The Mentor

by Lee Matthew Goldberg

  “Yeah, the park inspired me. I found it a fitting title.”

  Kyle flipped through the pages, his brain too drunk to really take in the words.

  “How long did this take you to write? Five hundred pages so far, Je-sus.”

  “Over a decade. I started it … well, right after your freshman year, I believe.”

  “A lifetime ago,” Kyle mumbled.

  “I know the book will be really long,” William said, frowning. “Don’t feel like you have to read it.”

  “William,” Kyle said. “William, I would be honored. Really, this is so cool. And imagine if it sold to Burke & Burke and we could work together?”

  “That would be a dream,” William said, retracing a finger across his wineglass, creating a sharply pitched hum.

  Jamie returned with another bottle. She had taken off her high heels and neither Kyle nor William heard her approach.

  “Oh, Jamie,” Kyle said, beckoning her to come into his arms. “Look what William wrote. A novel! What’ll be a one-thousand-page opus. Devil’s Hopyard. Devil’s Fucking Hopyard.”

  Jamie popped the cork. “To Devil’s Fucking Hopyard.”

  William’s eyes had glazed over, sentimental tears emerging. He finished his glass and held it out for more red.

  They all heard a scratching sound of claws coming from the bedroom.

  “What’s that?” William asked.

  “That’s just our resident alley cat at the window.” Kyle spun out of his seat and headed into the bedroom. He returned with the cat and brought him over to William. “I kind of watch over him. Capone, say hi to William.”

  William reached out a hand. “Hello, Capone—”

  Capone hissed and batted William’s hand away, baring its claws. The cat leaped out of Kyle’s arms and darted away.

  “You’re bleeding,” Jamie said.

  “It’s the tiniest nick,” William said, sucking on his wounded finger. Capone now watched him from the kitchen counter, its tail swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

  “Capone is super temperamental from growing up in the wild Brooklyn streets,” Kyle said, and then swiped the bottle from Jamie and poured three more generous glasses. “I’m sure he’ll warm up to you soon.”

  * * *

  IN BED LATER that night, Kyle and Jamie’s pores oozed wine. They fumbled through a drunken attempt at sex before giving up. Both were too sloshed to go to sleep yet so they just held each other.

  “I could use a giant plate of fried cheese curds right now,” Jamie said. “To soak up all dis alcohol.”

  “I would chop off my pinkie for dat,” he said.

  “So William was really great,” she said, curling toward him until their noses touched. “I can see why you looked up to him.”

  “And then the guy goes and writes a novel. Out of nowhere. Is there anything he can’t do? He’s so damn brilliant, it’s sickening.”

  “You think the book will be any good?”

  “How could it not be? I can’t see him spending ten years on something that’s dog shit.”

  “Teaching literature and writing it are two very different things.”

  “Ha, and you always say I’m the negative one.”

  “You usually are. This is a new bright and shiny Kyle that William has unearthed.”

  “Hey, I have a knack for spotting raw talent. First Sierra Raven, and I gotta tell you, her book is so good. Like this last chapter she gave me—damn—and she’s so young too. Like, who at twenty-two can be that much of a literary rock star?”

  “Hmmm,” Jamie said, squeezing her eyes shut. She rolled over on her back.

  “That’ll be my thing,” Kyle said. “Plucking these diamonds out of obscurity.”

  Jamie bolted upright, her cheeks puffed out.

  “Shit,” she murmured, and dashed into the bathroom.

  Kyle heard her vomiting; she hadn’t closed the door fully.

  “Baby, do you need help…?” he asked as his eyes closed and darkness eclipsed the room. Before he knew it, Jamie’s gagging sounded like it was a million miles away and sleep took over, engulfing him in its deadening embrace.

  4

  KYLE NURSED A particularly unsettling hangover the next morning. He would’ve gone the hair-of-the-dog route if not for a ten o’clock meeting with Carter Burke. At least he was able to snooze until about eight. Jamie had fallen asleep with her arms wrapped around the toilet, and when he found her, she went right to bed and enveloped herself in his comforter. She had the luxury of sleeping away the day and taking a break from conquering the interior design world.

  On the way out of his apartment, he spied Devil’s Hopyard sitting on the dining room table. For a second, he’d forgotten that it was William’s novel—the title alone sent an icy chill down his back. One of the last times he’d entered Devil’s Hopyard, he’d done enough drugs to think he was a wolf and found himself howling at a family of hikers, only to come down sometime around midnight, naked and covered in dirt, soon to be hospitalized for pneumonia.

  “Devil’s Fucking Hopyard,” he said, shaking his head. He grabbed his keys and headed out.

  At Burke & Burke, he kept his aviators on in the elevator, dreading the moment he’d fully be exposed to light. Three extra-strength Tylenols and an Alka-Seltzer had barely done their jobs. Amanda, the front desk girl, wagged a neon green fingernail as the elevator doors opened.

  “It’s ten ten,” she said, pointing at the wall clock in case he didn’t believe her. Carter Burke was a stickler for being on time. The boss came from Swiss stock and had a mantra that efficiency—like clockwork—relied on being precise.

  “How are my eyes?” Kyle asked, lowering his shades.

  Amanda winced. “Bloodshot and ghoulish.” She reached into her desk and pulled out some Visine. “You’re lucky I’m so into 420.”

  He squeezed some into his eyes.

  “Hold on,” she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him down to her level. She licked her fingers and dabbed at an unruly patch of hair that curled away from the rest of the brood. “Cowlick.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” he said, and headed in.

  * * *

  THE BUDGET FOR Carter Burke’s office could rival that of a small nation. When Kyle entered, his boss was sitting behind a Parnian desk custom-made with six kinds of exotic wood. In back of him, multiple windows overlooked Rockefeller Center. A small Rothko, black on gray, hung on the far wall. Carter’s white hair was always combed to the right with a part on the left, a nod to an antiquated era. His tiny eyes looked out through thick black frames. A bow tie cinched his neck. Brett was already sitting in the Eames chair closest to Carter. Kyle had to make do with the couch off to the side.

  “Nice of you to join us, Kyle,” Carter said, his thin lips pressed tightly together.

  Brett, in true dick fashion, made a point to look at his watch.

  “I apologize,” Kyle said. “The train sat at Borough Hall for what felt like forever.”

  Carter gave no response to this excuse.

  “Where are we with Tucker Noley?” Carter asked, linking his fingers together and leaning forward in menacing fashion.

  Shit, Kyle thought. Tucker Noley had been Carter’s author back in the ’80s when Carter took over the company from his declining father, Carter Sr. Tucker had made a lot of money for the company back then, churning out a series of spy thrillers about a CIA operative named Gregor Spade who had some Russian in his blood and used his extended family back in the Motherland to out KGB threats. Then the cold war ended and Tucker’s output became less and less. For a while, Gregor Spade tussled with Middle Eastern terrorists and Tucker had Brett as his editor. Now it had been five years since Tucker’s last book, which flopped. Carter decided to pass him over to the new kid, but any profits wouldn’t go on Kyle’s P&L. To add insult to injury, besides being a notoriously slow writer in his advanced age, Tucker was a pompous, bloated, racist d-bag.

  “He’s still working on the new Spade
book,” Kyle said, although since the Sierra deal, he hadn’t checked up on the old bastard at all.

  “What’s the premise?” Carter asked, taking off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

  “Spade goes after ISIS?” Brett chuckled.

  Carter gave a solitary bark of a laugh. Kyle didn’t laugh at all.

  “Is that seriously the premise?” Carter asked. “Spade is what, a hundred and sixty-five now? Those kinds of spy books need a heavy dose of techspeak. ISIS is recruiting people over Twitter for Christ’s sake. Does Noley even know how to use a computer?”

  “I’ve set him up with a social-media major from NYU as an intern,” Kyle said.

  “That’s a major these days?” Carter said. “These millennials and their lunacy. Our future is doomed.”

  “Speaking of a doomed future,” Brett added. “I heard that Lo Bowles at the Hershen Agency sent you First Human.”

  “What’s First Human?” Kyle asked, the pounding in his head taking a sharp turn to an all-out assault.

  Carter and Brett gave each other a look that made Kyle feel small.

  “Simon & Schuster’s latest preempt,” Brett said. “The book about robots that start a new race of humans after a nuclear fallout wipes out the entire planet. Six-figure advance.”

  “Kyle, you need to be spreading the wealth,” Carter said. “With your name in the papers, agents are feeding the hottest books to you now.”

  “I will,” Kyle said. “I’ll cc you on everything.”

  “Copy me only on the good shit.” Carter frowned.

  Kyle rose and extended his hand. “Of course, sir.”

  Carter waited a moment before shaking it. “Land that next great gold mine,” he said. “And get some pages from Tucker that aren’t utter crap.”

  Brett nodded along, cosigning the boss’s every move.

  “And get the door on your way out,” Carter said.

  Kyle left Carter’s office and closed the door slowly, seeing Brett speaking in a hushed tone toward Carter—clearly about Kyle. He would’ve worried about this more, except his stomach was churning and he burped up an acidic glob of wine-tinted bile. Luckily, he made it to the bathroom before he upchucked a flood of red.

  * * *

  AFTER A NAP as soon as he got home, Kyle woke up around nine feeling refreshed. Jamie had left a note for him on the fridge with a basket of fried cheese curds. She’d picked up the curds from Stinky Bklyn LLC, and then fried them with milk, flour, beer, salt, and eggs—her specialty. He devoured the fried curds, since he had skipped dinner. With greasy hands, he fumbled a text to her.

  Thnx for the curds. Perfect cure for my hangover. You are the best ;)

  He wiped the crumbs from his lips as his phone beeped. He wondered if it was Jamie texting back, wanting to come over. She could probably make it to him by ten thirty. He looked at his phone and saw a message from William.

  Had a wonderful time at dinner. No rush to start Devil’s Hopyard, but I’m definitely curious to hear your thoughts!!!

  Kyle had a pet peeve about people using multiple exclamation points to express excitement. It made him feel as if he had to respond in the same fashion or the other party would think he didn’t really care. He went to the fridge and poured a glass of club soda, debating whether to add a shot of bourbon and then tapped in some Bulleit since it was easier than having the debate. When he went back to his phone, Jamie hadn’t responded—she was usually quick with texts—so he decided he’d dig into Devil’s Hopyard. It was probably too late for her to trek over from the other end of the world anyway. He jotted a quick text back to William first.

  Had a wonderful night too. So great to catch up!! Got a bourbon in hand and I’m ready to dive into Devil’s Hopyard. Can’t wait!

  He was about to put down the phone when William wrote:

  Fantastic, Kyle. Hope it’s up to snuff!

  Kyle grinned at this. He enjoyed having William back in his life, unsure why the two had lost touch. He had a quick fantasy of reading the acknowledgments page in William’s book after it was released to much acclaim.

  And to my brilliant editor, Kyle Broder. Once was my student, but who now has taught me so much more.

  Kyle picked up the hefty manuscript and flipped to the dedication page.

  To Laura and the twins. And to the one who got away. La Vita Nuova.

  An odd dedication, but Kyle didn’t spend too much time thinking about it. Maybe Laura had a stillborn pregnancy, or possibly the twins were initially triplets. It didn’t pay to assume. He also didn’t know Italian. He turned to page 1 with a pen in hand and read the first few lines.

  This is my story about the secret to immortality. Read carefully and let me teach you. Take notes, my friend. Welcome to DEVIL’S HOPYARD.

  An interesting opening, Kyle thought. At least it pulled the reader in and left room for speculation. He twirled the pen between his fingers as he read on. Unfortunately, the next few pages weren’t on a par with those opening lines. The novel began in a college professor’s classroom as he was giving a lecture on Camus’ The Stranger. Kyle immediately recognized some similarities to William’s own lectures. This would have been a fine way to open a novel, but then the narrative jumped into the professor’s head and stayed there for ten illogical pages while he obsessed over a girl in his class. She was unnamed, described only as “withdrawn.” William wrote about all of the things the professor wanted to do to her, disturbing things. The professor started describing her heart and his need for it.

  I think about the heart that pumps in her chest. Pumps for me, possibly? But I doubt that. Even if she says she wants me, even when I’m devouring her in the shack in Devil’s Hopyard where we have our trysts, and she says she loves it, she does not. My bones are old and she thirsts for the young. For a peer. So sometimes I think about taking a knife and cutting out that heart. Feeling it BEAT in my hand as I BEAT my meat to its pumps until it pumps no more. And then I will put butter in a pan and watch her heart SIZZLE. Cut it up with a fork and a knife and let it sit on my taste buds. Swallow it whole as her eyes close for good and it is the last thing she sees. Wash it down with a bottle of red, red wine, the REDDER and bloodier, the BETTER.

  Kyle put the manuscript down. The fried curds were gurgling in his stomach. Reading about cannibalism certainly didn’t help. He stared at Devil’s Hopyard, wondering if it was a joke, although he didn’t remember William having a weird sense of humor like that. He also wasn’t sure why William would go to the trouble of pranking him, since he seemed genuinely proud and eager for Kyle to read his book. Maybe just the first few pages were wonky and then the real story would begin? Kyle decided to flip to a passage toward the end.

  And taste the FLESH and the FLESH tastes like love and the heart has been digested and beats inside of ME now. It gives me power. I am powerful with her organ. And the body has been discarded and left to rot, and sometimes I dig it up for more, more, MORE!!! And then I shit her out of me until her FLESH stinks up the bathroom.

  Kyle dropped the pages onto the table. He had a terrible taste on the back of his tongue.

  “What the fuck…?” he said. He tossed back the bourbon and soda, got up, and poured another glass.

  His cell rang, spooking him. He wondered if it was William, and he had no idea what he’d say. Oh, sure, I’m reading your book, which is pretty fucking sick and twisted so far. Will the whole thing be about eating a girl’s heart? All one thousand pages?

  He inched toward the phone and saw Jamie was calling. Thank God.

  “Hey,” he said, picking up.

  “So you liked the curds?” Jamie said coyly.

  “The what? Oh, yeah, they were really good.”

  “You don’t sound so convincing.” She seemed a little disappointed.

  “No, no. They were great. It’s just that … I started reading Devil’s Hopyard. William’s book.”

  “And?”

  “Like, it’s really fucked-up. Really, really fucked-up. A
nd not even well written, which makes it even worse.”

  “How much did you read?”

  “I dunno, like ten or so pages.”

  “Ten pages? Kyle, you have to give it more of a chance than that.”

  “Ten really bad pages.”

  “Kyle, he was your favorite professor. You need to read the whole thing.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Well, then, you shouldn’t have told him you would,” Jamie said. “You’re stuck now.”

  “He’s writing about eating a girl’s heart.”

  Jamie responded, but it sounded like static.

  “Jamie, you’re breaking up.”

  “I just got home, Kyle. I’m headed into the elevator.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll call you—”

  “Read his book,” Jamie said. “That’s your homework for tonight.” He could tell from her tone that there’d be no swaying how she felt. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said.

  The call ended. Kyle looked at the scattered pages on the table. He started gathering them up. There was a possibility that only the beginning and the part he turned to were the truly fucked-up parts, but he had an uncomfortable premonition that the rest would be even worse. Still, Jamie was right. He had told William he’d read the manuscript, and he owed it to him to give it more than a few minutes of his time.

  Once the pages had all been sorted back together, he retreated to his bed, the manuscript like a heavy brick. He turned to where he’d left off.

  And then I will put butter in a pan and watch her heart SIZZLE. Cut it up with a fork and a knife and let it sit on my taste buds.

  It was going to be a long night.

  5

  THE GIRL TRIED to stand up in the shack, but she was chained to the floor. A broken wooden slat allowed a slice of moonlight to pierce through the darkness. Only her eyes could be seen, the blood vessels popped from gagging. The welts on her face had opened up and started to ooze. She could taste blood seeping through the muzzle. Her dress was soiled and glued to her skin. She’d given up shivering from the cold and now had gone numb. She gave standing one more try, only to collapse to the floor in exhaustion. The blood on the ground from the slaughtered animals had mixed with her own and smelled of corroded loose change.