“Uh . . . why?” I asked.
“So many writers have stood there—” she pointed at the floor and I looked down—“and said the exact thing you’re saying now. Oh well, another one bites the dust, as they say.”
“What?”
“Of course,you’ll be liable to pay the advance back, not me. And I’ll still keep my fifteen percent, naturally,” she said.
“But, but . . . wait. There’s got to be a solution, a—”
“The only solution is you producing a book, which is clearly not going to happen.”
“It is!” I was frantic now, even though I didn’t believe what I was saying.
“Well, where is it, then?” she asked. “Where is this amazing bestseller that is going to take the world by storm?” Her eyes mocked me and judged me.
“I have it. I have it.” The lie tumbled out of me.
“Where?” And then she started doing something that sent me over the edge. Pushed me too far. She started flapping through the papers on her desk. “Where could it be?” She lifted some papers and pretended to look under them. “Nope. Nothing,” she said sarcastically. “What about here?” She flung open one of her drawers and looked inside. “Not there either!”
And then it hit me.
Hard!So damn hard.
A moment of pure clarity. Clarity so great I felt like I was standing on a beach looking into the depths of a tropical lagoon and seeing the tiniest shell on the bottom of the seabed. But this moment of clarity was also peppered with total and utter insanity. I folded my arms again and made eye contact with her.
“I actuallyamwriting something.” I stared at her, trying to look as confident as possible, even though internally I was drowning in quicksand.
She pulled her small glasses down to the tip of her pointed nose and pursed her lips together. Wrinkles appeared around her mouth, making it look just like a puckered asshole.
“And dare I ask what that is?” she asked.
“It’s a book.” I said the only words I could think of at that moment, because I was disintegrating under her gaze.
She scoffed. A look of vague amusement mixed with something I can only guess was disdain caused the corners of her lips to
twitch.
“A book?” she repeated flatly.
I nodded. “A book.”
“What book?” she asked.
“It’s set in the 1940s, in South Africa.” I blurted it out before I had a moment toreallythink about what I was doing. “The apartheid law and mixed marriages law have just been passed by the national government. A young couple in love are ripped apart because one of them is white and the other is not. It’sRomeo and Julietin apartheid South Africa.” I stopped talking abruptly and then almost slapped my hand over my mouth.Had I really just said that?Out loud?
Something washed over her face; I wasn’t sure what it was. She lowered herself into her chair once more and then placed her hands on the desk in front of her. I looked down at her nails, the kind of nails that could really rip an aorta out if you weren’t careful.
“Tell me more,” she said slowly, now tapping her fingers on the polished wood.
“More? Uh . . . yes,” I said nervously. “Our young couple have fallen in love during a tumultuous time.” My mind raced, trying to remember history class. “Tensions between white and non-white South Africans are mounting. But, amongst all this hate and animosity, and against all the odds, they’ve found each other. But they have to keep their love and relationship a secret from their parents, the police, society. Their story will be told through a series of intimate and beautiful love letters that they wrote each other.” I stopped talking and looked at her.
She stared straight back at me for a moment, and then her eyes flicked up, as if she was looking at something on the ceiling. I waited. She looked down at her desk again and drummed her fingers loudly. And then she looked up and started nodding.
“Have you written any of it yet?” she asked.
And then I too began to nod. I nodded before I’d even had a moment to process what I was about to do. “Yes,” I said feebly. I reached into my pocket and pulled out one of the letters.
“What is that?” She pointed her bony finger at the letter.
“I’ve been writing the letters on scraps of paper. Helps me connect with the characters more,” I said, hoping she bought this.
“I see.” She eyeballed me in a peculiar way. “Well, what are you waiting for? Read!”
I cleared my throat and looked down at the letter in my hand. A million thoughts tore through my mind. If she liked this idea, there was no taking it back. If she didn’t like it, then I still didn’t have a book. Something deep inside me started to throb.
I was about to jump straight over a line, here. A big line. But I couldn’t stop myself. There was just no holding me back. I jumped! I jumped and I ran so fast that, within seconds, I couldn’t even see the line anymore. The line was gone. The line was now a blurry smudge on the horizon of morality and sanity, and I was sprinting away from it.
