“Maybe.”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe that explains why you downplay them. On the other hand, you might be trying to throw me off track.”
Roark shook his head in bafflement. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Forget it.”
“Like hell I will. First you accused me of lying and then you provided me with a shitty motivation for it. I take exception to both.”
“And I take exception to your thinking you’re a better writer than me.”
“Than I,” Roark corrected.
“Fuck you!” Todd surged to his feet, but the earth tilted drastically and threw him off balance. He landed back in the sand.
Roark grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him around. “Why would I deliberately mislead you about Hadley’s critiques?”
Todd flung his hands up and threw Roark’s off. “To get the jump on me. You can’t stand the idea of me getting—of my getting—published before you.”
“Oh, like you’d be thrilled if I sold a manuscript ahead of you.”
“I’d rather have my guts ripped out up through my throat.”
For several moments the narrow distance between them was volatile, teeming with molecules of hostility ready to spark. Todd made his hands into fists in anticipation of an attack.
To his surprise, Roark started to laugh. “You’d rather have your guts ripped out up through your throat?”
Todd tried not to smile, but he lost the battle and soon he was laughing, too. “In the heat of the moment, not to mention my inebriation, that’s all I could think of to say.”
“I don’t recommend it for your book.”
“Point taken.”
They stared at the oceanscape for several minutes, then Roark said, “I’m done for the night. Think we can make it to the car?”
Todd took satisfaction in Roark’s being the first to cave. “Fuck, man, I don’t know. I’m wasted.”
Roark threw his arm across Todd’s shoulders and helped him to his feet. They made it to the parking lot, although it took a while because they stumbled often and stopped frequently. Their drunken efforts made them weak-kneed with hilarity. Neither was in any condition to drive, but Roark got behind the wheel because he was slightly less drunk than Todd.
It was past noon the following day, as they medicated their hangovers with burgers and fries, that Todd resumed the conversation. “You know, a little rivalry could be good for us.”
Roark groaned. “Don’t start that again. I don’t consider you a rival, Todd.”
“Bullshit. Of course you do.”
“How could rivalry possibly be good for us?”
“It makes us work harder. Admit it, when you see me writing, there’s no way you can shirk off. If I’m at my keyboard, you can’t sit down and watch a ball game on TV. I’m the same. If you’re writing, I feel guilty if I’m not writing, too. If you put in seven hours a day, I’ve got to put in at least that much. That competitive edge is what drives us.”
“I’m driven by nothing except a desire to write good fiction.”
Todd waved his hands in the air. “Saint Roark. Glory and hallelujah.”
“You’re pissing me off.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll drop it.” He took a bite of his cheeseburger. “Anyway, the point’s moot. I’ll be offered megabucks for The Vanquished before you even complete your book. Then we’ll see who’s green with envy.”