Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [59]
Martin was amazed. While he understood that an instruction booklet could hardly be considered an important piece of writing, it seemed to him that someone should be credited for the work, however poor the end product might be. He had read Ethan Frome in high school and had hated almost every page of the novel, but Edith Wharton had still been brave enough to stick her name on the damn thing. Yet with instruction manuals this was not the case, and thanks to this knowledge, the problem explaining his source of income had been solved.
More than two months before reducing his hours at Starbucks, Martin informed Jim that he had received his first freelance writing assignment, writing instructions for the assembly of a twelve-speed bicycle that was manufactured in Japan. He downplayed the news, indicating that he had seen the opportunity in Writer’s Digest, had submitted a proposal on a whim, and had been shocked upon receiving the acceptance letter. He explained that, in the past, Japanese manufacturers would typically hire Japanese writers who studied English in Japan to write the English section of their instruction manual. This explained why instruction manuals were often impossible to read. Studying English in Japan and growing up speaking the language were two entirely different things. And because instructions were now commonly written in two to four languages (Martin had thrown in phrases like “global economy” and “melting borders” to sound more knowledgeable), he explained that companies were now hiring writers who were native speakers of the language in which the directions were to be written. This was why he had been hired.
Martin spent an afternoon forging the acceptance letter, creating what he thought looked like an authentic piece of stationery. Only when Jim pressed him for the financial details did Martin show him the letter and admit that he was being paid $300 for the assignment, a sum that surprised his frugal friend (“Three hundred dollars for writing a recipe?”) until Martin grudgingly admitted that it had taken more than fifteen hours to write and edit the pamphlet.
“Just twenty an hour then, huh?” Jim had said, always quick with mental arithmetic.
A week later Martin informed his friend that the bicycle company had offered him two other assignments.
His writing career was off and running.
“A martini set? I can’t believe that people pay you to write that stuff!” Jillian protested, handing Martin’s order to Freddy. “You are one lucky man.”
Martin watched as Jillian moved to the other end of the counter to take the order of a man named Jeff, another Quaker Diner regular who Martin avoided at all costs. Jeff was a perpetually happy guy who said all the right things and made people laugh almost effortlessly. Sitting next to the man was like sitting next to the sun. It was impossible to be noticed with him blazing away beside you.
Martin looked forward to the day when he and Jillian could enjoy some time away from the diner. Up until now, they had seen each other only within the walls of the restaurant, and Martin had been fine with this arrangement, considering the secrecy surrounding his life.
Lately, however, Martin had grown tired of seeing Jillian only in the diner, with the demands of her other customers (especially the annoying ones like Bob and Jeff) getting in the way. He had been considering asking Jillian to meet him outside the diner, on a more traditional date, but thus far he hadn’t found the nerve to do so. He was worried about what the two of them might talk about or do. In the diner, their conversations were public domain, so personal subjects were rarely broached, and Martin liked it this way. In fact, he had been shocked when Jillian publicly declared her affection for him the first time. As he was exiting the diner one day last May, she had shouted out an unaccustomed “Good-bye, Martin!,” stopping