CHAPTER 23
It required all his willpower not to kiss her then. He knew she expected it, which was one reason he didn't. The other was because he was still feeling guilty over suggesting that her motives weren't pure. As though his were.
"Want to go for a ride?" he asked.
"A ride?"
"Down to the beach."
"I can walk."
"You can ride."
He disengaged the brake and navigated the wheelchair down the ramp off the veranda onto a paved path that led through the woods. "This is convenient," she remarked.
"I had the paths laid during the reconstruction of the house."
"Mike said you never even considered using a motorized chair, that you like doing things the hard way."
"Self-propulsion is good exercise. Mike feeds me well. I don't want to go to flab."
"What is that wonderful smell?"
"Magnolia."
"There aren't any fireflies out tonight."
"The _lightning _bugs think it's going to rain."
"Is it?"
"We'll see, won't we?"
The paved path went as far as the sand dunes, where it connected to an elevated path constructed of weathered wood planks. Sea oats brushed against Maris's legs as they went over the dunes. Beyond them, the path expanded into a platform exactly
#eight feet square. Parker stopped and ###521
set the brake on the wheelchair.
The deserted beach spread out before them. From this stretch of it, the mainland couldn't be seen. It looked as primordial as it had been when it was formed. The moon was obscured by the dense cloud cover, but it shed enough light to see the surf as it broke. It left a silvery residue that sparkled briefly before dissolving into the sand. The breeze was as soft as the breath of a sleeping baby, and the only sound was the redundant swish of the tide.
"This is an amazing place." Maris spoke in a reverential whisper usually reserved for church. "Dense forest growing right up to the beach."
"And no high-rise hotels to spoil the view." Rather than appreciating the view, he was rubbing a strand of Maris's hair between his fingers, studying the texture, enjoying the feel of it.
She turned her head to look at him. "What kind of narcotics?"
"Ah. I should've known you'd catch that slip of the tongue."
"I did. And it's been on my mind ever since. What kind of narcotics did you take?"
Her expression wasn't censorious, simply interested. Sympathetic, maybe.
He let go of her hair and lowered his hand.
"Pharmaceuticals. Painkillers. Great big quantities of them. Heaping handfuls."
"Because of your legs?"
"It was a long recovery."
"From what, Parker?"
"My own stupidity." After a short pause for emphasis, he continued. "I underwent several operations, first to reconstruct the bones and replace the missing pieces with plastic or metal. Then the muscles and tendons had to be reattached. After that, the skin. ...
"Hell, Maris, you don't want to hear all that, and I really don't want to talk about it.
Bottom line, I was in the hospital for over a year, then in ... other facilities. I went through years of physical therapy. It was a bitch.
Like hell must be, only worse. That's when I got hooked on prescription painkillers. When the doctors refused to prescribe any more, I bought the pills off the street from independent vendors."
"Drug dealers."
###"With whom I became bosom #########523
buddies." She didn't appear to be shocked, but she might be if he told her the depths to which he had sunk in order to maintain his stash. So he summed it up. "I was a mess."
"But you pulled yourself out of it."
"No, I got grabbed by the balls and yanked out of it."
"Mike."
"Mike," he repeated, shaking his head over the miracle of it. "For reasons I will never understand, he befriended me. He appeared one day out of nowhere. Through the blurred vision of a drugged-out stupor, I saw him standing there amid the squalor, looking at me as though trying to decide if I was worth the effort it was going to take to save me from myself."
"Maybe he was sent to you."
"A guardian angel? Fairy godfather? At least he wasn't the Grim Reaper. Although in the weeks just following his _rescue, I sometimes wished I was dead. Before I knew what was happening, he seized my stash and slapped me into detox."
"That couldn't have been pleasant."
"You don't want to know. Believe me. When I got out, he enrolled me in more therapy, physical _and emotional. Cleaned me up, installed me in an apartment outfitted for the physically challenged, asked what I intended to do with the rest of my life. When I told him I had an itch to write, he set me up with a computer."
"He started you writing."
"He put it in the form of a dare."
"Which gave you a reason to go on living."
"No, by then I had decided I must go on living." __I had a damn good reason _to, he thought darkly.
"Can I ask a very personal question, Parker?"
"You can. You might regret it."
"Is Roark you?"
He'd known she would get around to it sooner or later. She was too smart not to have pieced it together.
A writer writing about a writer. Naturally she would see the parallel and ask. The answer he had ready wasn't a lie, just not the whole truth.
"Not entirely."
"Loosely based upon?"
"Fair to say."
She nodded solemnly but pried no further.
#"Did you start writing the mystery series ##525
right away?"
"No, I tried several genres. Devised and discarded a dozen plots a week for almost two years. Several thousand acres of trees went into my trash can before the Deck Cayton character clicked. He was the first thing that held my interest, that took my mind off my physical limitations.
"When I had what I thought was a publishable story, I retained an agent and told her she could submit the manuscript if she swore on her life and the lives of her children never to reveal my identity to anyone."
"And Mackensie Roone came to be." She touched his cheek. "It was a rebirth for which we can all be grateful. I'm just sorry for the suffering you had to endure to get there."
"In the long run, it's going to be worth it."
The moment the sentence was out, he realized he'd spoken it in the present tense. He feared Maris might notice and question him about his ultimate goal, but she had turned her head away from him and was gazing out across the surface of the water. The lights of a tanker winked on the horizon.
Raindrops began to fall, creating wet dimples in the sand. They fell on the wood platform in light spatters. Parker heard them even before he felt the sprinkles on his skin.
They felt as warm and soft as tears.
"Parker?"
"Hmm?"
"Remember that first day I came to the cotton gin, you suggested that Noah had married the boss's daughter to further his career?"
"That yanked your chain."
"Yes. But only because you hit the nail on the head. Deep down I knew it." She turned and looked into his face. "I caught him this week with another woman." The simple statement was followed by a pause that gave him time to respond.
He kept his expression neutral. "I won't bore you with the sordid details."
"How sordid?"
"Sufficiently sordid."
"Enough to send you scrambling back here?
Payback time?"
"No. I swear that's not why I'm here.
Noah's affair provided me with justification for coming back. But the truth is, I didn't want
#to leave in the first place." #############527
"Then why did you go?"
"It was a matter of conscience."
"Over what? Nothing happened."
"Something happened to me," she exclaimed softly, pressing her fist against her chest. "I wanted to stay with you, and that was reason enough for me to leave. Being around you wasn't healthy for my marriage. What I was feeling for you frightened me.
For my peace of mind, I needed to reestablish myself as a happily married woman.
Ironically, I'd been back in New York only one day when I discovered that Noah had broken our marriage vows."
"He's a fool."
She gave him a smile for the indirect compliment, but it turned rueful. "So am I.
I'm a fool for not acknowledging sooner that our marriage wasn't what I wanted it to be.
Nor was Noah the man I wanted him to be.
He wasn't the hero of his book."
"And now you think of Roark as a hero."
Shaking her head, she said, "I'm not confusing fact with fiction, Parker. I've outgrown that.
You're real. I can touch you." She reached for his hand, studying it as she traced the veins on the back of it with her fingertip. "My marriage, such as it was, is over. Behind me. I don't want to talk about Noah anymore."
"Fine by me."
He gathered a handful of her hair, then wound it around his fist and drew her closer until their faces were inches apart. He hesitated for several heartbeats, then settled his lips against hers, tested the angle, readjusted. He was
moderately controlled until he heard a small whimper from her. He backed off, looked down into her eyes, and recognized a desire that equaled his own.
Control was abandoned. He covered her face with wild, random, artless kisses and she was doing the same to him. Then mouths melded and tongues touched, and they kissed with carnal greed.
Eventually Parker pulled back and caught his breath, then proceeded with more temperance. His tongue stroked her lower lip; he raked it gently between his teeth. He laid light kisses at the corners of her lips before pressing his tongue into her mouth.
He angled his head first to one side, then the other, but he never broke contact. Even when he
#withdrew, his lips remained against hers, ####529
making sipping motions as gentle as the rainfall.
Her lips barely moving against his, she whispered, "The night we met, when you kissed me
..."
"Hmm?"
"I didn't want you to stop."
"I know."
"You _know?"
"Don't you think I felt it, too, Maris?"
In reply, she threaded her fingers up through his hair and played sexy with her tongue. As they kissed, he unbuttoned the row of buttons, untied the knot at her waist, and pulled open her shirt.
Her breasts were proportionately small, beautifully round, and, now, sprinkled with rainwater. Heavier drops beaded on her skin.
Some formed rivulets that trickled over the smooth curves, intersecting and crisscrossing in erotic patterns.
"Parker? You know it's raining."
"Yeah." He cupped her breast and reshaped it with his hand. His thumb whisked a raindrop off the tip. He leaned down and rubbed his lips across it.
"As you told me once, you won't melt."
Then he took her nipple into his mouth.
"I might," she sighed.
Making his dream a reality, she folded her arms around his head and clutched him to her, repeating his name on ragged breaths.
His hand waded through what seemed like unfurled bolts of fabric until he found skin. He slid his hand between her thighs, all the way up, to her center. He touched her through her underpants.
"Okay?"
She made a sound that he took for a yes. Her sex was pliant and very wet. He eased his fingers into her.
"Ohgod, Parker."
His fingers stroked her from within while his thumb drew circles on the outside. Soon she was thrusting her hips up against his hand.
"Just let it happen, Maris."
She relaxed and, although her breathing was still shallow and quick, she stopped working at trying to climax.
He continued to nuzzle her breasts. Her nipples became small and hard against his flicking tongue. The stroking of his fingers intensified and the
#circles drawn by his thumb shrank ####531
to center on one spot.
Then he felt it, that unique tension that claimed her. Involuntary. Imperative.
Impossible to bridle. Uncontainable. Her back arched. Her head fell back and she covered her eyes with her forearm. Her exposed neck begged to be kissed. He bent over it and pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat while sweet sounds vibrated from it. He remained there until the last of the aftershocks had rippled through her and she went limp.
He withdrew his hand from beneath her skirt and smoothed it back into place. He then gathered her close, securing her against his chest by resting his chin on the top of her head.
Weakly she laid her hand on his chest. "You buttoned your shirt."
"For supper. One of my mom's rules."
She undid the buttons and rubbed her cheek against his chest hair, then laid her head against his heart. "Better."
The rain continued to fall on them, soaking their hair and clothes, but neither noticed or cared. He stroked her back, his fingers stopping at each individual vertebra. "He hasn't fucked you worth a damn, has he?"
He felt her stiffen, and for a moment he feared that he'd gone too far, said too much, offended her with his blunt language. But it was an initial reaction that passed quickly. She relaxed against him again and said softly, "I thought so. Until a few minutes ago."
"You were hungry for it."
"I didn't know that until you touched me. My sex life was another self-delusion."
She must have felt his smile, because she raised her head and looked at him. "You must be feeling pretty good about yourself."
His grin was unrepentantly cocky, but it turned into a soft smile. "I feel good." He kissed her lips softly, growling against them, "But you feel better."
They kissed long and deeply. He was
reluctant to end it but eventually did. "We'd better get back to the house before Mike organizes a search party."
He reached for the brake lever to release it, but she stopped him. "What about you? This?" She rocked her hips against his erection. "Don't you
#want me to ... do something?" ##########533
Wincing, he clasped her firmly around the waist and gasped, "Yeah, I want you to stop moving like that."
"Oh. Sorry."
He gave her a crooked smile and curved his hand around the back of her neck. "When we make love, I want to be concentrating on the pleasure of it and not worrying about how I'm going to come without dumping us out of this chair."
"It's that earthshaking?"
"It will be, yes."
"But I had all the fun."
"Shows how little you know."
She smiled and he kissed her quickly, then turned them around and headed for home. "By the way, since I need two hands to drive this damn thing, you'd better button up your shirt or
Mike'll get an eyeful."
The following morning Daniel got up early.
He showered and dressed quickly, then packed a few changes of clothing to take to the country before going downstairs. Maxine had been most unhappy to hear about his planned weekend without her and had made her displeasure known. So he was very meek this morning when he asked her if it would be too much trouble for him to have his breakfast in the courtyard.
"No trouble at all, Mr. Matherly.
It'll take me just a few minutes to get the tray ready."
"Perfect. I can use the time to make a couple of calls."
He went into his study and placed the first call to a number he now had memorized. He said little during the five-minute call. The majority of the time was spent listening.
Mr. William Sutherland finally said everything he had to say and asked, "Do you want me to proceed, Mr. Matherly?"
"By all means."
Daniel placed the second call of the morning to Becker-Howe. He wasn't surprised that even at this time of day when most New Yorkers were queuing up at Starbucks and crowding subways to get to their offices at a reasonable hour, his call was answered by Mr. Oliver Howe himself.
Howe, rather pompously, had always boasted that he put in a fourteen-hour workday, except on holidays when he worked only eight. Apparently
#his schedule was as arduous as it had always ####535
been, despite his advanced age.
Howe's publishing career had been launched at approximately the same time as Daniel's and in a similar fashion. Howe was bequeathed his company from his grandfather within months of his graduation from his university. He and Daniel had remained friendly rivals through the years, and eventually their acquaintance had evolved into a grudging friendship.
They held one another in the highest esteem.
"Ollie, it's Daniel Matherly."
As expected, his old colleague was delighted to hear from him. After exchanging pleasantries, Oliver Howe said, "I can't play golf anymore, Danny Boy. Goddamn
rheumatism won't let me."
"That's not why I'm calling, Ollie. This is business-related."
"I thought you had retired."
"That's the rumor, but you of all people should know better. The fact is, I've run across an exciting proposition that I thought might interest you."
Daniel emerged from his study a few minutes later without the benefit of his cane. He felt invigorated. He was even rubbing his palms together as he approached Maxine. "Would you please go out and buy some bread at that Kosher bakery I like?"
"They don't have bread in Massachusetts?
Mr. Reed said he was going to have the house stocked with food."
"I know, but I'm hungry for ... you know the kind. With the seeds on it."
"I know the kind. That bakery is across town.
I'll go after you've had breakfast."
"Noah will be picking me up after breakfast.
Better go now. I can serve myself breakfast."
She eyed him suspiciously, and with good cause.
His sudden yen for a particular bread was a ruse to get her out of the house. He had a guest coming for breakfast and he didn't want anyone to know about it.
Maxine continued to argue, but eventually she huffed out the service entrance, muttering to herself.
She'd only been gone a few minutes when Daniel answered the front doorbell and invited his guest inside.
"My housekeeper is out on an errand," he explained as he led the way to the courtyard.
Maxine always set the table for three on the chance that
#Maris or Noah or both would drop ####537
by. Even though Maris was out of town and Noah was due to arrive later, Daniel was relieved to see that she hadn't broken with habit. He indicated a chair at the round wrought-iron table.
"Please sit. Coffee?"
"Yes, thank you."
Daniel poured. As he passed the cream and sugar, he said, "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"It wasn't so much an invitation as an edict, Mr. Matherly."
"Then why did you come?"
"Curiosity."
Daniel acknowledged the candor with an appreciative nod. "So you were surprised to hear from me?"
"Shocked, actually."
"I'm glad that we can speak frankly with one another, because I know your time is valuable and I'm on a tight schedule myself this morning. My son-in-law is picking me up at ten o'clock and driving me to our house in the country. He invited me to spend some quality time alone with him while my daughter is away." He lifted a napkin-lined silver basket toward his guest.
"Muffin?"
"No, thanks."
"For bran muffins, they're not bad. My housekeeper makes them herself."
"No, thank you."
He returned the basket to the tabletop. "Where was I?"
"Mr. Matherly, I know that you're not in your dotage, so please don't insult my
intelligence by pretending to be. You didn't invite me here to sample your housekeeper's bran muffins."
Daniel dropped the pose. Planting his elbows on the table, he clasped his hands together and looked at his guest from beneath his white eyebrows, now drawn into a steep V above the bridge of his nose.
"I would stake my fortune on the probability that when Noah and I arrive at our country place, he will have in his possession a document of some sort that empowers him to conduct business for my publishing house." He spoke with the brusque efficacy that had always been at his command and on which he had built his reputation for hard and sometimes
#ruthless dealing. ######################539
"Over the course of the weekend, I will be pressed into signing this document." He raised his hand to stop his guest from speaking. "No. Say nothing. You would do well only to listen."
Following a long, thoughtful, somewhat mistrustful hesitation, Daniel was motioned to continue.
* * *
"Envy" Child. 20
Key West, Florida, 1988
Todd hadn't counted on it taking this long.
He was impatient to attain wealth and achieve fame--in that order.
After the mortgage on his parents' house was paid off, the profit he'd made on its sale had been a pittance. Each parent had carried a meager life insurance policy, but his mother had used his father's to bury him, and Todd had used hers to lay her to rest. Once all their affairs were settled, the leftovers that comprised his legacy were hardly worth counting. He barely had enough to finance his relocation to Florida and had arrived in Key West virtually penniless.
The cost of living was far higher than he and Roark had estimated, even though they were living in veritable squalor and eating cheaply. He earned good tips parking cars, but the cash was quickly consumed by rent, gas, food, and other necessities.
And his monthly installments on a pc. He, unlike his roommate, wasn't fortunate enough to have a great-uncle he had seen only twice in his entire life but who had felt a familial obligation to give his grandnephew an expensive college graduation gift. Roark's
advantage had rankled. Todd had wasted no time in leveling the playing field and acquiring a computer on a lease-purchase plan.
He was bummed over his chronic shortage of legal tender.
He was even more bummed over his chronic shortage of creativity.
Fame, even more than wealth, seemed so elusive as to be out of the question. Writing fiction was hard work. He had dozed through countless boring lectures on the subject, but he was fairly certain that none of his creative writing instructors had emphasized how
labor-intensive it was. That had never been a
#starred point in his classroom notes. ###541
That question had never been asked on an exam.
True or false, writing is damn hard work.
At least once a week, he and Roark went to Hemingway's home. The Spanish Colonial estate was their shrine, and they went as pilgrims to pay homage. Todd had always been an admirer, of course. But he was only now beginning to appreciate Hemingway's greatness.
Talent was something you were born with. Either you had it or you didn't. But talent by itself was useless.
Hours of tedious effort were required to awaken and exercise that talent, to write that riveting "one true sentence" that seemed so damn simple when read.
That simplicity was deceptive. It didn't happen by accident. Nor was it a skill easily acquired. Writing was demanding, solitary, backbreaking work. A writer mined the tunnels of his brain, using words for his pickaxe. A week's effort might yield only one nugget that was worth keeping, and you could weep with pathetic gratitude over that.
Todd admired those who wrote and wrote well. But his admiration was tinged with resentment.
Hemingway and his ilk were stingy with their talent and skill. One would think that after having spent so much time studying their work, poring over every phrase, analyzing it word by goddamn word, the ability to write like that would rub off, that the brilliance would be contagious. Didn't desire count for something?
But there were days when he couldn't find even a grain of genius in his own work.
Nor could anyone else, it seemed.
He balled up the written critique he had received from Professor Hadley and hurled it toward the corner of the room.
Roark walked in just as the paper ball landed on the floor several inches short of the trash can.
"Hadley was a hard-ass?"
"Hadley is an ass-_hole."
"Don't I know it. He raked me over the coals, too."
"Seriously?"
"Then left me there to smolder. So, what I thought is, tonight being our night off, we should get drunk."
"Love to," Todd said moodily. "Can't afford it."
"Neither can I. But being a bartender isn't without
#its perks." With that, Roark brought his hand ##543
from behind his back and waggled a bottle of cheap scotch.
"You stole it?"
"This piss won't be missed."
"You're a poet."
"And didn't know it. Let's go."
Todd rolled off his bunk. "You don't have to ask me twice."
On the beach, they passed the bottle back and forth between them, toasting the sunset, then the twilight, finally the night sky. They continued to toast the heavens until individual stars began to blur and bob and the universe became a little fuzzy around the edges.
"Starlight, star bright, first star ... et cetera. Make a wish, Roark."
"I wish you'd pass me the whisky."
Todd handed him the bottle. Roark drank, handed it back, then stretched out on the sand and stacked his hands beneath his head. He began to laugh.
"What?" Todd asked as he used his butt to grind a more comfortable depression into the sand.
"Wishes," Roark replied. "Reminds me of a genie joke."
"There are hundreds. Which one?"
"This guy finds a magic lamp, rubs it, genie pops out, grants him three wishes. The guy wishes for a Ferrari, and _poof! Next morning there's a shiny new Ferrari parked in his driveway. He rubs the lamp again, genie pops out, says he's got two more wishes. The guy wishes for ten million dollars and _poof!
Next morning ten million dollars is neatly stacked on his nightstand. He rubs the lamp again, genie pops out, says he's got one last wish.
The guy wishes for a penis that would reach the ground, and _poof! Next morning he wakes up and his legs are three inches long."
When their laughter subsided, Roark added,
"Moral of the story, be careful what you wish for."
Todd grumbled, "I wish Hadley's dick would shrivel to nothing and then drop off. If he's even got one. Which I doubt."
"Which manuscript did you send him?"
"_The _Vanquished."
"You've been working your ass off on that book.
What'd he say?"
Todd took another swig from the bottle.
"The plot stretches plausibility. My
#dialogue sucks." #################545
"Hadley said `sucks`?"
"Words to that effect."
"Hmm."
"What?"
"He said my dialogue was crisp and well paced, but my plot is predictable and needs punch." He looked over at Todd. "Maybe we should collaborate."
"Shit, no. No sharing. I've put in a two-year apprenticeship without any
remuneration."
"You sold a short story," Roark reminded him.
"One lousy short story to a local magazine for twenty-five bucks. It'll be read in the crapper if at all." He pitched a seashell back into the surf. "I'm living in an apartment where the roaches are carnivorous and the tenants downstairs are armed and dangerous."
"But you can't beat the view. You can, however, beat your meat while taking in the view."
"There is that," Todd replied solemnly.
"I've never jerked off so much in my life."
"The palm of your hand isn't sprouting hair, is it?"
"Here's to nude sunbathing among exotic dancers."
He raised the bottle in salute, but Roark took it from him and helped himself to another swallow.
"I'm broke all the friggin' time," Todd continued morosely. "My car's got over a hundred and sixty thousand miles on it."
"Meanwhile, you're parking Porsches and BMW's."
"A job you could train a chimpanzee to do."
"A chimp is cuter. Would probably get better tips."
Todd glared at Roark. "Are you gonna let me finish this or what?"
"Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt your pity party." Roark passed the bottle back to him.
"Have another drink."
"Thank you." Todd drank and belched a loud, gurgling burp. "When all this hardship pays off, I want the glory to go to me, myself, and I. No offense."
"None taken. I don't want
to collaborate with you, either. I was joking."
"Oh." Todd flopped down onto his back
#in the sand. "So what did Hadley really ##547
say in his notes to you?"
"I told you."
"Was it the truth?"
"Why would I lie?"
"To make me feel better."
Roark snorted. "I'm not that charitable."
"Right, right, you're a son of a bitch. So maybe you would lie for another reason."
Roark sat up. "Something on your mind, Todd? If so, why don't you just say it?"
"You always downplay Hadley's critiques."
"I'm not gonna wear a hair shirt over one man's opinion, which is all his critiques are.
I don't let myself get depressed over them the way you do."
"Maybe."
"Maybe what?"
"Maybe that explains why you downplay them.
On the other hand, you might be trying to throw me off track."
Roark shook his head in bafflement. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Forget it."
"Like hell I will. First you accused me of lying and then you provided me with a shitty motivation for it. I take exception to both."
"And I take exception to your thinking you're a better writer than me."
"Than I," Roark corrected.
"Fuck you!" Todd surged to his feet, but the earth tilted drastically and threw him off balance. He landed back in the sand.
Roark grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him around. "Why would I deliberately mislead you about Hadley's critiques?"
Todd flung his hands up and threw Roark's off. "To get the jump on me. You can't stand the idea of me getting--of _my getting--published before you."
"Oh, like you'd be thrilled if I sold a manuscript ahead of you."
"I'd rather have my guts ripped out up through my throat."
For several moments the narrow distance between them was volatile, teeming with molecules of hostility ready to spark. Todd made his hands into fists in anticipation of an attack.
To his surprise, Roark started to laugh.
"You'd rather have your guts ripped out up through your
#throat?" ##########################549
Todd tried not to smile, but he lost the battle and soon he was laughing, too. "In the heat of the moment, not to mention my inebriation, that's all I could think of to say."
"I don't recommend it for your book."
"Point taken."
They stared at the oceanscape for several minutes, then Roark said, "I'm done for the night. Think we can make it to the car?"
Todd took satisfaction in Roark's being the first to cave. "Fuck, man, I don't know.
I'm wasted."
Roark threw his arm across Todd's shoulders and helped him to his feet. They made it to the parking lot, although it took a while because they stumbled often and stopped frequently. Their drunken efforts made them weak-kneed with hilarity. Neither was in any condition to drive, but Roark got behind the wheel because he was slightly less drunk than Todd.
It was past noon the following day, as they medicated their hangovers with burgers and fries, that Todd resumed the conversation. "You know, a little rivalry could be good for us."
Roark groaned. "Don't start that again. I don't consider you a rival, Todd."
"Bullshit. Of course you do."
"How could rivalry possibly be good for us?"
"It makes us work harder. Admit it, when you see me writing, there's no way you can shirk off.
If I'm at my keyboard, you can't sit down and watch a ball game on TV. I'm the
same. If you're writing, I feel guilty if I'm not writing, too. If you put in seven hours a day, I've got to put in at least that much. That competitive edge is what drives us."
"I'm driven by nothing except a desire to write good fiction."
Todd waved his hands in the air. "Saint Roark. Glory and hallelujah."
"You're pissing me off."
"Okay, okay, I'll drop it." He took a bite of his cheeseburger. "Anyway, the point's moot. I'll be offered megabucks for _The _Vanquished before you even complete your book. Then we'll see who's green with envy."
"That is _not going to happen."
Todd laughed. "Oh, man, I wish you could see the malicious glint in your eye. You just won
#my argument for me." ##################551