“I can get a real job, you know. I have a degree. I have this under my belt now.”
“Yeah, but how much is this really going to matter? No one wants a quitter.”
“Is that what you tell yourself every day here, Claude, to get yourself through?”
“You bet,” she says proudly, almost defiantly.
“So what’s in the bag?”
“Open it.”
I reach into the bag and am hardly surprised to pull out my manuscript. I figured it was in there. Still, deep reservoirs of relief wash over me as I feel its weight in my hands. I want to check for each page, as someone would the number of bills for a ransom. I want to make sure every word is there. But when I do so, flipping through the sheets, it appears the manuscript has been defiled, with red, blue, and green scratchings on every page. It’s like Walker let a child get at it—or worse, Arlo. Then it dawns on me: this scrawl is in Walker’s hand. He’s edited my book.
Notes, line edits, structural suggestions, all are arranged and color-coded. The penmanship appears to be the work of a drowning man attempting to write underwater. But the edits are coherent. Professional. Incisive. Walker Fucking Reade has edited my book.
“This is what he’s been spending his nights doing after you leave. He said it needs some work, but that he would hand this to Lionel in a second.”
“If I stay?”
“If you stay.”
“Where I come from, they call that bribery.”
“That’s what we call it around here, too. I’m not trying to sugarcoat it,” she says, lighting up another cigarette. “He was impressed, by the way. That’s not an easy thing to do.”
It’s all a bit much to process. “One more night to sleep on it?” I say, buying time. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”
“Fair enough.”
I excuse myself and head back to the bedroom, anxious to look through what Walker has done. As I leaf through, I can’t help but imagine Walker’s hands on these pages—my pages. Walker Reade has ripped apart my manuscript, which means Walker Reade cared enough to rip apart my manuscript. His comments shed light on everything that is clearly missing. There are massive cuts. Some hilarious line edits. It’s a revelation.
I sit there for hours, studying each comment as if it’s encrypted—that it holds some truth I’m too young or dumb to understand. Which is just about the size of it. About halfway through, one comment in particular catches my eye. It says simply: “You’re better than this.” It’s attached to a romantic passage—and I’m not sure if it is addressing the quality of the writing or the quality of the sentiments expressed. The phrase toggles around in my head until I’ve looked at it from all angles. From each angle it looks and feels different. It registers that I’ve never heard this from my family—indeed, it’s almost always the opposite from them: you can’t think you’re too good where I come from. I never heard it from any professor, all of whom gingerly sleepwalked through my essays and short stories, doling out measured praise and A-minuses. It feels like the biggest thing that’s ever been said to me. Maybe because it’s the first time it’s ever been said to me. I hug the manuscript to my chest like I’m taking in a lover. And in an instant, my decision becomes glaringly, comically, obvious.
CHAPTER 27
Nine years later I will hear about Walker—with New York still burning and me seven months pregnant, towels tucked into the window frames, worried about how that unforgettable stench might affect my unborn child. I’ll sit there a long time staring online. There will be Walker’s face, in signature Tilley hat and sunglasses, surrounded by stories about Al Qaeda and anthrax—anything unrelated to 9/11 buried deep within the news, even though it’s been a month since the attacks. The obit headline will be simple: “Walker Reade, Author of Biker, Liar’s Dice, Dead at 61.” Before I even click on the link, I’ll know, the image flashing to mind the one from the range. The night that could well have been this night, had there been one more bullet in the chamber.
Walker will have been on my mind, a political website having just published a piece of his about the attacks—a half-paranoid rant peppered with a litany of crazy-sounding predictions and insights that would ultimately bear fruit. I will have wished, as I read the piece, that Walker and I had stayed in touch after I left. But leaving the farm would be like leaving Mars. Unless you were there to help run the colony, you were out.
Before the e-mails start coming in, and the smattering of calls, my thoughts will turn to Claudia. I’ll know—as sure as I know anything—that the story in the papers will not be the real story, but I’ll click on the obit anyway. Among the ten works cited, there will be Roadhouse. Our baby. The one that ultimately took another year to finish. The one I stayed for—the only one I could handle before I left, for the sake of my sanity and my sobriety. In the Walker Reade oeuvre, it will have been deemed a minor trifle, but hardly an embarrassment. There would be the two more after that, which Walker did with another assistant, a twenty-six-year-old whom he later married. By then Hollywood would have gotten hip to Walker, one famously eccentric young character actor, Tommy Jagger, having claimed Larry Lucas’s seat in the Colorado version of musical couch cushions—and parlayed that position into a starring role in the movie version of Liar’s Dice. All of a sudden there would be plenty of money, and the legacy would be secured. But in the end, it was never about either of those things.
My husband will call. “Did you hear? Are you okay?”
“It was so long ago. Like a decade. I’m fine. Sad. It’s just . . . sad.”
It will be hard, in that moment, to conjure normal memories—the ones that come will be more tactile than abstract. Memories that I could more easily taste than re-create in my head: the bite of the Chivas, the bitterness of the cocaine, the sour-sweetness of the key lime pie. The feel of his lips, all of the uncertainty and fear that followed me like a shadow. I’ll recall how Walker, when I declared it was time for me to go, set me free into the hands of Lionel Gray, letting me take my reward. And how my baby—my first one, I should say—Pegasus, took flight in Lionel’s hands. My two subsequent babies would fare respectably, again, with Lionel steering the ship, and I’ll be trying to finish my fourth novel before my actual baby is due in December. But on this day, I’ll be expected to run a meeting at the women’s magazine where I’m the managing editor. So I will ride up the elevator in my building in SoHo, carrying a dozen doughnuts for the troops.
Coworkers will greet me. Some will know about the time I spent out at Walker’s. Some will not. Some will just not care. Some will rub my belly. Some will still be grieving. Some still won’t have shown up, even though it will have been four weeks since the attacks. At the conference table, I will scan the faces. The anxiety on each will be different shades—but everyone will be wearing it. It will not be lost on me that Walker will have picked this time to bow out. The bastards will rob the store blind.
“Meeting’s off,” I’ll say, before it has even started. “Let’s just get to work.”
I will make my way outside again—restless and, at seven months pregnant, hungry all the time. I’ll head up toward Washington Square to a Vietnamese sandwich shop I’ve become obsessed with, even though it’s only ten in the morning. They’ll make me a banh mi, extra pork. The second I step outside, The Smell will get inside my nose—our offices being less than twenty blocks from where the unspeakable pile is still burning. Because I’m pregnant, I will be able to smell The Smell and categorize each note, like some diabolical perfumer: the computer, the paper, the leather and plastic and cloth, the awful smell of humanity. I will make my way up to Washington Square Park, grab the sandwich, and go look at the pictures of the missing plastered like wallpaper on the arch.
A month after the attack, there will still be so many of these pictures, even though the rains will have come and gone. All of these flyers will say these people are “missing,” which will seem so odd to me. New Yorkers don’t typically traffic in false hope—we live here for the rea
lity that was perhaps so sorely missing in our young lives. For the smack in the face of truth. These people are not just going to show up, I will think to myself. They’re gone. This thought will cling to me as I amble back downtown, my brown paper bag banging against my leg like a funeral drum, surrounded by chaos and sorrow and life—the thrill of it, the fear of it. It will feel like that first time I held the .44 on Walker’s range, him behind me, holding me close, taking aim at the target we were going to blow up together. I will feel his breath, and I will hear him whisper, You won’t miss with this, sweetheart. You won’t miss with this.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my agent, Gary Morris, my editor, Lauren Spiegel, Sally Kim, and the team at Touchstone.
The following people either provided me a quiet place to write, read my book, took my picture, provided moral support, or did all of the above: Michael Callahan, Jen-Scott Mobley, Mark Ransom, Larry Smith, Piper Kerman, Helen Barnard, Will Freshwater, Barbara Gogan, Marla Garfield, Jenny Smith, and Dan Marano.
To my family: Jack and Joan Della Pietra, Lynn Della Pietra, Pat and Julia Grugan, Lynn Edwards and Peter Klein, and Dennis and Jenny Wenger.
To my brave, strong TJ: Thanks for showing Mom how it’s done.
To my husband, Ty: Thank you for your steady hand, editorial guidance, patience, generosity, and humor. Thank you for not flinching during this best-worst year. Thank you for holding my hand through it all.
And to Hunter: Thank you for reminding me, as you often did, that “a day without fun is a day that eats shit.”
TOUCHSTONE READING GROUP GUIDE
* * *
Gonzo
Girl
CHERYL DELLA PIETRA
This reading group guide for Gonzo Girl includes an introduction, discussion questions, ideas for enhancing your book club, and a Q&A with author Cheryl Della Pietra. The suggested questions are intended to help your reading group find new and interesting angles and topics for your discussion. We hope that these ideas will enrich your conversation and increase your enjoyment of the book.
INTRODUCTION
Alley, a recent college graduate, is forced to succumb to bartending on Bleecker Street and working as an unpaid magazine intern while waiting for her big break in the grueling world of New York City publishing. Fortunately for her, Alley lands the job of assistant to notorious author Walker Reade, hoping that this will be her chance to get her own manuscript reviewed by an experienced editor.
While living with Walker at his compound in the Colorado Rockies, Alley quickly learns that this job is unlike any other. Attempting to encourage Walker to write at least one page a day, Alley becomes fully immersed in Walker’s manic lifestyle. From endless lines of cocaine to casual gunplay to rage-filled outbursts, Alley could be in over her head. But as she begins to sense that Walker’s book may never get written, she takes things into her own hands—blindly sealing her own fate in the process.
Based on the experiences of author Cheryl Della Pietra’s time as an assistant for the infamous writer of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Hunter S. Thompson, Gonzo Girl delves deep into the chaotic, raucous, and unfiltered life of a literary icon.
TOPICS & QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
1. Gonzo Girl opens with a tray of cocaine being passed among elite individuals, including a former vice-presidential candidate and an Academy Award–winning actor, while at a party in Walker Reade’s home. Thus begins Alley’s trial period as Walker’s assistant. In what ways does this scene set up the tone of the novel? What would you do if you were Alley?
2. Claudia offers Alley rules of advice in order to survive as Walker’s assistant, including “be ready.” What does she mean? What does Alley need to “be ready” for? How do Claudia’s rules portray Walker?
3. Describe a typical day in the life of Walker Reade. Is it how you would expect a revered writer to behave?
4. Explore the topic of sexism in this novel. Walker consistently calls the women in his life “idiots,” denouncing their intelligence, clothing, and general way of being at any given opportunity. And then there’s Alley’s family, who are unsupportive of her career aspirations. Her father even says to her, “Door’s always open. When you come back,” implying that she will undoubtedly fail. What do the sexist overtones reveal about these male characters? Does this type of behavior and way of thinking continue to exist today?
5. Walker continually dismisses Alley and her desire to be a writer. Is Alley naive to think that this job will help her garner literary success?
6. After spending several weeks as Walker’s assistant, Alley embraces a new philosophy for herself. “I would treat my time out here like AA, but in reverse. Instead of adopting a ‘one day at a time’ approach for not abusing substances, I was going to take that approach for abusing them.” Is this Alley’s way of convincing herself that it’s acceptable to participate in Walker’s debauchery? Is she just making excuses so that she doesn’t quit?
7. Unbeknownst to Walker, Alley has been rewriting the pages of his new book and submitting them to Walker’s editor, Lionel. Alley doesn’t even have any remorse for doing so. Instead, she says, “It has, in fact, been extremely rewarding to take the skeleton of his story and hang fresh meat on those bones.” Do you think Alley is ruining her career before it even starts, or is this a strategic move?
8. Claudia has been Walker’s assistant for years and seems to be his only loyal confidante. Alley thinks that “Claudia’s job description would fill a phone book,” yet Claudia doesn’t get paid. What makes her stay with Walker? Why do you think she cares so much about him?
9. In Chapter 10, Alley retreats to Walker’s back office to make a phone call, only to discover photos of Walker receiving his Pulitzer and even pictures of his ex-wife and children lining the walls. This is the first and only mention in the novel of Walker having a family. When studying the photos, Alley notices that “There’s no thinly veiled rage, no look of disdain. Or maybe it’s because he’s keeping good company in these pictures. There are no Devaneys, Alleys, or Claudias for him to slum with. He looks like his true self. Or perhaps what I imagined that to be.” Albeit brief, why does the author bother to include this scene? What does this reveal about Walker’s former life and his current dysfunctional lifestyle?
10. How would you describe Devaney’s role in Walker’s life? Do you think Walker and Devaney are in love? How would you define their relationship?
11. Claudia thinks sobriety would kill Walker, while Alley thinks he believes it would “render him moot.” Whom do you agree with? Do you think Walker’s substance abuse fosters his creativity? Does his writing excuse his excessive behavior?
12. Did you find Walker and Alley’s sexual encounter surprising? Why does Claudia say “Everybody at some point, at some time, falls in love with Walker?”
13. Despite Walker’s verbal outbursts, unwanted sexual advances, and violent rages, Alley never quits. She consistently compromises her integrity to remain Walker’s assistant. Why is she so loyal? Is she that desperate for relevance or success? Is there a difference?
15. Does Walker redeem himself at the end of the story? Do you forgive him for his faults?
ENHANCE YOUR BOOK CLUB
1. The title of this book is a nod to “gonzo” journalism, a style of writing that was popularized by Hunter S. Thompson. Pair your reading of Gonzo Girl with one of Hunter S. Thompson’s popular books, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas or Hell’s Angels. You can also try Hunter S. Thompson: An Insider’s View of Deranged, Depraved, Drugged Out Brilliance, by Jay Cowan, to learn more about his eccentric life. Discuss how Hunter S. Thompson compares to Walker Reade. Do you think Walker could have written Hunter’s books?
2. Alley isn’t the only assistant who’s had it rough! Watch The Devil Wears Prada (2006) or episodes from Ugly Betty and Mad Men to see how other assistants handled the harrowing demands of their employers.
3. Take a bartending cue from Alley! For your next book club meeting, mix up some del
icious drinks. Look up your favorite cocktail recipe online or try some literature-inspired drinks from Tequila Mockingbird: Cocktails with a Literary Twist, by Tim Federle. Give your book club an extra kick!
A CONVERSATION WITH CHERYL DELLA PIETRA
After you graduated from college, you lived with Hunter S. Thompson in Woody Creek, Colorado, for several months as his assistant. Discuss your relationship with Hunter S. Thompson. How did you become his assistant? How does Alley’s experience working for Walker Reade compare to yours?
Hunter had put the word out to Rolling Stone that he was looking for an assistant. I had a friend who was working there, and he passed the information along to me. I just went for it. I wrote some sort of crazy letter (I was not shy about mentioning I was a bartender at the time), and they got it into his hands. He called my apartment at 3:00 in the morning and told me to get out there the next day. Thus started my trial period. The relationship was similar to that of Alley and Walker—good days and bad days. Lots of substances. Lots of fun. And every once in a while it would all break down into a screaming match and a dish would whiz by your head or something. But there is something uniquely intimate about watching a genius write, or try to write, night after night. I feel very privileged to have witnessed that.
Why did you write Gonzo Girl as a novel as opposed to a memoir?
I’m twenty-three years removed from this experience, so I felt uncomfortable writing a memoir. I actually started my career in magazines as a fact-checker and research editor, so I’m a stickler for accuracy, and I don’t think I could rely on my memory to piece together a cohesive narrative that was 100 percent true.
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