Love Literary Style

by Karin Gillespie

  “I’m sorry. Maybe the next time you come into town.”

  “I understand. It’s just that I thought you might want to meet China New. I was going to take you to a little party she’s having. ”

  Laurie gasped. “The China New?”

  “You’re familiar with her? I wasn’t sure because she’s primarily a rom-com actress, and I know that some people think rom-coms are cheesy but—”

  “I love rom-coms. I live for them.”

  “You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

  “Not at all. I would love to go to the party. But, R.K., there’s something you should know.”

  “Call me Ross,” he says. “R.K. is just for book covers.”

  “Ross then. It would have to be a friendly excursion. I’m not on the dating market right now.”

  “Point taken. I’ll behave myself.”

  They made some arrangements and then ended the call. Laurie opened Love’s Prophet and read the first line: “I thought I knew the meaning of love, and then I met Jessica.” Ross’s entire novel came flooding back to her. If the man was anything like his novel, he had a keen understanding of what women wanted.

  Seventeen

  Aaron spent too much time watching television, a regrettable habit he’d picked up at Laurie’s house. Friday evening he noticed that one of the channels was having a Rom-Com Weekend Watch-A-Thon. Wistful for Laurie, he decided to watch his very first romantic comedy, When Harry Met Sally. He was expecting the worst, but instead the strong acting, clever dialogue and situations pleasantly surprised him.

  For the whole weekend, Aaron sat in his dark alcove watching rom-coms. Some were full of clichés and insipid, but many were entertaining. Quickly he learned the tropes of the genre: a goofy best friend sidekick, opposites attracting and a romantic false lead. The trope that interested him most was the romantic gesture. Near the end of every movie, things looked grim for the film couple, but then one of them, almost always the male, pulled off a romantic gesture and got the girl back.

  Aaron hadn’t thought about the possibility of winning Laurie back—he’d never been particularly proactive in relationships—but he was intrigued by the idea. If it worked in the movies that Laurie loved, maybe it would work in real life.

  All rom-coms also had declarations of love and his favorite was the one in Jerry Maguire. Jerry said to his girlfriend, in front of a gaggle of her female cohorts: “You complete me.”

  Ever since he moved out of Laurie’s cheerful little house, Aaron felt like he’d lost part of himself, perhaps the most important part. He’d like to say, “You complete me” to Laurie, but likely she had already seen Jerry Maguire, and stealing the line would be plagiarism.

  Perhaps if he paraphrased with proper attribution, of course. He sat on his futon and used his laptop to type some thoughts.

  “Without you, I’m Ted Hughes without Sylvia Plath…”

  No. She probably wouldn’t understand the reference, and even if she did, it was a tad morbid.

  He tried again: “Without you, I’m a bookstore without a copy of a Nick Windust novel.”

  No. Not particularly romantic and not personal enough. He needed something she’d immediately understand, some sort of shared moment between them.

  And then an idea came to him. He remembered the time she went out and purchased numerous jars of jelly so he wouldn’t have to eat bread with only peanut butter.

  “Without you,” he wrote, “I am peanut butter without jelly.”

  Not quite right.

  “Without you, I am Jif without jelly.”

  Better because of the alliteration. And it was also apt because, without Laurie, he was not nearly as palatable. He needed her sweetness as a balance. Furthermore, when he made his love declaration to her, he planned to hold a jar of Jif. He noticed a number of romantic heroes employed props—John Cusak and his boom box in Say Anything for example. Who knew? If he was lucky she might even respond to his declaration of love by saying, “You had me at Jif.”

  Aaron glanced at his watch. It was five p.m., and Laurie was likely drinking her girly cocktail. Wouldn’t it be nice if he could spend happy hour with her? He’d sorely missed their nightly ritual.

  He stopped by the grocery store to buy a jar of Jif. He only had no-brand almost-gone peanut butter in his room, and it was probably not very romantic to give someone a near empty jar of peanut butter. After making the purchase, he drove to Laurie’s house, and on the way he rehearsed his speech. He knocked on her door, jumpy with expectation. In movies romantic gestures always worked beautifully, but it was hard to say what might happen in real life.

  Laurie opened the door. Aaron had conjured her up in his mind many times over the last few weeks, but his memories of her couldn’t touch the reality. It was the difference between seeing a black-and-white photograph of a peach and biting into the juiciest, most succulent peach of your life. She looked so lovely, he momentarily forgot his lines.

  “Aaron? What are you doing here?”

  He thrust the jar of peanut butter in her direction and said, “Without you I am jelly without Jif.”

  Wait. That wasn’t right.

  “I don’t understand…Are you saying you want to borrow some jelly?”

  “No. I don’t want jelly…You’re the jelly, and I’m the peanut butter, or rather the Jif and I—This Jif is for you and I’m the—”

  A male voice said, “Who’s at the door, Laurie?”

  Aaron’s stomach dropped. Had she already replaced him?

  A familiar face loomed into view. It was Ross Harris, looking aggressively handsome. His skin was bathed in a patina of gold light as if he traveled with his own cinematographer.

  “What is he doing here?” Aaron asked. He pointed at Ross. “I went to school with him.”

  “I heard all about that,” Laurie said. She wrinkled her nose, implying that Ross had told her something unpleasant. “Why are you here, Aaron?”

  “Is Ross Harris your new male companion?” Aaron said.

  “I’d rather not discuss that.”

  “You can’t be with him.”

  The vehemence in his delivery surprised even him.

  Laurie raised an eyebrow. “And why is that may I ask?”

  “He’s the romantic false lead.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Like Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones’s Diary or Warner in Legally Blonde.”

  Laurie widened her eyes. “What do you know about those movies?”

  “I viewed a Rom-Com Watch-a-Thon this weekend.”

  “And how does the peanut butter fit in?” she said.

  “It’s the, uh… romantic gesture.”

  Laurie still looked confused. His romantic gesture was turning out to be a flop. “But I don’t like Jif,” she said. “I eat Planters.”

  “Planters isn’t alliterative.”

  She was blinking as if agitated. “Aaron, I’m sorry. I don’t know why you’re here. But a jar of peanut butter isn’t going to fix things between us. It’s a little naive of you to think that.”

  “Then what will fix things? I miss you, Laurie.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide and shiny. “You do?”

  He nodded.

  “Maybe you could take back what you said about my novel.”

  Aaron paused a moment, tempted. But he’d be lying to her, and as much as he wanted Laurie back, dishonesty was not the right way to go about it. What kind of relationship would they have if he only said what she wanted to hear?

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do that,” Aaron said.

  “What?”

  “I may have been too hard on you. My choice of words might have been—”

  “Enough. We’re not having this conversation anymore. Goodbye, Aa
ron. And by the way, Ross loves my writing.”

  She slammed the door shut. Ross remained on the steps, shaking his head. His eyes were a mesmerizing sapphire color, like a character in Laurie’s novel. So different from Aaron’s eyes, which were such a light gray they were almost colorless and possessed no mesmerizing qualities whatsoever. Suddenly Aaron wanted to punch Ross square in his oversized jaw. But it would be like a gnat taking on a windshield.

  Ross pointed at the jar of peanut butter and laughed. “That’s lame, Aaron. Even for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Peanut butter is nobody’s idea of a romantic gesture. Romantic gestures have to be grand. You also tried to win Laurie back using tropes from a genre you supposedly despise. How tragic you missed that irony.”

  Aaron glanced down at the peanut butter jar, not knowing what to say. “I was…I thought that—”

  “Save it. Just like you can’t learn to write literary fiction overnight, you can’t learn how to please a woman like Laurie by watching a few rom-coms. When you showed me her photograph in New York, I knew she was out of your league, and it was only a matter of time before she broke it off. She’ll be much happier with me. I specialize in pleasing women.”

  “Does being a woman pleaser also mean you don’t mind lying to Laurie? Because I’m certain even you recognized the flaws in her fiction writing.”

  “Your trouble is you don’t understand publishing, Aaron. Good writing simply isn’t that important. Laurie has a savvy editor. It’ll all work out for her.”

  “How can you say that? Good writing is the most important thing.”

  “You’re such a dinosaur.” He winked. “Better get back to Laurie. You don’t keep a woman like that waiting.”

  He slipped back inside, and Aaron was tempted to lob the peanut butter jar at Ross’s head, but he had a lousy throwing arm. He also hated to waste a perfectly good jar of peanut butter, especially since he was almost out at home.

  “I gave Aaron a chance to redeem himself,” Laurie said to Delilah over the phone. She wore headphones, freeing up her hands so she could tidy up the house. “And he refused to take it. So I say, ‘Good riddance.’”

  “Exactly. Who needs him?”

  “Aaron brought me peanut butter. He thought that was romantic.”

  “Ha! For our last anniversary Bart gave me Spanx. I wanted to Spanx him. Bart said, ‘I overheard you saying you wanted some.’ I said, ‘Not from you! It’d be like me giving you Rogaine for a gift.’ And he said, ‘I wouldn’t mind you giving me Rogaine.’”

  Laurie gathered up a stack of fashion magazines and dropped them in an overflowing recycle bin. “Men truly are from a different planet. Except for Ross. He’s always says and does the right thing.”

  “Funny, but you don’t sound too excited about him.”

  Laurie mashed down the magazines with her foot. “We’re still just friends. I haven’t even kissed him yet, but I wanted to when he told me how much he loved my writing. Did I tell you Aaron watched a bunch of rom-coms?”

  “You may have mentioned it, three or four times.”

  Laurie moved on to the hamper. She dumped her clothes on the laundry room floor and started separating them into colors and whites. “As if that could win me back. It’s clear he doesn’t respect me.”

  “Exactly,” Delilah said. “And yet...”

  “What?”

  “You kind of have to admire the guy for sticking with his opinion.”

  “Even though it’s wrong?”

  “In his mind, it wasn’t.”

  “That’s because he’s a terrible snob. Ross confirmed that. He said that when Aaron was in New York, he criticized Ross’s work. And of course, Ross is a bestselling author. If it’s not literary writing, Aaron thinks it’s garbage...By the way, Ross gave me a wonderful blurb, even though the book isn’t finished yet. He said the cutest thing: ‘I don’t have to eat the whole cake to know it’s delicious.’ My editor was so pleased.”

  “It seems like you and Ross have so much more in common than you and Aaron. You know what they say: Birds of a feather.”

  Laurie sighed. “It’s true. Aaron and I would have never gotten together if we didn’t have that misunderstanding. It’s amazing we stayed together as long as we did.”

  She picked up a white button-down shirt. It was Aaron’s. It must have been at the bottom of the hamper.

  “I guess it’s for the best then,” Delilah said.

  “Yes. For the best.”

  She took a long sniff of Aaron’s shirt. It still smelled like him. Maybe she’d wait a bit before washing it.

  The next day Aaron woke up and instead of wanting to pull the covers over his head like usual, a crazed kind of energy possessed him.

  For a solid week he was caught in a writing frenzy, and whenever he completed a chapter he emailed it to Bernie. He’d been subsisting on Red Bull and No-Doze and hadn’t bathed since he began. After he completed the tenth chapter, he called Bernie to see what his agent thought of his new novel thus far.

  “Bernie Fields, literary agent extraordinaire, maker of bestsellers.”

  “You may be the only literary agent who answers his own phone.”

  “That’s because I can’t find a secretary who will work for Skittles and sexual favors.”

  Bernie was kidding. Aaron’s literary agent was happily married.

  “Did you have a chance to read what I’ve sent you?”

  “I have.”

  “I can’t seem to stop writing. I’ve never written so fast in my life.”

  “So I see.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s definitely a departure from your usual work.”

  “That’s because this one is coming from my gut.”

  “I’m a little taken aback by all the graphic violence…It’s disturbing.”

  “Excellent. That’s what I was going for.”

  “I’m also wondering if it might be too episodic. You have a serial killer who keeps killing the same type of guy.”

  “It’s his profile. I did the research. Serial killers always have profiles.”

  “Yeah, well, it might be improbable that the killer would kill only male bestselling novelists who write love stories. How many guys like that could there be?”

  “So you don’t like the novel?”

  “I think it might be less novel and more catharsis. Did something happen? Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Are you saying you don’t like it? Because if you don’t, I can always shop it with someone else.”

  “You sure you’re okay? You sound…peculiar.”

  “I’m fine. I haven’t slept in three days, but I don’t seem to miss it. Gotta go. Time to write the next chapter.”

  Aaron woke up on the floor of his room, and at least a dozen places on his skin were begging for a scratch. He didn’t remember falling asleep; it must have happened when he was typing. He had no idea what time it was or how long he’d been asleep. All he knew was he wanted to get back to his novel-in-progress.

  After taking care of his and Dusty’s morning physiological needs, he returned to his laptop. He decided to reread some of his previous chapters to get him back into the flow of the novel. He started at the beginning, and after reading several pages, stared at the screen in disbelief. The writing was the ravings of a basket case. He was so disturbed by what he’d written, he deleted the entire document.

  What was happening to him? Where did all these tumultuous emotions come from? He’d never in his life felt so out of control. And if this was the kind of writing his life was bringing out of him, why did he even bother? His father was right. He would never make a name for himself as a writer.

  Someone knocked on his door; he glanced about his ro
om as if seeing it for the first time in a long while. It was cluttered with Red Bull cans, M&M wrappers and other debris. He was also aware that his teeth were fuzzy, and that he smelled like the inside of a laundry hamper.

  He considered ignoring the knock; there was no one he wanted to see.

  “Cowboy? Are you in there?”

  Bernie? It couldn’t be. Bernie lived in Hoboken. Aaron talked to him only a few hours ago. He must be having auditory hallucinations. But no. Dusty barked. He heard it too.

  “I know you’re in there. I can hear you breathing. Open up.”

  Aaron opened the door. Bernie was standing outside wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and smelling like a Philly Cheesesteak.

  “Nice jammies,” he said. Aaron was wearing the ones Laurie gave him.

  “Thank you.” Aaron was still in a state of shock at the sight of his literary agent.

  “Jesus. It’s worse than I thought.” Bernie pinched his nostrils and waved the air. “You’re not the Walking Dead, you’re the Walking Decomposed. Good thing I decided to check on you.” He slapped at his ankle. “Damn. This place is infested.” Dusty approached and jumped on his legs. “And now I see why.”

  “Dusty is completely flea-free. I just need to…” Aaron blinked and stared. “Is it really you?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  “When did we last talk?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “I’ve lost two days?”

  “Sounds like it. I would have come even sooner, but I had to scrounge up the cash for a plane ticket. Which I will deduct from your advance when we sell your novel.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “Because I was afraid you were about to jump off a ten-story building without a net.”

  “I would never do that.” He patted Dusty’s head. “As you can see, there’s someone who relies on me. But I can’t believe you came all this way because you were worried about me.”

  “I sure as hell didn’t come for the Falcons. Have you been following their season?”