think about that night?”
John said, “You sent her home. You said 'sorry toots, my boy's got work to do. I'll see you some other time.' You said that, remember?”
“Something along those lines. I'm not sure what my exact words were…”
“Those were your exact words,” John said. “Trust me.”
Silence. John stared and rubbed his feet while Paul tried to figure his friend out. John could tell Paul was trying to jump inside his head, and for that reason he refused to look up, refused to acknowledge him.
“John, that was like seven years ago.”
“I know. I just wanted to thank you since I never did at the time. It was a pretty cool thing to do. She wanted you bad, but you knew I needed quiet to do work so you sent her home.”
Paul snorted a laugh. “Lot of good it did me. I ran into her the next night at the hockey house and she tried to get Gavin McNamara to drop a keg on my head. And me yakking in the toilet all night couldn't have helped your peace of mind that much.”
John finally looked up at his friend, his eyes a mess of red and veins. Paul cocked his head and turned his mouth up in a sympathetic half-smile.
“I know, but thanks anyway. I owe you that much.”
Paul folded his hands below his chin and rested them on his knees. “Why're you thinking about this now?” he asked.
John shook his head slowly. “I don't know.” Paul closed his eyes, sighed, and walked to his room.
“Well I'd love to sit here and reminisce, but I have to be up in two hours. If anything else is on your mind, you know where I live.”
Paul closed the door and left John sitting alone in the darkness.
Chapter Eight
N ico Vanetti sat alone in his office, a few solitary drops of fifteen year-old Glenlivet beading at the bottom of the tumbler in front of him. The clock read 1:13 a.m. The office was dark save his computer, casting a luminescent blue glow around his desk. His hand trembling, Nico picked up the bottle and refilled the glass. Caressing the liquid, took a long breath, closed his eyes and threw it back. The alcohol burned in his throat, blood pounding in his temples.
Valerie had given him the bottle six years ago with a note that read “FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY”. She'd signed the note with a lipstick kiss and a cupid's arrow through a red heart. She made him swear on a seven-figure advance never to open the bottle in times of strife, only in celebration. Since then, there hadn't been cause to celebrate. And after tonight, he wasn't sure there ever would be again. And if he'd ever needed a drink, now was certainly the time.
Once again, Nico ran his eyes over the tiny print running across his computer screen, the words cementing their place in his head.
How on earth did it get to this point ?
The email was from Clarence Watters, whose ancient contract remained framed on Nico's wall like a physician's degree. Nico stared at the computer screen, the glow beginning the blur as his mind swam in an alcohol-induced haze. He read the letter again, then looked over at the shelf. A dozen Watters novels crowded the cherry wood. He read the email again.
Dear Nico,
We've been through some great times, haven't we? I owe my career to you Nic, you gave me my start in this business. I don't take that lightly and I never will, but I feel that the biggest rewards often spring from the biggest risks. Sometimes the sweetest relationships must come to an end for both sides to blossom. It is with this in mind that I've decided to sever our relationship and find representation elsewhere.
I know you're probably wondering what went wrong. Let me assure you that it is as much my doing as it is yours. To be honest, I feel it's time. I feel it in my bones and in my words and I know deep down that this parting will be mutually beneficial.
Thank you for your guidance and generosity, and for taking a poor Alabama farmer and helping him live his dreams. May you find yours, Nico Vanetti, if you haven't already.
Always,
Clar
Nico
John said, “You sent her home. You said 'sorry toots, my boy's got work to do. I'll see you some other time.' You said that, remember?”
“Something along those lines. I'm not sure what my exact words were…”
“Those were your exact words,” John said. “Trust me.”
Silence. John stared and rubbed his feet while Paul tried to figure his friend out. John could tell Paul was trying to jump inside his head, and for that reason he refused to look up, refused to acknowledge him.
“John, that was like seven years ago.”
“I know. I just wanted to thank you since I never did at the time. It was a pretty cool thing to do. She wanted you bad, but you knew I needed quiet to do work so you sent her home.”
Paul snorted a laugh. “Lot of good it did me. I ran into her the next night at the hockey house and she tried to get Gavin McNamara to drop a keg on my head. And me yakking in the toilet all night couldn't have helped your peace of mind that much.”
John finally looked up at his friend, his eyes a mess of red and veins. Paul cocked his head and turned his mouth up in a sympathetic half-smile.
“I know, but thanks anyway. I owe you that much.”
Paul folded his hands below his chin and rested them on his knees. “Why're you thinking about this now?” he asked.
John shook his head slowly. “I don't know.” Paul closed his eyes, sighed, and walked to his room.
“Well I'd love to sit here and reminisce, but I have to be up in two hours. If anything else is on your mind, you know where I live.”
Paul closed the door and left John sitting alone in the darkness.
Chapter Eight
N ico Vanetti sat alone in his office, a few solitary drops of fifteen year-old Glenlivet beading at the bottom of the tumbler in front of him. The clock read 1:13 a.m. The office was dark save his computer, casting a luminescent blue glow around his desk. His hand trembling, Nico picked up the bottle and refilled the glass. Caressing the liquid, took a long breath, closed his eyes and threw it back. The alcohol burned in his throat, blood pounding in his temples.
Valerie had given him the bottle six years ago with a note that read “FOR EMERGENCY USE ONLY”. She'd signed the note with a lipstick kiss and a cupid's arrow through a red heart. She made him swear on a seven-figure advance never to open the bottle in times of strife, only in celebration. Since then, there hadn't been cause to celebrate. And after tonight, he wasn't sure there ever would be again. And if he'd ever needed a drink, now was certainly the time.
Once again, Nico ran his eyes over the tiny print running across his computer screen, the words cementing their place in his head.
How on earth did it get to this point ?
The email was from Clarence Watters, whose ancient contract remained framed on Nico's wall like a physician's degree. Nico stared at the computer screen, the glow beginning the blur as his mind swam in an alcohol-induced haze. He read the letter again, then looked over at the shelf. A dozen Watters novels crowded the cherry wood. He read the email again.
Dear Nico,
We've been through some great times, haven't we? I owe my career to you Nic, you gave me my start in this business. I don't take that lightly and I never will, but I feel that the biggest rewards often spring from the biggest risks. Sometimes the sweetest relationships must come to an end for both sides to blossom. It is with this in mind that I've decided to sever our relationship and find representation elsewhere.
I know you're probably wondering what went wrong. Let me assure you that it is as much my doing as it is yours. To be honest, I feel it's time. I feel it in my bones and in my words and I know deep down that this parting will be mutually beneficial.
Thank you for your guidance and generosity, and for taking a poor Alabama farmer and helping him live his dreams. May you find yours, Nico Vanetti, if you haven't already.
Always,
Clar
Nico
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