by Scott Carter
“Because I love you. And because I spent my youth idolizing you and my adulthood respecting you more than anyone on the planet, and you have strayed so far away from the man you should be that it’s terrifying. I was planning an intervention before I found out you write the Niles books. This just gave me the leverage you needed to feel to inspire you.”
“Inspire me? You think this inspired me?”
“It forced you to do things that were your nature before you drank and drugged yourself into an egocentric haze.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you. You have the resources to do anything you want, to help people, to make real change in their lives, and instead you’re living some frat-boy fantasy. You’re better than that. You mean more than that.”
Barrett exhales a cloud that looks particularly thick. “And where was this going to end? With me bankrupt and out of publishing?”
“If that got you back to being you.”
But Barrett doesn’t hear past his own retort. All he listens to is her admission of extorting him, of betraying him, of dismantling her brother. He steps within an inch of her face.
“If you’d spent as much time digging into the details of your son’s life as you did mine, he wouldn’t need to be in therapy.”
And with that his back is turned and he’s on his way across the street. There’s nothing else to say from his perspective. She betrayed him and put him through hell, and right now that means she’s dead to him.
Thirty
Richard sits in Dr. Burns’ office and notices that his mother looks like she belongs in therapy more than he does. Her eyes look like she hasn’t slept in days, her face has adopted a perpetually worried look, and her eyelids are the type of red that make Richard wonder if she’s on medication too.
Dr. Burns wears a tight brown turtleneck with the cuffs rolled halfway up his forearms. The intensity in his eyes makes it clear that he is all business today. No pleasantries, no offer of juice or tea, no acknowledgement that Carol is in the room.
“Have the recent events inspired you to write in your journal?”
Richard watches his mother drop her head in defeat and leans forward on the couch.
“I’d rather tell you how I feel. Both of you.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want to be on pills.”
“You’re on medication because ...”
“I’m not finished. I feel bad about myself when I’m taking pills, not when I don’t. And I don’t want what you call minor side effects anymore. You spend a day feeling like your tongue might suffocate you and then you can call them minor. And I don’t need to be in therapy either.”
“Your mother disagrees.”
Richard turns to his mother. “I don’t need to be in therapy.” He absorbs the shock on her face as she starts to respond.
“Richard, listen ...”
But he stands now so that he can cut her off both physically and verbally.
“You listen. You want to do what you think is best for me, and I love you for that, but you’re wrong. I don’t need a stranger or pills to help me deal with Dad leaving, I need time with you. And not time when you look at me like you might cry, or when you’re protecting me, or when you’re scared that I’m sad, but just time together.” Richard turns to Burns and points at him aggressively. “Dad leaving is our problem, not his. We’re the ones that have to keep living.”
Burns appears unfazed. Everything about his training and experience tells him to stay on track, to remain the leader, and he does so with unwavering dogma. “It’s these outbursts that have us so concerned, Richard. Your constant disregard for authority is a classic example of oppositional defiant disorder.” He reaches over to a stack of papers on an adjacent stool, picks up a brochure, and passes it to Carol. Richard looks at the large school on the cover, which is surrounded in trees and green grass.
“That is Grove Academy. It’s a new school that is opening this September. It’s located a half hour outside of the city, and it specializes in students with behavioural issues. Because I’m on the board, they have agreed to give full scholarships to a few of my patients, and I recommend that you’re one of them.”
Carol looks up from the brochure. “You want him to go to school away from home?”
“I want what’s best for Richard.”
“You want him to live outside of the city?”
Burns points to the brochure. “The increasingly alarming events of the past few weeks speak for themselves. Grove Academy is the best place for him, and you are lucky to have the opportunity to go there.”
The muscles in her calves twitch and a surge of energy fills her upper body until she is on her feet. “Stop talking to my son like he isn’t an eleven-year-old kid.”
“Ms. Fuller?”
“You talk to us every week like you have all the answers, and then he goes home and gets further and further away from who he is.”
“May I remind you that you came to me because I don’t use traditional methods.”
“This will be our last visit, doctor.”
Richard takes her hand and follows her out of the office and down the hall to the elevator.
“I’m sorry, baby.” She hugs him as tight as possible without hurting him.
“It’s okay. Did you see the look on his face?”
Carol nods and they both begin to giggle.
“I’m also sorry about the way I acted after you told me why your father left. That was a huge burden for you to carry, and I appreciate that you were trying to protect me. I’m proud of you.”
“Why? I kept the truth from you.”
“Yeah, but it says a lot about your character that you were willing to suffer in order to protect me. All mothers should be so lucky.”
Richard smiles.
“And you’re absolutely right with what you said to Dr. Burns. Your father leaving is our reality, and it’s you and me that will discuss him when we need to. Sound good?”
Richard nods, and for the first time since taking the medication his tongue feels lubricated.
Barrett sits across from Sidney in their favourite lunch spot, a Japanese restaurant with regal booths, the best apple martinis in the city, and flash-fried black cod that makes them wish all food tastes so heavenly. Sidney takes a mouthful of his martini while Barrett sips at an Asahi. Two trays of ginger scallion sauce sit between them. After his first eight straight hours of sleep since the extortion, Barrett looks refreshed.
Sidney isn’t as comfortable. His job as an agent is to look forward, and Barrett can tell by how fast he’s drinking his martini that while the man is grateful the extortion is over, he knows the aftermath is far from clean, and he knows they still have to deal with a press conference.
“I had all traces of the Once Upon a Hypocrite site erased,” Sidney says. “But I can’t get Don to budge with this press conference.”
“I finished the book.”
Sidney straightens. “What?”
“I finished the book.”
“You wrote a hundred pages in a week?”
“A hundred and three.”
“Wow. Can you feel my blood pressure dropping?”
Barrett smiles.
The news prompts Sidney to raise his martini. “To being back in business.” He finishes his drink and looks at Barrett, whose beer still sits on the table. “I’m sorry it was Carol.”
“We don’t need to discuss it.”
“I know, but I’m just saying. That’s a lot to deal with, and I’m sorry I didn’t resolve it for you.”
Barrett nods enough to be polite.
“Enough serious talk,” Sidney says with a smile. “We’ve done enough of that the last few weeks to last us a lifetime. What we need to do is talk about property, and I wouldn’t be a good friend or a good agent if I didn’t come with a gift.” He puts pictures of a beach house in front of him with white sand and water so blue it looks fake. “I got word this place goes on the market tomorrow fo
r two hundred less than it’s worth. The owner ran a software company that just went bankrupt, and he’s under the gun to unload the place.”
Barrett looks at the photos but he can care less about property. What he wants to do is see Rebecca, so he plays along with Sidney’s enthusiasm, pays for lunch, and heads to the Russell Niles fan club determined to right his wrong.
When he enters, the fan club is packed with people buying merchandise. He approaches the receptionist and forces a smile. “I’m here to see Rebecca.”
The woman stuffs Mil Bennett stickers into envelopes. “Down the hall,” she says with glazed eyes.
Barrett approaches Rebecca’s office and stands in the doorway until she notices, pivots from a bookshelf, and slams the door in his face.
“Rebecca?” The door’s grey paint makes him think of prison cells. “Open the door, please.”
Her silence says more than any response could. He imagines her holding a middle finger to the door.
Even in this vulnerable state, he’s too egotistical to anticipate such a response to his visit, so he rubs a hand across both eyebrows as a stress reflex before reaching into his jacket to remove a large envelope. Bent down, he slides the envelope under the door confident that the contents will grab Rebecca’s attention. He knows that a part of her wants to throw it in the garbage, but he believes a stronger part of her is curious and that she’ll pick it up and tear it open as fast as possible. His first instinct was to buy her a gift capable of making her forgive anything, but he knows she would find an attempt to buy her more insulting than enticing, and he wants to do justice to her effect on him, so he embraced the way she puts him at ease and placed a picture of himself dressed as Sindu the Starfish from the day he read at the bookstore in the envelope. A message running across the bottom’s white border reads NOW YOU SEE WHY I LOVE YOUR SINDU STORY. YOUR BIGGEST FAN, BARRETT. The picture is ridiculous. His stubbly face is surrounded by the fluffy white starfish headpiece, and the white tights make his skinny legs look even more cartoonish. The picture is the epitome of humility.
The envelope slides back under the door toward Barrett, and he bends down with a smile. The idea of her playing along with his romance is fitting, and he’s eager to see what she put back in the envelope until he notices GO AWAY written in black marker where a mailing address would be. Go away. This type of rejection is beyond humbling, it’s painful. Because ultimately, she’s not rejecting his approach, she’s rejecting him. He turns from her door, walks down the hall, and tosses the envelope in the first garbage he sees.
A black man with pronounced cheekbones plays the steel drums a block down the street. Barrett stares at the man and watches his hands move effortlessly across the instrument. He walks across the street, and a sports car blaring rap music honks at him. One of the teenagers sticks his head out the window and swears at him, but he doesn’t notice.
He heads for a bench in front of a bookstore, tosses an abandoned carton of half-eaten French fries into the adjacent garbage and takes a seat.
Seeing the kids through the window makes him miss Richard. He pulls out his phone, thinks for a moment then texts: Your next driving lesson is Saturday. I’ll pick you up at one. He sends the text and leaves his phone out, eager for the kid’s response. A pyramid display of his latest book fills the store’s display case, and he watches as kids point at the books with excitement. Some parents sit in the chairs lining the far wall and read the book with their daughter or son, others take their child by hand to the cashier. He considers how many bookstores there are in the world and how many places there are that sell books. The variety stores, drug marts, subway huts, airports, hospitals, gift shops. And then he thinks of kids in all those stores and how many of them have bought his books with their parents or guardians or grandparents, and how many hours of family time he’s responsible for. He looks at his phone to make sure he didn’t miss Richard’s response then sets it down again. He waits another hour while he looks at the display case but the text never comes.
Thirty-One
Sidney wanted Barrett to arrive at the press conference an hour early so they could get a feel for the room and prepare some responses, but Barrett arrives fifteen minutes before the start. Sidney gives him a hug and appraises his wardrobe. Jeans and a blue dress shirt open enough at the top to reveal a hint of his white singlet.
“A little casual, no?”
“No.”
“It’s your moment. Wait until you see the look on Don’s face. The old crust doesn’t think you finished. You might give him a heart attack today.”
Sidney escorts him down the hall and into a private lounge with a large TV on the wall playing a talk show and a bowl of fruit and assorted treats on a platter in the centre of a coffee table.
“Relax here for a bit, and I’ll get you when they’re ready to start.”
Barrett nods and takes a bottle of water. He takes out his phone and sends Richard another text.
In fifteen minutes, turn on channel 22. He puts away the phone when he sees Rebecca walk by the room. He hustles into the hall and sees her looking at a seating chart.
“Hey,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”
A press pass dangles from her neck, designating her as the fan club representative. She holds up the pass with a sigh. “Only because I have to.”
She continues down the hall so Barrett walks beside her.
“I want to apologize for the other day. I ...”
“This is a really bad time.”
“Listen ...”
“A really bad time and a really inappropriate time.”
She walks away and turns the corner so fast, he wonders if she was ever there. Maybe he’s just daydreaming or hoping, but then the aftermath of the vanilla smell that trails her everywhere confirms that she has just dismissed him again.
A hand on his shoulder startles him into the moment.
“Showtime. You ready?” Sidney says.
Barrett nods.
“You sure? You look stunned.”
“I’m fine.”
“Because you should be happy. Make this announcement to the crowd and it’ll be like the extortion never happened.”
Sidney leads the way to the end of the hall and opens a door
to a packed room of hungry journalists, bloggers, and gossip-
mongers. The air smells of coffee and the heat is turned up so high that people roll up their sleeves and wipe at sweaty upper lips. Barrett makes his way to Don, who stands in front of a microphone set up in the main space behind a podium that makes him think of debate contests. Don greets him with a nod and begins.
“Thank you all for being here today. We are very excited today at Greystone Publishing to make a major announcement, and it is our pleasure to have our head of marketing, Barrett Fuller, here to do the honours.”
Cameras flash incessantly as Barrett takes the podium. Everyone stares at him but he is the one doing the watching. He watches as Don sits beside Martin and absorbs how pleased he is with himself.
He watches as Martin looks at him with confusion then turns to Don and whispers in his ear; he watches Sidney fuss with his watch, the way he does when he’s anxious, and he watches Rebecca look everywhere but at him.
Public speaking has never bothered Barrett before, but the weight of the moment leaves him tingling. He thinks of the cliché advice that public speakers should relax by picturing their audience naked and grins when he realizes that it feels like he is the one naked with everyone staring at his frightened penis. He takes a deep breath that is unable to steady his stomach and speaks anyway.
“I’m here today to announce ... I’m here today to announce that my name is Barrett Fuller and I write the Russell Niles books.”
Journalists “ooh” and Sidney mouths “Fuck me” as every camera in the room clicks.
“I’ve hidden my identity for a long time, but some people came into my life recently that made me rethink things. A boy that reminded me why I love to write an
d a woman that made me want her to know who I am. So starting today, not only do I want to be truthful with my fans, but I also want to interact with the readers as much as possible. I will read at every launch, I’ll be available to sign autographs whenever anybody asks, and I’ll be the one giving out free books at literacy centres. I’d love to answer any questions you have, but if I don’t have a Scotch, I might pass out.”
Laughter fills the room and he sees Rebecca smile. He steps away from the podium and is immediately swarmed by journalists sticking digital recorders in his face.
“One moment,” he says, doing his best to be polite while wading through the room, but when he gets to Rebecca’s seat, she is gone.
He stands there blankly, unable to hear the details of every question being asked until Sidney leads him by the elbow out of the room, down the hall, and back into the lounge where Don and Martin wait for him. Barrett looks at them for a moment before turning to Sidney.
“I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”
“I’ll be down the hall.”
Barrett waits for Sidney to exit and addresses Don. “So I guess this is a new beginning for us.”
Don’s lips curl as his head shakes aggressively. “No, this is an ending.”
Barrett absorbs the disdain in his eyes. “Yeah?”
“The public loves redemption so there’s no doubt your backlist will see an increase in sales as a result of your dramatics, but you still had sex with my wife, so as far as branding a new series, you’re on your own. And I can’t say I won’t make a phone call or two letting people know you’re not the most trustworthy man to deal with.”
Barrett raises his brow, resigned, and while it’s unpleasant to be the object of such anger and the rejection stings, he has to admit he would do the same thing if their roles were reversed. He turns to see Martin looking at him with disbelief.
“You’re Russell Niles?”
Barrett nods.
“You’ve ...”
“Published more books than you, sold more copies than you, and made more money than you.”