“See!” Jack piped up. “Monica here says that she would never buy a book about teenaged vampires. I rest my case.”
Duncan’s shoulders slumped in defeat and he went back to drowning in his Sam Adams.
“It’s okay, Dunc. Maybe you could try a different kind of vampire. Like one that sparkles in the sun instead of turns to ashes,” I spitballed, “and his glow is what makes him irresistible to women.”
He cocked his head to the side and puckered his mouth. “That’s dumb.”
“I’m just getting your creative juices flowing!” I laughed, and the rest of the table joined me—all except for Jack, who was still speaking to Monica. She and her friend looked bothered by his interruption, but I hoped that within a minute or two Jack would get the hint.
The server came around and we all ordered another round. Unfortunately, Jack had turned his chair to face the ladies, and had all but invited himself to sit at their table.
I shook my head. “Jack! Leave them alone. Can’t you see they aren’t interested?”
The one with straight, dark red hair giggled, and Monica turned around to face me. “Is this yours? Because you need to put him on a leash.”
I laughed, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “He bites. Be careful.”
The one with the straight auburn hair laughed again, something with which I wasn’t familiar. Most of my one-liners that led to lucky nights had all been theories tested and proven; women had rarely found the real me charming. But I’d say I had the perfect mix of cynicism and wit. Then again, those two character traits weren’t
exactly what most women in real life found titillating. Only heroines in novels—or bookworms—seemed to fall for it. Then again, chicks in novels are usually written to be an ideal of some kind.
I hadn’t really figured out what I would’ve defined as my ideal. My life hadn’t exactly aligned with the stars in the romance department. When you’re a writer, you don’t have much time for anything else. I’d killed four plants in the last four years; all of them met a watery and tragic end.
It’s no wonder relationships weren’t exactly a priority for me. I had enough swarming in my head with my fictional characters to be bothered.
We drank all night, none of us concerned with our inevitable hangovers the next day. And we listened to Jack brag most of the time, until Martin passed out on top of the table and Duncan started reciting Bible verses.
The ladies at the table next to us had left an hour earlier, and Jack and I were the only two men awake and coherent, besides the bartender.
“I’m telling you, Mike,” Jack slurred, “this is the beginning for me. My world is a blank canvas, and people are going to remember the name Jackson Moorhouse.”
I chuckled, my eyes fighting to stay open. “So you say, Jack. So you say.”
“You gotta admit, I’m better than all you guys. Duncan is, and always will be, nothing. And if Martin gets a pub deal, I’m going to throw in the towel and resign. God knows what’s become of the industry if anyone signs him.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I laughed. “You really need to reel in your ego, man. It’s getting out of control.”
“Nothing wrong with having a healthy self-esteem.” He shrugged, downing the last of his beer.
“You’re way beyond self-esteem. You are the perfect definition of self-admiration. Amour-propre, my friend. Your wakeup call is going to be brutal.”
“And what? You think Michael Rourke is going to offer anything to the literary gods? Give me a break. From what I can tell, you have nothing to offer but the size of your dick. Your talent is hallucinatory at best. Defunct. Illusory. Void.”
“Okay. You can put away your thesaurus now, jackass. Not to mention how disturbing it is to know you’ve gauged the size of my dick. Spending a little too much time in the dorm showers again, hmm?” I cringed and continued. “You and I both know that you don’t have what it takes, and that your self-love and misplaced vanity is nothing but your own subconscious reassurance that you’re not going to fail.” I took a breath, and dipped my chin to lower my voice. “And if I ever hear you talk that way about me or these fine gentlemen ever again, you’re going down, Jack. Understood?”
He rolled his eyes. “You think you have what it takes to make it in this industry?”
“I’m hopeful, yeah.” I nodded, not sure where he was going with his train of thought.
“You think you can write any character imaginable? You think you can get inside the mind of anyone and write their point of view?”
“Sure.” I leaned back on my chair, running my hand through my hair. “If you can do it, I can do it.”
He shook his head. “All right. State your terms. You have the weekend to convince me—and everyone at this convention—that you’re someone else. Choose your character wisely. And if you succeed, not only will I give your name to my agent, but I’ll also put in a good word at my internship for you here in Seattle. I hear they’re still interviewing for the copy editing job.”
I cocked my head to the side. “You’d do that? You’d put your rep on the line for a nobody like me? What would be in it for you?” I asked skeptically.
“Nothing, really. But I don’t expect you to win.”