The Mentor

by Lee Matthew Goldberg

  9

  KYLE SPENT THE day finishing The Dead Can’t Hunt You Down, a pulse-pounding mix of Elmore Leonard with a Quentin Tarantino edge. He contacted the writer, Shane Matthews, who hadn’t published anything other than a few short stories in noir journals. Shane had sent the manuscript after reading about Kyle in the Times and had been blown away to hear back so quickly. Kyle gushed about the novel but wasn’t ready to offer a deal until Carter signed off. He shot Carter an e-mail about its prospects and forwarded the manuscript for him to read over the weekend.

  On the way home, he picked up a dozen blue roses and a bucket of Buffalo wings, extra spicy the way Jamie liked them. He also stopped at the liquor store and bought a twelve-year-old Macallan that he opened as soon as he entered his apartment. While getting out two whiskey glasses, he heard scratching against his bedroom window and let Capone inside. The cat seemed to have gotten in a scuffle, so with a glass in hand, Kyle placed Capone in the sink and gave him a good washing. After drying the cat with a towel, Kyle even let Capone lick some scotch off his finger. The doorbell rang, and he opened the front door with the cat tucked in his arm.

  “There’s my two favorite men,” Jamie said, kissing Capone and scratching Kyle’s head.

  “No kiss for me?” he asked as she walked inside.

  She dropped her bags and fell into the couch. “Let’s see how you behave tonight.”

  “It’ll be worth striving for,” Kyle said, putting the cat to the side and sitting on the couch too. He had told himself to focus on Jamie tonight, especially about her work. “Making headway with the showroom?” he asked.

  “Yes. In fact, a mutual friend of ours gave it a glowing review.”

  “Oh, yeah, who?”

  “William.”

  Kyle didn’t know if he’d heard her right. William was the last person he wanted to talk about now that the weekend was here. In fact, he had sworn he wouldn’t so much as think of Devil’s Hopyard or its creator until he was back in the office on Monday.

  He had a hard time swallowing. “Did you say William?”

  “I ran into him near my office and invited him to come up,” Jamie said, shrugging her shoulders as if it was nothing.

  “What was he doing around Astor Place?”

  “I don’t know. He had a meeting—”

  Kyle jumped to his feet, spooking Capone, who darted away.

  “That’s the same excuse he gave me when he showed up uninvited at my office.”

  “He’s a renowned professor. Is it so crazy he might have two meetings?”

  Jamie got up and went over to the bouquet of blue roses still wrapped in paper.

  “These need to be put in water,” she said, and whisked them into the kitchen.

  Kyle followed her. “Don’t you find it strange that William has popped up in our lives for the past three days in a row?”

  She turned on the water at full force. “Not everything is a conspiracy.” She jammed the flowers into a vase and took a deep, meditative breath. “They’re beautiful.”

  “I know you love blue roses.”

  She rubbed a petal between two fingers. “I don’t want to fight, Kyle.”

  He opened the fridge and took out the bucket of wings.

  “Let get some wings and booze in us,” he said, nabbing a wing and hovering it over her lips.

  “Damn, you know my weakness.” She took a bite, then left a saucy kiss on his cheek.

  * * *

  WITH BELLIES FULL of wings and scotch, Kyle and Jamie retreated back to the couch. They’d managed not to bring up William, Sierra, or any other sore spots between them throughout dinner. She placed her feet in his lap and he gave them a good rub. She was a little drunk because she was hiccupping. Kyle thought she had the cutest hiccups, which sounded like a bird’s chirps.

  “Hold your breath and stick your head in water,” he said.

  “No, my grandmother used to say to put sugar on the back of your tongue.” She held up her half-full glass of Macallan and took a swig. “Well, this has sugar in it.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “If that helps.”

  “For what?”

  “You ready for a grocery list of reasons?”

  “Just give me the highlights.”

  “I haven’t been making you a priority,” he said.

  She made her hand into the shape of a gun and shot him. “Bingo.”

  “I’m learning how to balance it all. You and work.”

  “Listen.” She hiccupped. “I am so happy for everything that’s happening to you right now with … Sierra…”

  She couldn’t help rolling her eyes when she said Sierra’s name.

  “I apologize. That eye roll was just a knee-jerk reaction,” she said. “An eye-jerk reaction, I swear.”

  “You’ve never even met her,” he said, and stopped rubbing her foot. “You don’t have to feel threatened.”

  She swung her feet off of his lap.

  “Kyle, I’m not threatened. It’s just”—she hiccupped again—“I hear about the two of you having cozy drinks in a bar—”

  “Wait, what? Who told you that?”

  “I won’t reveal my sources.”

  “Did William…?” Kyle saw Jamie avert her eyes when he mentioned William’s name. “He did say something to you. What the fuck is his game?”

  “First off, he doesn’t have a game. This isn’t the … plot of some mystery.”

  “Yes, I had a drink with Sierra, and I’ve had many drinks with authors before. I like to drink. Writers like to drink.”

  Jamie inspected her glass, found it was empty, and poured another thumbful.

  “All I’m saying is that you have a teeny, tiny crush on this girl, and if you just admitted it, we could move the fuck on,” she said.

  “This is ridiculous. When did you become so insecure?”

  She pointed at him with the glass, spilling some liquid on the couch. “You’re the insecure one.”

  He went into the kitchen, returning with a paper towel. He proceeded to mop up the spill.

  “Kyle, the couch is dark gray, you can’t even see the stain.”

  “How am I insecure?”

  She blew the bangs from her eyes. “Because of the way you’re threatened by William.”

  “And why would I be threatened by William?”

  “You’re not gonna want to hear this.”

  “Haven’t we already taken off the gloves here?”

  “Fine. Because William is working on a manuscript that he’s proud of and he believes in, and you gave up on your own writing.”

  “I have a high-pressure job, Jamie, and I don’t have the time to tinker all day on some piece of shit opus about a sicko professor who wants to eat one of his students’ hearts!”

  Jamie put her head in her hands. Her body was lightly shaking, and Kyle had worried he’d gone too far. He hated the tone of his voice when he yelled. He placed his hand on her back and rubbed in a circle, just like she’d do to soothe him. When Jamie looked up, she was laughing so hard her face was stained with tears.

  “Are you crying or laughing right now?” he asked. “Tell me how I’m supposed to react.”

  She threw up her hands, hiccupping again. “I don’t know … Goddamn it!” She shot off the couch and made a beeline for the bathroom.

  Kyle could hear the water running. He couldn’t decide what made him angrier: William inserting himself into their lives, or Jamie bringing up his inability to write, which—years ago—he swore he wouldn’t let bother him anymore. Sure, there were a few unfinished novels left to pasture in the far reaches of his closet, but if he had to choose between that and editing now, it was an easy decision.

  Jamie emerged from the bathroom, her face dripping with water.

  “I dunked my head in the sink and now my hiccups are gone,” she said, and sat back on the couch. “Thank you for that.” She took his hands in hers, as if she was about to reveal some awful tragedy.

  “Kyle, you can g
et obsessive about things.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve wanted to say this to you before because it’s not healthy, but you get your mind fixated on something and then obsess over it.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like your job. Ever since I met you, getting ahead at Burke & Burke is all you’ve talked about.”

  “I’m driven.”

  She patted his hand, as if to a child. “And now it’s William.”

  “He’s the obsessed one.”

  Jamie shook her head. “From your reaction right now, it’s clear that you are too. Wouldn’t it be easier to just read his manuscript and give him some helpful edits?”

  Kyle snatched his hands away from her and got up to bring over Devil’s Hopyard. He shoved it in her lap.

  “You read it. It’s filth.”

  “You don’t have to be so negative.”

  “It’s misogynistic, senseless, offensive, and—”

  “Maybe it’s ahead of its time?”

  “Look, we think about literature in two very different ways. It’s everything to me while it’s a way to pass the time for you.”

  She shook a finger at him. “You always say that fiction is subjective. And I don’t have the time to read Proust like I used to. Half my day is spent shuttling back and forth on the train between your apartment and mine. And I don’t want to read Proust while being sandwiched in a crowd of bitter rush-hour commuters.”

  “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “Our situation. You living in another country practically on the Upper West Side and me in Brooklyn.”

  “Let me ask you, Kyle, do you ever come to my place?”

  “Your roommate is a drunk—”

  “So are we. I’m sopping wet right now and you’re half-a-bottle wasted. We are thirty-year-old New Yorkers just like Sybil. Can you tell me one other professional person our age in this city whose life doesn’t revolve around cocktails?”

  “So you want me to come uptown more? You have a cramped apartment on the first floor—”

  “It shouldn’t matter. If I was living in a box in a ditch, you should want to come. It’s indicative.”

  “Indicative of what?”

  “Of the fact that this—you and me—where are we honestly headed?”

  The fight had escalated beyond Kyle’s comprehension, and he was having trouble focusing on all her grievances.

  “Your silence tells me all I need to know,” Jamie said, darting for her coat.

  “Wait, you’re going to leave? It’s late, it’s Friday.”

  He grabbed her, but she wasn’t having it.

  “I want stability, Kyle, okay? I want a place we can call ours.”

  “We’ve only been dating six months.”

  “Which is exactly when you told me you’ve ended all of your other relationships.”

  “So that’s what this is about? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “But neither are we.” She took a moment to compose herself. “I’m gonna leave before I say anything more I regret.”

  “No, no, no,” he said, chasing after her when she made a move for the door. “Let’s just go to bed.”

  “You think I want to sleep with you tonight?”

  “Of course not. I mean, we’re pickled, we’re tired, and we’re lousy when we’re like that. We should drink less and listen better to each other.”

  He embraced her from behind as she put her hand on the doorknob.

  “I’ll just leave in the morning, then.”

  “That’s fair,” he said, kissing her neck. “God, this was not the way I wanted tonight to go.” He let go of her to swipe a blue rose from the vase, which he placed in her hand. “I do have a tendency to obsess over things.”

  “And be negative,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said, “and be negative. I think in doomsday terms, I can’t help it.”

  “Will you be nicer to William?”

  “Is that really what’s bothering you the most?”

  She gave a little shrug.

  “Okay,” he said, eyeing Devil’s Hopyard, which had fallen off the couch onto the floor.

  “You’ll read the entire manuscript and give him good advice about it?” she asked.

  He frowned at Devil’s Hopyard, but she couldn’t see. He nodded with his nose tickling her earlobe.

  “I promise.”

  She rested her head on his arm. He ran his fingers through her hair.

  “Are we good?” he asked, but she was already snoring. She had the ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime. “Jamie?”

  She snored back in response. Her eyes were closed, so he picked her up and carried her to bed, taking off her high heels and tucking her in. He shut off the light and meandered back into the living room, grabbing Devil’s Hopyard and turning to where he left off.

  “This is for you, baby,” he said, and plunged back into its nightmarish prose.

  And in the shack that is our world, I clean her till she’s pure again, filling her with my seed and getting her ready till I make that final incision and cut out her beating heart so it can dance on my TONGUE. And then I chew, chew, chew until it’s ingested and beats beside my own. Two hearts beating as ONE, my lovely, lovely …

  That was as far as Kyle got before his head tipped back and he was snoring his own dirge at the ceiling.

  10

  KYLE WOKE UP on the couch, Devil’s Hopyard heavy in his lap. His legs had fallen asleep from its weight. He pushed it aside, groggy, and felt his way to the kitchen, turning on the coffeemaker. “Jamie?” he shouted. “You wanna cup?” He made one for her anyway and brought it steaming into the bedroom, but she wasn’t there. A note left on the bedstand said, Have to get ready for Elka, xoxo. Kyle was having a hard time remembering exactly what they’d said to each other last night and if it had ended okay.

  His phone buzzed and he picked it up without looking at the caller ID, assuming it was Jamie.

  “Hey, baby, you didn’t have to run out.”

  “Kyle?” The voice was decidedly male. Kyle knew right away who it was. “It’s William, did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “What time is it?” Kyle asked, annoyed. He glanced at the microwave clock and saw it was noon. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d slept so late, but it had been a long week.

  “Did I wake you?” William asked, and gave his standard chuckle. “You keeping college hours there?”

  Kyle kept his tone cold, so William might get the hint. “You didn’t wake me, I was working.”

  “You editors never stop, do you?”

  “So I should be getting back to it—”

  “Were you serious about helping me fix some of the kinks in Devil’s Hopyard?”

  Kinks? Kyle wanted to say. The whole fucking book is a kink.

  “I didn’t mean over the weekend,” Kyle said.

  “It’s just that I’m in Brooklyn now.”

  “Let me guess, you have a meeting?”

  “No, I was visiting family in Carroll Gardens and thought I’d pop in a little early.”

  “You’ve certainly been coming into the city a lot.”

  William laughed, a slightly deranged cackle.

  “You’d find Killingworth tough to be in all the time too. Sleepy is an understatement.”

  “I really have a busy day ahead—”

  “It’s funny,” William said. “I’ve been thinking about that night I bailed you out of jail.”

  “Why were you thinking about that?” Kyle was clutching the cell phone tightly. He could feel it digging into his palm.

  “I guess because we’ve been reunited. You know that was one of the only times in my life that I’ve lied?”

  “William, do you have something you want to say?” Kyle was losing his patience and thought about hanging up. But then he imagined the phone ringing and ringing again, forever.

  “Do you know Ground Up Café?” William asked.

/>   “Yeah, it’s a few blocks down.”

  “Can I buy you a coffee? I feel like we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  “It’s just been a hectic week and you’ve been…”

  “Persistent?”

  “Yeah, you have.”

  “Laura tells me that all the time. My kids too. I have this drive, and when I want to make something happen, I can be a little obsessive. I’m working on it.”

  Kyle stroked his chin, not expecting this apology of sorts. He felt bad. Maybe he hadn’t given William a fair shot? Maybe he was a little jealous that the guy had written more than he ever had? He eyed Devil’s Hopyard, propped up on the couch. He thought back to the first paper he stayed up all night to write for Professor Lansing’s class. This was after his time in jail and after the charges were dropped. He’d given up consuming every bad drug out there. He found literature and let it become his savior, underlining passages of Steinbeck’s East of Eden that mirrored his own life. He put everything into a paper on spirituality in the novel and freaked out while waiting for the professor’s response. He wanted more than anything to do well, to prove that he’d been worthy of saving. He would’ve been destroyed if Professor Lansing had demolished his paper. He couldn’t imagine what William must be feeling right now.

  “I can meet you at Ground Up,” Kyle said.

  “Well, good. I was hoping you’d say that, Kyle. I’m there right now.”

  “Let me jump in the shower first.”

  “Don’t forget Devil’s Hopyard.”

  Click.

  * * *

  WILLIAM LEFT A voice mail for Laura while he waited for Kyle. He hadn’t returned home last night, instead wandering around the city, soaking in its flavor. A drink began downtown at McSorley’s after leaving Jamie’s office, and then he headed over to the Whitney Museum and up the High Line with a ham and butter baguette in hand. It was nighttime when he reached Central Park and sat in Sheep Meadow, tucking his jacket under his head as a pillow. He slept better than he had in months, awakening to a fireball sunrise off Fifth Avenue. Its warmth caressed his face and he felt refreshed. He got on the train and made his way down to Cobble Hill. One luxuriating cup of coffee later, he called Kyle.

  Laura understood his strange habits and didn’t think it abnormal when he occasionally stayed out all night. Walkabouts, he called them, not for six months in the wilderness like the Aborigines but a night of entering the “forest of his mind,” without any distractions. This was essential for creating Devil’s Hopyard, and Laura never objected, greeting him with a thousand kisses when he returned, as if he’d been gone as long as a true walkabout.