes, and a Star Wars trilogy for LucasFilm. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and their Vizsla, Boone.
 

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

One

 

Sylvie

 

The outfit is the easy part. It was chosen by a style consultant hired by my agent to create an image. I slip on a sleeveless black silk jumpsuit with crystals along the edge of a plunging neckline, fasten strappy heels and diamond hoop earrings, and slide a platinum ring whose sapphire stones form an infinity symbol on my index finger. On cue, my stomach cramps and I rush into the bathroom, grip the cold porcelain, and lose a late lunch. Moose whimpers then rests his blocky head on my shoulder. He's a 145-pound Great Dane, but despite his size, he's a big baby. "I'm good. Promise."

 

A kiss between Moose's eyes; swish of mouthwash then I return to the mirror, sweep my dark brown hair into a glossy chignon. On goes a light coat of foundation, blush, eye shadow, dark gray liner, false lashes, and red lipstick. One final look confirms everything is in place. I swivel my chair and rifle through last-minute reminders. When the phone rings, there's no need to check caller ID. My agent always calls before a show. "Hey, Lucas."

 

Lucas crows, "We have a deal!"

 

The news shoves me back in the chair.

 

"Sylvie? Why aren't you jumping up and down and screaming? We've been working toward this for years."

 

"Are you jumping up and down?"

 

"I might've shot a fist in the air when Jackson phoned to say we had the green light. Syl, it's a guaranteed ten episodes, more money than we'd hoped for, bonuses, and if we get the numbers, which I'm sure you will, we can push E! for a two-year run. This is huge."

 

"I don't know if-"

 

"I do-that's why we make a great team."

 

While we talk, I wander around the dressing room, past a long mirror, a chipped wooden table and mismatched chairs, and a dusty shelf with a drip coffee machine that looks like it belongs in a 1950s diner. My rider-a set of requests fulfilled by each venue-is pretty basic. I ask for a well-lit mirror, a private bathroom, a few bottles of water, and lots of coffee, but don't demand anything fancy, like an espresso machine.

 

"Sylvie?"

 

"Connections don't always happen. You know that."

 

"Then you build a bridge."

 

"When I started-"

 

"Syl, what you do? It's incredible. You make people feel better. There's no harm either way. I've told you that since the day we

met. You're one of the good guys."

 

I rest my forehead against the cool wall to quell a nervous heat. "I'm not consistently filling theaters at the shows."

 

"Your numbers have been climbing fast."

 

"I've never been on TV."

 

"I negotiated approval for each episode."

 

"Who will I read?"

 

"A mix of celebrities and regular people. Sylvie, if you don't take this opportunity, someone else will. That's just the way things work in this business."

 

I run through my options. No family support. No real friends. No college education. And this fits. At first it was about survival, money, so I never had to go back home. But over the past few years, I've realized that this is the only thing that gives me some semblance of peace. "I'm in."

 

"Of course you are. It'll take a week for the lawyers to comb through the contract. When it's signed, we'll announce in Variety, Page Six, too. Sylvie?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"I believe in you."

 

The first time he said that was my third show after I moved to LA-just a basement club in Venice, but Lucas made sure it was packed and that a few small entertainment papers were there. I was on fire, hit after hit. Finally, I felt like I might be in the right place. After the show, he drove me back to the studio apartment in West Hollywood he'd rented for me. He turned off the engine and said, I believe in you. Then he added, I'm going to make you a star.

 

"You still there?" Lucas asks.

 

Moose leans against my leg and stares up at me. "Is Moose part of the TV show?"

 

"He even has his own contract."

 

I kiss the crown of Moose's head and his tail thumps. My first therapist was the one who suggested I get a dog. The young woman who took me around the shelter walked right past Moose, like he was invisible. He ran forward, put a massive paw on the chain links. I pressed my hand to his pads, can still recall their warmth. We chose each other that day. I kept Moose but let that therapist go. Lucas said I could hire a new therapist if needed. Even in the early days, he was aimed at the stars. Celebrities can be ruined by all kinds of past relationships and unethical practitioners. Lucas was determined to keep skeletons out of my closet. He also quickly understood that I didn't want to dissect a past that left me feeling like a disappointment.

 

Now Lucas is right again-a TV show is the next step. It doesn't matter how I fell into this profession. Before, I always felt like my shoes were on the wrong feet. This fits, despite my fears. And the bottom line is that what I do helps people.

 

There's a knock. "It's time," a muffled voice says.

 

I grab a black marker and slip it into my pocket. "Gotta go."

 

Moose mouths the enormous, stuffed fuzzy bone he loves and carries it out of the room. On the walk from the dressing room to the wings of any stage, I go through the guided imagery the last therapist I quit designed. It helps me overcome the anxiety that began when I first started going onstage and became crippling as my success grew. Today an image slips through the carefully constructed peace . . .

 

Pale sand beneath my feet, a blue-green ocean, foam nibbling at my bare toes. Behind me, a castle-ornate turrets dotted with pale pink shells, a drawbridge made from delicately curved driftwood, beneath it, a moat where tiny paper boats rock in the breeze. A wave gathers on the horizon. It grows taller and white horses gallop across its face. When the wall of salt water strikes, the castle will be destroyed and with it a treasure, something precious . . .

 

The vision disintegrates. Ghostly lips brush my cheek. I know what's coming next. A whisper I've heard intermittently my entire life. When I tip my head, the unintelligible slides away. I crunch an antacid to quell my burning gut then wait for the cue to step onstage and begin my show . . .

 

Two

 

Sylvie

 

Music flows through the theater's surround sound-a symphony of instruments that slowly builds. An intricate dance of multicolored laser lights traverses the empty stage then dry-ice vapor rolls across wooden boards and spotlights turn curls of smoke violet, azure, and emerald. The smoke dissipates, frenetic lights slow their search; the symphony strikes its crescendo. I walk to the center of the stage just as the last notes fade away, wait for the applause to thin and people to take their seats.

 

One hand on my dog's sleek, black head, I start. "Thank you for coming. I'm Sylvie Young and this handsome guy beside me is Moose. I get a bit nervous before each show and he helps with that, so I hope you don't mind him being here?" There are murmurs of encouragement. "Every psychic has an origin story that reveals when and how we first recognized our abilities. That might be when we predicted a grandparent's passing, delivered a message to the living only the dead could possibly know, or found a lost object, pet, or child. We must then choose whether or not to use our gift." My eyes scan the theater. Almost every seat is taken. "I never planned to be a psychic or stand on a...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Penguin Publishing Group
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2022
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593438698
• ISBN 13: 9780593438695
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 352
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Buchbär; info@buchbaer.de; ; Weberstr. 67; Osnabrück; 49084; Deutschland