Free Based on a True Story by Elizabeth Renzetti

trousers aflame, plummeting from a great height. Augusta closed the bookstore’s page and typed in a new address. A lurid web page sprang up, flame-orange and hope-pink, and she squinted against the glow. “Are You in a Love Rut? Stuck with a Love Rat? Mr. Romance Can Help You Through!” Happy couples, glued together like conjoined twins, offered testimonials to Mr. Romance’s prowess in matchmaking, but nowhere on the web site was there a picture of the man himself. Because then people would see that he was a fat bastard with lying crocodile eyes.
    Under the section labelled Upcoming, there was a note about the date of Mr. Romance’s next radio show. Below that was a promise — or a threat — that Mr. Romance’s self-help manual for overcoming heartbreak would be in stores soon. A pain pierced her chest as she saw the title of the book: The Heart Is an Egg (It Can Be Broken, But Never Beaten). Underneath, it read: “Drawing on painful personal experience as well as years as relationship counsellor, the author will explore the ways that lies and self-deception can curdle even the strongest bonds.” There was no more information forthcoming. Whatever that fucker was writing about her, it was, for the moment, sealed in his brain’s soft yolk.
    Drawing on painful personal experience. He was sitting in Los Angeles at that moment, redrawing their past. His lies would become her truth. She moved the cursor over the little tab that said “Contact.” Perhaps she should send him another email. He was too pig-headed to have absorbed the threat in the first one.
    She sat back, letting the rage buoy her. It would not stand. From down the hall, she heard one of her neighbours’ doors opening. The first human sound she’d heard all day. She could die in here, and no one would know. Only Alma, who might be dead herself any day.
    With a sudden start, Augusta reached for the bin by the desk and started to rifle through it. There was a mountain of detritus inside, most of it paper: a flyer from the local Italian advertising its latest abomination, curry pizza. A handout from the council explaining recycling protocols. And bills, God, so many bills, all of them still sealed in their envelopes. Frantic now, she dug deeper. Apple core (when had she bought apples?). A dead mouse, or something like it. No bottles; those she carefully placed in the communal bin downstairs.
    Finally, near the bottom, her fingers found a bit of thick paper. She had been impressed by the rich, pebbled stock when the letter arrived. It had landed with the rest of the post, and when she saw that the return address was Los Angeles, her heart had thumped madly. But once she’d glanced at the contents and realized it wasn’t from Charlie, she’d chucked it out with the other rubbish.
    Now she carefully wiped a bit of ash off one corner and sat back with the letter in her hands.
    Dear Ms. Price,
    Please let me introduce myself. I’m Tyson Benn, the Talent Liaison Manager for Fantasmagoria™, which you might know is the Largest Fan-Based Multi-Media Entertainment Gathering™ in the Los Angeles area (Orange County excluded).
    I am currently organizing the schedule for this year’s event, and I would like to extend an invitation to you to appear in our panel discussion, “Type-A Personalities: The Evolution of the Vampire Medical Drama.”
    Your iconic role as Dr. Helen Mount in The Blood Bank would make you an ideal participant on this panel, and we are hoping you might consider our offer to visit Los Angeles and meet some of your most devoted fans at the 12th annual Fantasmagoria™. Of course we would like to extend our hospitality, and would provide all flights, transfers, accommodation, and a per diem to be used at your discretion.
    Please do let me know at your earliest convenience if this might be of interest, and I can provide you with further details.
    With warmest (Type O) regards,
    Tyson Benn

eleven
    Mr. Romance leaned over a low white wall on