The Everborn - Nicholas Grabowsky [144]
Andrew entered the garage fully, was closing in upon him in effort to speak his peace. “Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be afraid of you, Ralston?”
“Fuck you,” Ralston barked.
“But then, I guess there’s other things to be afraid of. Don’t worry, I’m afraid of them, too. I know there’s been this fear between us, but I have a deal to make with you. You can take it or leave it.”
“Fuck that,” Ralston said to him, “you were a part of something way too trippy for me, man. How did you know where I live?”
“Listen to me,” Andrew cut to the chase, “I’ve got a proposition for you, a deal that may make you very successful. I’m not promising riches here, but who knows?”
Ralston’s mood swung into a mild but jittery restlessness and he stood there, perplexed. “You tryin’ to sell me something?”
“I’m trying to sell myself.”
“I want to let you know right now, if this is a gay thing....”
“That’s not what I mean. But for the record, guarantee you that I shall never be naked anywhere in your presence ever again.”
The obviousness of Ralston’s panic was diminishing rapidly like the burning wick of a candle in a puddle of liquid wax. It was in his nature to be confrontational, and in spite of his swollen fear it was this nature, which kicked in; he had no choice, for he was backed into a corner with no escape. If he only knew how badly Andrew was intimidated by him and how excruciating it was for Andrew to convey what he’d come to tell him, Ralston would surely have held the upper hand.
Andrew exerted somewhat of an authority nonetheless and had calmed Ralston enough to speak casually. He was confident, but confident in the knowledge that should any mishap occur, Bari would reveal herself to his defense.
Ralston would certainly not appreciate that.
And after all, this meeting was Bari’s idea in the first place. Andrew wouldn’t be here, doing this, if he didn’t have faith in her. Not for any other reason.
Andrew continued, “I’ve been writing...you know, writing stories for a while. I’ve been on a lucky streak, with getting some of my stories published and I did the book to Into the Grave II. You can buy it at any book store or the corner Joe’s Market and find it selling right there at the check-out stands, and I’ve got a lot more to write.”
“You wrote Into the Grave II?” Ralston responded, with no more fear than he’d have remarking to the achievements of an old buddy at a high school reunion, at least for the moment.
As far as Bari perceived of the meeting at this point, things were going to be just fine.
“I didn’t write the story, someone sent me the screenplay with the offer to write the book. What I published before impressed another publisher enough to come to me to do it. Now look,” Andrew said, “...you will never understand this. I’m the one who’s coming to you with this and I don’t understand all of it myself. Let’s just say it has something to do with what you think happened at the school playground the night you and your friends decided to play ‘let’s pick on the naked kid’ and leave it at that. I love to write stories, and for reasons beyond both of us I have to write because something important is supposed to ultimately happen because of it, so I’m told. But I cannot be the one to take credit for it anymore. I can’t achieve public notoriety of any kind, for, because of that night my life is in danger. So, basically, since I’m writing...I need you to take the credit. I’ll write and everything I write will be published under your name. Make no mistake, though...you must understand, if you get famous, I get to make a decent living off of it.”
“A decent, but unnoticed, living off of it,” Ralston considered, at odds with the overwhelming ridiculousness of it all. Yet Andrew’s mention of the playground was sobering enough to take him seriously, if not for a fool.
Regardless of Andrew’s motives, and perhaps regardless of anything sane, Ralston