I never miss my deadline. Unless I’m in a funk. “I’ll get it done.” But I’ve been in this funk for months.
“That’s what you said last time.” Rob knows what it does to me. He’s helped me through it before.
“I will get it done.”
He strides towards me. “Damn straight you will. I’ve made arrangements.”
I sit up slowly. He said something about Chicago. No way am I leaving my house, especially to go there of all places. “I’ll get it done,” I insist. I don’t want to hear what he has to say.
He nods. “You will. In Chicago.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Hell, no.”
Rob scratches his eyebrow. “James Garvey approached me. Wants me to represent him.”
“And?” I clench my teeth and wonder why the guy needs a new agent. I can’t stop another author wanting Rob to represent them. But James Garvey hates me too. Considers me to be an upstart. That’s because he’s in his sixties, and I’ve just turned forty-one. He and I often compete for the number one slot on the New York Times Bestseller list.
“I’m just letting you know. Say what you want about him, but the guy is prolific He’s written three books this year, and he had a heart attack two years ago. He managed it somehow.”
I clap my hands together mockingly. “Let’s hear it for James Garvey.”
Rob looks at me, and his eyes trail down me from top to toe. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up with a heart attack. Maybe even a stroke. Sitting down all day isn’t good for you.”
“I used to take care of myself.” I used to be good. Good diet, I hardly touch drink, and I’d work out regularly. That was until my mom fell ill and summoned me to her deathbed. I went running, like a fool.
“Then what’s gone and happened to you again?” He looks genuinely concerned.
I don’t want to talk about it. “If you want to represent Garvey that’s your call.”
“I don’t want to represent too many authors. Sally wants me to slow down and take it easy. We want to vacation more and spend more time with the grandchildren.” He makes me feel as if I’m too much trouble. “I don’t want you to die on me, Ward. Hearing about Garvey’s health scare, and seeing you,” he jerks his chin at me, immediately making me feel self-conscious. “it worries me. I’ve made a decision.”
I lift an eyebrow and brace myself because it involves Chicago. He knows I hate that city. I’m surprised that he’s suggested it.
“You need to get back on track, Ward. This writer’s block you’ve been fighting has gone on too long. You look out of shape and you sound unmotivated. Freya says you wander around the house all day—”
“You grilled my housekeeper?”
“I can’t rely on you to give me all the facts.”
I manage to stare at him without blinking. It’s frightening how well he knows me.
Freya has been with me for years. The stern but efficient housekeeper is the only person I see on a daily basis. She has the key to the house, and is there by the time I wake up, right through until the evening, when she has my evening meal ready.
Sometimes she brings her ten year old grandson along with her. I’m worried she’s going to leave me. I don’t want to think about replacing her. She’s irreplaceable. She doesn’t talk much, I barely notice when she’s around because she hardly makes a sound. She makes my meals, takes care of my laundry, and cleans all the rooms slowly, one room at a time. I don’t want a cleaning company. I don’t want a live in cook, cleaner or housekeeper. I want my mansion to myself.
“You need to get your act together and finish the book on time, and you need to get into shape for the book tours and interviews, and don’t forget the film premiere.”
I groan loudly because that stuff makes me want to retch. The first two books in this trilogy sold millions of copies worldwide. Both are getting made into films. I should be ecstatic, but I’m not. The publicity, the idea of having to meet other people and pretend to like their company, makes me come out in hives.
“Are you stuck on the plot?”
I’m stuck, but it’s not the book. It was facing my mother on her deathbed that did it. She pined for the monster she had married. The man I was supposed to call my dad, but I never did. The man who punished me for it. “You don’t need to babysit me, Rob. I’ll get over it. I just can’t function the way I need to at the moment but I will. I promise you I will.”
“Has your magic pen stopped working?” he asks.
“My magic pen is safe and sound.” I write everything longhand with my MontBlanc. Notes, first thoughts, basic ideas, the first rough, rough, rough draft. It’s all done on paper first.
“I can’t lift you all the time, Ward. It’s exhausting, so you’re either going to do what I say, or …”
“Or what?”
“There is no other alternative.”
I swipe my hand over my face in exasperation. “You want me to go to Chicago to finish the book there?”
“You’ve always said your past defined you. Maybe go back and face your demons.”
He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. What makes a child grow up and want to write horror. A stepfather who locked him up in the dark. That’s what. But that didn’t hurt as much as watching the mother I doted on, who doted on me, change into someone I barely recognized the moment she met him. “Chicago is the last place on earth I want to visit.’”
“I’ve rented you a house, nothing as beautiful as this, but I’ve tried to find you something to your standard. All paid for by you, of course.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
“You have bad memories of your time there. You’re stuck and, given what’s happened, maybe you need to go back to the source of your pain.”
“You think, huh?” I pick up the bag of crisps from the floor and stick my hand into it.
“And there will be no more of that.” Rob nods at my chip packet, then picks up and shakes each of the four empty Coke cans that are lying on the coffee table. “I’ve got you a personal trainer and I’m still looking into getting you a—”
“A what?”
“A personal trainer, and I’m still looking into getting you a housekeeper.”
I draw in a slow and steady breath. “I don’t need people. I’m a fucking writer.”
“Then write, for goodness sake, write.”
“I’ll take Freya,” I throw back. The only problem is that she’d have to live with me, and I don’t want anyone living with me. In fact, the best part of having Freya as my housekeeper is that she goes home every day.
“I’ve already asked her and she doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to leave New Orleans.”
The wily little fox. Rob’s been making plans behind my back. “I don’t need a personal trainer.”
“You’ve turned into a sloth. You’re out of shape. Your face is puffy. When did you last shave?”
I raise a hand to my beard. It’s thick and prickly but there is no need for me to shave. Or get a haircut.