Shadows And Charades

The actress burst through the door like a firework explosion and announced that the title of her new book was to be “Shadows and Charades”. With that she sat down in the chair opposite her long suffering editor, glanced at her watch, and at herself at the same time and waitied for his reaction.
Michael Nye sighed deeply and looked up at the 33 year old woman. He conceded that she did have some acting ability and a screen presence that wasn't all due to her measurements. But as a writer she had absolutely no talent and everytime she flounced in with her next offering, the editor sank deeper and deeper into depression.
He had only taken her on because he owed her agent a favour and whilst he had manged to shelve two of her endeavours – the one he had been forced to publish, had been ridiculed by most readers and trashed by every critic. It would take more than her name alone to make best sellers of her scribblings. So it was with a heavy heart that he took the manuscript form her manicured hands and put it carefully down on his desk.
Every story line she ever wrote was about her. A beautiful actress come detective whom everyone loved. Who never did a thing wrong and who was as one dimensional, vain and boring as it was possible to be. A cross between Miss Marple, Mother Thersa and the Virgin Mary
The actress was actually called Jemima Summerbee but she wrote like Jemima Puddleduck and that was on a good day. Michael had to edit out “You know what I mean” at least fifty times in each chapter. Twenty "Not a lot of people know that” had to go and every time the bad guys opened their mouths expletives rained down like a monsoon. She couldn't even spell them properly fuckk, sheet and krap littered the pages. Alll in all the books were a total disaster. They had absoutely no redeeming features and they drained him of the will to live.
He suddenly realised that Jemima was talking to him.
“This new book is about me” she said twitching the bracelets on her wrist. And for once noticing the editors sinking shoulders and glazed eyes.
“No” she said with some force
“The real me. The one I have never told anyone about. I know you will be shocked but please read it” and with that she picked up her clutch bag and left. Looking back at him with a sadness in her eyes that he had never seen before.
He was shocked. She had used the word please. Was she ill? Stoically, he resigned himself to a morning of drivel knowing she would be on the phone in half an hour demanding to know what he thought of her latest creation. He reached for his thesauarus knowing he would need it again to help him come up with some clever words that made ' it's rubbish' sound interesting, encouraging and positive.
She didn't ring. And he didn't stop reading until gone lunchtime. When he finally put the manuscript down he was exhausted.The journey she had taken him on had moved him beyond tears and filled every part of his cynical old body with emotion after emotion. He took off his glasses and put his head in his hands.
'Shadows and Charades' would top the best selling list. There was absolutey no doubting it. The tragedy that unfolded in the three hundred pages she had typed would leave no one untouched. No one would look at her in the same way ever again. His mind span. There would be a film, an oscar even. Literary prizes too.
Not for Jemima though. Or Stella as she was really called. She would go to prison for the murder of her alcoholic mother fourteen years ago. And her father would finally be released.