Grub by Blackwell Elise

Author:Blackwell, Elise [Blackwell, Elise]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2011-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter twenty-five

On Thursday, Jackson Miller stayed close to his phone but tried to distract himself with work. He was writing a satirical article on “services” being offered to aspiring writers by those seeking to take financial advantage of them—themselves often writers more failed than aspiring. He debated whether to name Whelpdale specifically or merely describe him.

Writing such a piece, he felt like a “content provider” more than a writer. Yet the work was fun, and he hacked out a few pages with little effort. As the morning wore on, though, he found it difficult to concentrate. What he needed, he knew, was to master the art of unconscious composition—to write without thinking about it.

When Doreen emerged from her room at eleven, Jackson feigned irritation to mask his relief. He shoved back his chair with a great show and a loud sigh; in truth he was glad both for the company and for the excuse to take a break.

“Sorry,” said his roommate from the doorjamb. “Don’t mind me. Just grabbing a bite and a shower and heading to work.”

“It’s all right, sorry,” he said. “I was in deep concentration is all. You know how I am when I write.” He followed his roommate to the kitchen.

Doreen poured herself coffee.

“Dynamite date the other night with Mr. Dolomite?”

“I’m breaking it off. He’s a nice guy, but I’m not in love.”

“Not in love? You know I don’t put much stock in love. I hardly know anyone who married for love. Eddie Renfros maybe, but not necessarily his wife, and no telling where that will get him. I think marriage is mostly based on mild preference, convenience, and advantage—made more interesting by sexual attraction. Almost anyone who isn’t repulsive could fit the bill in the right circumstances.”

Doreen rolled her pupils with deliberate exaggeration. “I’ll agree with you that there isn’t one right person out there for anyone. I could probably fall in love with any of a hundred men in the world. But not with anyone, and a hundred’s not very many, really. How many people live in the world? And he’d have to fall in the right age range.”

Jackson wasn’t sure whether he believed his own argument, but he was having fun with it. He hoisted himself up next to the sink, knowing that it annoyed Doreen when he sat on the counter. “I think I object to the word ‘love’ generically, categorically. There probably is one woman out there who is perfectly fitted to me, and if there were any way to find out who she is and where she lives, I would probably make the effort and be blessed with decades of fantastic sex. But it’s clear that most of us don’t find that right person, and it’s when people pretend they’ve found the ideal substitute that they act like the biggest asses.”

“Are you saying you’ve never been in love?”

“Only with you, my dear, which makes my point.”

“Thanks a lot.” She swatted him with the dish towel, which she then folded in half and draped over the oven handle.

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