Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
He gulped his coffee.
“I wanted to be an artist. Stupid, right?” He rolled his eyes at himself. “Eventually, he talked me into illustrating this story he was writing for a class. I don’t know, I think I was drunk. But it was...good. I’ve never been any good at writing or coming up with ideas. Not that smart, I guess.”
Simon glanced up in time to see hurt burning in Jack’s eyes and wondered who’d convinced him of those things. Jack ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed.
Mayonnaise jumped soundlessly from the counter to the table and insinuated herself on Jack’s lap. He stroked between her ears and let her make biscuits on his thighs. Then he pressed between her shoulder blades and she curled up contentedly.
“It just worked with Davis,” Jack went on. “He had the ideas and I just made them happen. At first we wanted to do a whole comic book thing, but then his sister had a baby and he wrote this little story for the kid. I illustrated it and his sister went nuts over it. So Davis decided we should try and publish one for real. I didn’t think anyone would want something I drew. Hell, what did I know about kids’ books? Books at all, really. Or kids. But Davis... When Davis decides on something it always happens for him.”
The sentiment was so like what Simon had assumed about Jack.
“After we graduated he moved to New York. It’s where his sisters live and they encouraged him to come. Before I knew it, he’d made all these editor contacts—I don’t know where. He was always good at meeting people and I didn’t want anything to do with that part of it. But it was cool. It was...ah, fuck, it was magical. The book sold and we did another one right after. I couldn’t believe I got to draw shit for a living. It was...perfect. But Davis—I dunno, it was like he was never satisfied. Anything good that happened he just wanted something better next time. He got an agent and wanted more money, he wanted to win all the awards, sell more books, I don’t even know what all else.”
Jack shook his head and gestured at the humble kitchen around them.
“I don’t need much. Never have. This place was my parents’. I just winterized it. Davis still lives in New York and his sisters, all three of them are...” Jack gestured unreadably. “You know, what’s the word. They like expensive stuff. Davis wants to be like that. Fancy. I dunno.”
Materialistic, Simon offered inside his head.
Jack trailed off and looked right at Simon.
“Is this boring? Is this too much? You said tell you everything, but...” He shrugged.
A smile tugged at the corners of Simon’s mouth and he shook his head and gestured for Jack to go on.
“’Kay. Anyway, it was fine with me if that’s what he wanted. I had what I wanted, so. But, uh.”
Jack’s low voice went softer.
“I had this...idea. For a story. Kind of about me and my brother, but different. I dunno. It felt like something that I could write myself in addition to drawing. It wasn’t gonna be instead of stuff with Davis. I just wanted to try. When I told him about it he didn’t say much. He didn’t seem upset or anything. Mostly I thought he wasn’t very interested because it didn’t involve him. He’s kinda...he likes to be the center of attention. But then...”
Jack made to stand up in the move of a habitual pacer, but he’d clearly forgotten both his broken leg and the cat on his lap because he ended up grabbing Mayonnaise as she leapt onto the table and sprawling back onto the chair, wincing, the wood groaning beneath him.
“Fuuuuck.”
Simon reached out a hand to steady him, palm skimming soft sweatshirt and hard muscle beneath.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched someone who wasn’t Grandma Jean.
“Y’okay?” Simon got out.
“Yeah. Goddamn it.”
He slammed a fist down on the table, face a mask of frustration, then put out a hand to soothe Mayonnaise when she bristled. She rubbed her cheeks against his fist and he let her nibble at his fingers and then flop down on her back, batting at his hand.
“Anyway. Two months or so after I told Davis about the project I get this email from him saying he sold it. I thought maybe he meant he sold it for me? He’s in New York and I’m here, and I know he goes out for drinks with our editors sometimes. I thought it was weird but I was excited. It felt like a chance to really do something of my own.”
Jack cracked his knuckles.
“But he didn’t sell it for me. He pitched it as his own idea. The publisher loved it.”
Simon sensed what was coming next and bit his lip, hoping he was wrong.