'The New Girl Part 7b/?' (I,Ā II,Ā III,Ā IV,Ā V,Ā VI, VIIa)
Once theyāre settled at a secluded table, Nick takes the time to look around. Itās no basement bar but maybe all the air is for the better.Ā The panic that had been twisting in his chest slowly releases as he takes in deep breaths of the crisp air.Ā Theyāre on some secret roof top bar, the kind that only those in the know can get to.Ā After taking a sip of the very expensive whiskey he ordered (she had said it will all be taken care of, might as well seize the day), he asks Jess how the hell she got them in.
"My best friend, Cece, brought me here once. She has the inside track on all the fancy schmancy exclusive places inĀ practicallyĀ any major city."
The breeze is doing some pretty wild stuff to Jessās hair. A lot of it coming out of the neatly coiffed side-bun she had styled it in. He wonāt admit it to her, but itās breathtaking either way.
Sheās looking down at her phone finishing off a text, he assumes, to Cece.
"She was a model but then went back to school for business and is now running her own modeling agency, the smarty-pants." The pride is evident in her voice.
Nick nods, mouth pulled down in an impressed expression.
"Sheās the best. We grew up together in Portland and then after college, decided to go on an adventure to LA. The original plan was to sell our script about aĀ gender-swappedĀ Batman/Comish Gordan crime-fightin team."
"No, no. Just, like, the superhero is female with an older wise woman mentor. Thereās not enough female role models in superhero movies, I say. Too much damsel in distress crapola."
"Seems like a tough sell. Girl saving the guy."
She stares at him for a beat before dropping her gaze and raising a glass of water to her lips. āIt happens every day,ā she says before taking a sip.
Nick canāt deny that thatās probably true and starts playing with his a tie, a small smirk on his lips.
"Anyway, like you said. It was a tough sellā¦well a no sell more like it. So plans changed, she modeled, I got into publishing and bam, here we are." She raises both hands in a sort of āta daā pose before sheepishly lowering them at his blank expression. He opens his mouth to ask another question but she interrupts, pointing a finger in his face.
"Hey! Stop trying to distract me. Itās your turn to talk mister," sheĀ leans her elbows up on the table in anticipation, crossing her forearms to rub her hands from elbow to shoulder. Goosebumps rise on her skin and he canāt help but want to rub his own hands down her arms. To feel the bumpy ridges speckled over silken skin, smoothing them out as the heat of his hands removes the chill from the breeze.
Rolling his eyes he stands and Jess sits up quickly, probably thinking he means to escape. She seems to stiffen up even more as she realizes his intention. Taking his coat off feels like lifting a 20 pound soggy weight off his back and the breeze that flows through his white dress shirt is glorious. He drapes the coat over Jessās thin shoulders, praying that his panic-sweat didnāt seep into the fabric.
"Thank you," she says quietly, pushing her arms through the sleeves andĀ cocooningĀ herself in the coat.
He returns to his seat, leaning heavily into the back of the chair, one hand resting on his thigh, the other stretched out and spinning his whiskey glass on the table.
Gazing to his right at the multitude of lights from the city he gathers years of memories in his mind, preparing to tell his story. He can see out of the corner of his eye that sheās doing her best to be patient for him which he appreciates.
Taking a resolute sip from his glass he leans both elbows on the table, shoulders bunched up around his ears as he drops his head, eyes staring at the table. Heaving a great sigh he begins.
"Iām gonna need ya to not interrupt, Jess. Let me get through everything and then Iāll allow at most three questions."
Opening her mouth to protest the question limit he raises three fingers.
Her nose scrunches up in distaste.
He stares at her unblinking for another few seconds, trying to drive the three question limit home. āI promise. Only three,ā she says resigned.
Heās thought about this moment a lot. Came up with a multitude of scenarios on how the big reveal would go. It was never like this. Sitting on a private rooftop bar in New York City with a $38 glass of whiskey in hand, drunk and exhausted. And it was never to her. A co-worker . Someone heās known for less than six months. But sheās here. Thereās no accusations in her eyes, just a willingness to listen, catering to whatever he needs in the moment. How does one do that? Know what emotion to project to fit his comfort level. And at the same time, she knows when to push to get more from him. Caroline would always push too much. Heād react negatively, pushing back then slamming up impenetrable walls that she was never able to bypass. Jess, on the other hand, chipped away at the wall, so subtly that he didnāt even notice until tonight that they were weak and ready to crumbleā¦so he lets them fall.
Since day one sheās gotten under his skin, crawled her way into his brain where sheās been tap-dancing (seriously, she tap dancesā¦a lot) in his thoughts on a daily basis. Thatās gotta mean something. Heās ready, the walls are down and sheās dancing on the rubble.
"Here goes," he says under his breath. "Yes, Tran is the original author. Yes, I am the current author."
He hears her suck in a breath and not release it. Glancing up at her he continues.
"Short version, my dad was aā¦piece ofā¦.he wasnāt around a lot. Tran was our neighbor who looked after me and my brother when my ma had to work late. At the time, he was already an established author in the mystery genre. Pepperwood formed once my brother and I were over practically every afternoon."
"You were the inspiration?" Jess says incredulously.
"Thereās one, Day." She scrunches her face up in consternation at her impulsiveness.
"Anyway, I guess you could say that," he continues and sits up, shifting in his seat. "Jamie and I were just acting like dumb kids. He loved Scooby-Doo, so one of us was the monster, the other solved the mystery." He canāt help the smile that comes to his lips. āāSolving the mysteryā was basically just me beating Jamie with a stick, one of Tranās empty flower pots on his head as his ādisguise,ā until he confessed." Jess giggles at the image.
"But I guess it gave Tran the spark he needed and he ran with it and Julius Pepperwood: Zombie Detective was born."
Jess opens her mouth as if to ask a question and he raises an eyebrow at her, inquiring whether she really wants to ask her second question. Instead she shakes her head and smiles.
"I was obsessed with zombies and would not shut up about them, which is why I think Tran chose them as the focus. He brought two of my favorite things together and told a story." He rubs a hand down the side of his face, moving his fingers to scrape over his chin. "Do you have any idea how wild it was for a kid to have the inside track on his favorite character? To be able to ask the source any and every question that he could think of? It was incredible."
He remembers the excitement. Devouring the Pepperwood books then sprinting to Tranās house to ask any insane question he could as the old man sat calmly on his front porch, a serene smile on his face. Sure, the books were a bit advanced for a kid his age, a lot of times if he didnāt understand the word or situation he just skipped ahead, which Tran would endlessly scold him about.
"As I got older, my passion for Pepperwood took a bit of a back seat. I still read every book and would still visit Tran from time to time but I didnāt need looking after anymore. I wasnāt exactly the best student but let me tell you, when I did go to class it was usually English because I kicked ass in it. Having an author as your neighbor will do that."
Licking dry lips he reaches across the small table for Jessās water, suddenly uninterested in the whiskey he had ordered. He downs the rest of it and Jess turns to find a waiter to request a refill; his coat collar brushing her chin; its bulkiness swallowing up her small frame.
"So high school and college happened. Sports, girls, weed and beer became the priorityā¦I mean I still read the books and would still write Tran; but it was rare and without a lot of the bulk and resonance that they used to have. Eventually I stopped the letters altogetherā¦which I still feel guilty about."
A confused look crosses her face and he knows whatās on her mind. She canāt figure out the path of how he got from there to where he is now. Itās doing wonders for his story-telling ego. But she resists asking another question so he resumes his story.
"About, um, 10 years ago, I got a package from him. Simple brown envelope with two pages in it. The first page had a general plot/outline for his next Pepperwood, and the second page had two words on it: āWrite it.ā"
Jessās eyes grow wide and she leans her elbows up on the table.
"At the time I was bar tending in LA and interning at Clyde Co. No goals, no drive, just kind of functioning on a routine of work and drinking with my roommates," he says on a laugh. "I wasnāt gonna do it. I threw the letter in a box and shoved that in my closet, figuring if I didnāt answer heād get it and eventually the next Pepperwood would come out."
A wide smile spread across Jessās lips.
"Yepp..the infamous and mysterious delayed release of the eighth novel. All my fault."
A waitress drops off two tall glasses of water on their table and Jess takes a small sip from hers.
"I thought he was being a crazy old man and at first I resented his demand that I write. Thought there was no way in hell I had the talent or the work ethic to pull it off. I wasā¦.scared, ya know? Who was I to take this on? I was just a dummy fetching Leo his coffee during the day and pouring strangersā drinks at night.ā A self-deprecating smirk crosses his lips and he crosses his arms over his chest, his tie tangling in the crook of his elbow.
āBut then, after a visit from good āol Popā¦ā the memories of that fateful week spring to the forefront of his mind, along with emotions: rage, disappointment and resignation. He shakes his head, clenching his jaw, forcing the emotions away. He had gotten passed it then he can do it now.
"Something in me snapped and I refused to turn into that man," he can see that Jess wants to ask about his dad, but thatās a whole other can of corn that heās definitely not ready or willing to open. "This was bigger than my fear of failure. So I wrote, Tran edited and boom, there was my first book. Iād say about half of what I wrote made it in the book while Tran took care of the rest."
He remembers the heart-stopping feeling the day he received a thick brown package from a bicycle courier with blue hair and the strangest body odor (stunk of weed and lemonsā¦a pretty potent combination). Inside was the completed manuscript. He had holed himself up in his room and read through it start to finish within 3 hours. He had Ā immediately called out of work that night, instead, he drove straight to Tranās farm and stood on the porch with the thick pack of papers dangling from his hand, unable to put into words just what he felt in that moment. Tran had smiled and gestured for the catatonic man to come in.
"Unbelievable," Jess says under her breath.
"Yeahā¦Thing was I didnāt want my name associated with it." Jess responds with a cute scrunch between her eyebrows.
"I wasnāt ashamed or anything like that!" He says quickly. "It was justā¦tooā¦.personal. Didnāt want any recognition, wasnāt ready for it." Jess nods slowly in semi-understanding.
"It definitely took some convincing with Tran but I mean the Pepperwood name is associated with Tran and forever will be, you canāt just up and switch author names and expect the fan base to stick. And besides itās not like the entire work can be associated with me. Tran still writes bits and pieces and offers plot details and heās the primary editor."
Jess is still nodding her mouth pulled down into a nice imitation of his usual āturtle-face,ā as she calls it.
"Yeah, so, I write, Tran edits. It works," he finishes, downing half of his glass of water, the lemon wedge bumping his nose. Disgruntled, he reaches two fingers into the glass, pinching the offensive piece of fruit and tossing it on the table between them. Thatās when he notices Jessās continued stunned silence.
"Questions?" He asks. He knows the retelling definitely had its holes. Some things he left out deliberately, others he figures sheāll cover with her questions. Another reason is heās just a little too drunk to recall it all. Whatās weird is this isnāt his standard drunk. That usually consists of a lot of shouting, throwing things, doing the kinds of shenanigans that result in the discovery of mysterious bruises once he peels off his wrinkled and stained clothes the next morning (afternoon). He feels calm and contemplative; the kind of drunk where youāre quiet and considering deep things that are normally kept buried and hidden. Things that would have never passed his lips are tumbling out and he finds that he doesnāt care. Heās glad. Relieved.
Her eyes drop to stare at the table, mindlessly darting from their glasses to the discarded lemon wedge, a million questions flickering across her face. She opens her mouth to speak but then decides against it. A few loose curls blow into her face and she takes a moment to push the offending locks out of her eyes and mouth, just the tips of her fingers visible out of his coat sleeves.
She finally settles and seems to have her question ready.
"I guessā¦Iām just trying tooooā¦understand your reasons for keeping it a secret," she says slowly. "And why, after all this time, out of all the people youāve known, you decided to tell meā¦?"
"Hm?" She says, all big innocent eyes.
"Youāre manipulating the three question system I established," he deadpans.Ā
"I am not," she gasps dramatically. "Iām simplyā¦..working around it."
"That was like, three or four questions in one!"
"Are you going to answer it or not, Miller?"
They have a brief staring contestā¦which he loses.
"Well, like I said before, the Pepperwood name is associated with Tran, so thatās just business, keeping it in his name. But personallyā¦thereās a freedom in anonymity that Iām not willing to give up. If you havenāt noticed, Iām not the most social personā¦donāt really like or trust people in general."
She breathes out a laugh, rolling her eyes at him. He notices for the first time, how close theyāre sitting. Theyāre both leaning their elbows on the table, less than a foot of space between them.
He goes quiet, eyes roving over her face.
"What?" Her eyes get big in panic. "That doesnāt count as my last question!"
He laughs before quieting once again. Thereās a strange sort of buzz that seems to surround them. Theyāre in their own serene cocoon and thereās no one else up on this roof with them.
"Iāve neverā¦felt the pull to tell anyoneā¦butā¦then you came alongā¦"
Itās her turn to go quiet but she doesnāt get bashful, sheās just kind of calmly staring at him.
"With that weird smile of yoursā¦.that one right there!" He points an accusing finger in her face. Her lips are pressed together in that secret expression she reserves only for him.
"And nothingās been the same." Heās staring at her but has to break away from the mesmerizing blue. Turning his head to the left he nods.
"You gotta stop looking at me like that. Iām serious." Her lips spread into a full blown toothy smile. Heart beating loudly in his chest, Nick knows heās in dangerous territory. Everything is a bit cloudy in his mind, the only clear things he can make out are the shadows her eyelashes are making and the way the city lights seem to reflect out of her blue irises.
She finally breaks the spell by looking away as a troubled expression crosses her face.
"You said that Tran still contributes plot points and ideas to the booksā¦"
"Yeah," he says dropping his head to stare at the table. "Itās more likeā¦suggestions."
"Wellā¦he pushes me to make things more personal."
"How personal?" He narrows his eyes at her, trying to figure out what angle sheās playing.
"Youāre completely ignoring my three question rule!"
"Yupp," She replies quickly. He leans back from the table and tugs at the belt loop near his hip.
"Well, write what you know; isnāt that the saying?"
"Look," she remains leaning on the table but doesnāt hold his gaze, instead fiddling with the corner of a cocktail napkin. "I just want to know what kinds of personal stuff Tran is suggesting for the story."
Jess huffs. āWell, um, Iāve spent a lot of time with him and sometimes my mouth runs without my brain being really connected to it and if all that is about to be out in the world and he suggested to you Iād make a good comical and dramatic character I just donāt think I could handle-ā
Ohhhh. He realizes what sheās getting at. She wants to know about what she read that day on his computer. Wants to know if it was Tranās plan to put her in the books. Nick leans his head back, contemplating which road to take as Jess continues to ramble on. Looking at the night sky he squints to try and make out the few stars he can see; the city lights dimming their shine to nonexistence. You know what? Heās done thinking tonight. Screw the consequences. He brings his head down, connecting his eyes to hers as she trails off at his intense look.
"It was me, Jess. I wrote you in."
jacobvanloon
kianamaiart
titsay
yousharknotpass
izzy806
blakekathryn
