Page 7 of A Bookish Story

“Mr. Brady?” I prompt and he looks up at me. “Your phone? Should I? Should I get it?”

He hasn’t assigned me telephone duties and we let the house phone go to voicemail whenever it rings. It’s never anyone important on the landline since this is his mentor’s house and everyone knows he’s on sabbatical. A few days ago, he called Ryan on his cell and I could hear him laughing and then more quietly, “Yeah. Working out fine.” And then also, “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Now Ryan picks up his cell, gives it a glance, and stands. “Great. It’s my agent. I have to take this.”

Okay, okay. I get it, Mr. Big Shot. You have an agent.

He leaves the room but you’d think he wouldn’t be so loud if he wants privacy. I hear every word he’s saying.

A few minutes later he’s increasingly frustrated. “Are you kidding me? I thought we had more time. But…what are we going to do about this? Look, I don’t need this. Honestly, the advance was more than enough. It was all I wanted. Yes, yes, it’s good but also very very bad.”

Seriously, there’s no point to leaving the room if I can still hear him. He isn’t exactly disguising his frustration, but that’s Mr. Brady for you. He can be grumpy and not just when he’s interrupted. On the first day of work, I’d gotten his coffee order wrong, and he sulked all morning. I proudly stood my ground and refused to offer to go back and get the right drink because the coffee delivery was a perk and my way of being nice. Did he still drink it? Why, yes, he did, a scowl on his face the entire time.

“I understand, but…you said I could…then why did you say that? Damn it, this is getting out of control. Remember, none of this was my idea!” This he pretty much shouts, which is unusual enough that I startle.

“I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth this!”

He has my curiosity more than piqued. Something wrong with the book? The contract? I don’t know much about the inside of the published author world but have heard a few things here and there through the querying author grapevine. I know all too well deals can fall apart.

“Not sure why you’re asking me, then, if you’re not going to listen. Do what you have to do!” He storms back into the room and has apparently forgotten I’m here given by the way he does a double take when he sees me. “Sorry, bad day. You can go home early.”

It’s Friday, so I’m not going to argue. My cousin Sofia is coming over later for girl talk and mostly to make her infamous mojitos. She’s been trying for months to get me to go out but I can’t afford fun right now.

“Bad news?” I ask while gathering my laptop and papers, slipping them inside the satchel.

He’s obviously already checked out, staring out the window as if it’s an abyss, his hands steepled. I think he likes to see himself as this tragic creature, forced to live in this modern age where people like to talk to each other and share information via the black magic of technology.

I cough, so he remembers I’m standing here.

“Good and bad,” he says, stands and walks me to the door. “But mostly bad.”

It’s a good thing he doesn’t write the way he talks.

“Well, I’m sorry for the bad but happy about the good.”

Two can play this game.

I leave wondering if there’s anyone he can call later for moral support. There’s no ring on his finger and no photos he brought with him. I’ve snooped a little, so I’ve seen some of the mail he brought. Stuff like bills and such. He charges way too much coffee to his Amex card and apparently gives generously to a literary foundation.

The truth is I know very little about the man and beyond the work I do for him, he’s none of my concern.

All in all, the block is working.

CHAPTER 3

The next morning, I have a headache the size of Texas, if Texas multiplied itself overnight times one hundred. My mouth doesn’t feel like it’s filled with cotton, it smells and feels like the place where cotton goes to die.

Last night, Sofia and I may have overdone it with the mojitos. We found a bottle of Absolut Vodka Chris left behind and I felt zero guilt cracking it open.

I let Sofia make her mojitos with his precious vodka, and what was left of it went down the drain.

All those lowered inhibitions reminded me of a couple of things:

I was practically left at the altar!

I have a second job, which might get me out of the shed faster, but I’m still no closer to my dream.

My current life is horrible. I mean, I haven’t asked the universe for much. A place of my own, someone to love. Satisfying work that means something.