Savoy hears a soft knock on her study door. "Ms Savoy, there is a Mrs Alchina Worsfield to see you."
"Thank you Wodehouse. Please show her to the rear garden and serve us some iced-tea. I'll be down in a minute.'
"Very well madam."
Savoy rubs her eyes. 'This is going to be messy. Why can't anything ever be easy?' she thinks to herself.
The South Rubi-Ka Society had invited the celebrated, award winning author Alchina Worsfield to give an after dinner talk on her upcoming novel. The dinner itself intended to raise funds for a drug rehab centre in Omni Sewers. Somehow or other, the invite got sent to Alchina Worsfield, Omni-Manufacturing Section 34 Stocks and Assortments Deputy Manager. As luck would have it this Alchina Worsfield was also a writer, albeit a singularly untalented one. Savoy had read her manuscript in stunned silence before it occurred to her to check the senders details. Now she would have to somehow clear up the misunderstanding with Mrs Worsfield. With any luck she would see the funny side of it.
Savoy heads for the garden and locates her guest, a short, stocky middle-aged woman with silver-grey hair. 'Mrs Worsfield, thank you ever so much for coming to see me.'
'No, thank you. It's not often I get to talk about my work.'
'I can imagine.'
'You can imagine what?'
'Never mind. Mrs Worsfield, please, do take a seat.'
'So how did you like my book?' she says, getting straight to the point.
'Oh well, that's really not my department. I just mail the invites and cut the checks, you know." Savoy smiles weakly.
'Come , come now. An intelligent young lady like yourself, surely you have an opinion.'
"I all honesty Mrs Worsfield, I really am not that well read. We have board of experts to advise us on which books to promote. My personal opinions are next to worthless."
"Oh forget those academics types. They would not recognise a good book if it had wings and a halo on top. I would so much like to know, as a normal reader thought."
'If you insist."
"Oh I do."
Savoy takes a deep breath. "The manuscript you sent me is what is called a historical romance."
"Yes. I had to research the period extensively while writing it."
"The story is about King Henry VIII and his six wives."
"Yes. He was king of New England."
"Erm.. just England Mrs Worsefield."
Alchina Worsefield looks at Savoy quizzically.
"I meant he was king of England, not New England."
"Oh, well of course 30,000 years later its no longer new!" Mrs Worsefield laughs.
"I guess not. Now, about his wives, I'm no history buff, but I am pretty sure Joan of Arc was not one them."
"I know, but you have to embellish things a bit sometimes. Joan of Arc was was close enough."
"Neither were Eleanor Roosevelt or Madonna. And as for Wonder Woman, I really think she was a fictional character."
"Are you sure about Wonder Woman? Sometimes these old Pre-Omega texts can be difficult to interpret."
Savoy nods. "Pretty sure."
"Well I'll be damned. She makes such a believable character. Still," Alchina adds, her face brightening up, "It is a historical romance, not a biography, right?"
"A historical romance, yes. At least that's what I thought too, until chapter four."
"What about chapter four?" Mrs Worsfield asks defensively.
"You seem to have put the whole Henry VIII story to rest by chapter three. The following eighteen chapters seem to be, how can I put this, all about your dog, Foozles.'
"And a fine dog she is too."
"I am sure she is Mrs Worsefield. I am sure she is a great dog. What I am trying to say is, if all you wanted to write was write a book about your dog, why not just concentrate on that and skip this flimsy historical romance bit?"
Mr Worsfield frowns. "It just doesn't work that way." she says, an edge of frustration entering her voice.
"Maybe not. But this is all besides the point. Mrs Worsfield I am afraid I have some bad news for you. There is no easy way to say this, so I'll just come clean. The invite I send you was really directed to another person."
" Oh, who would that be.'"
"Alchina Worsfield, the author."
"That is me."
"No mean the famous author."
"Yes, me."
"The winner of the Golden Chirop for her novel 'Memories of Passion Floating down the Stret'."
"Me, me, me."
Savoy regards Worsfield with increasing exasperation.
"Why don't you check the back cover of book if you don't believe me?"
Savoy reluctantly brings up the back cover on her datapad screen and reads, 'Memories of Passion Down the Stret: a touching love story set in rural Upper Stret intermixed with the authors musings about her dog, Foozles.' She looks at the picture on the book cover, then back at Mrs Worsefield, then back at the picture.
With a quick gesture Savoy closes her datapad and puts it away and clears her throat. "So Mrs Worsfield, what day would be convenient for you to comve over and discuss you upcoming novel with us?"
- AO webcomics for the sake of being silly
