Page 10 of Kill Your Darlings

“Oh.”Kyle smiled.“Sure.”

It’s not about the appetizers.I learned long ago that the point of the appetizers isn’t the food itself (though I like crab cake as much as anyone) it’s the demonstration that you are willing to spend money on frivolous food for your author.

I left Kyle to choose our starters, scanned the cocktail menu, and ordered a double Hochstadter’s Rock and Rye.

“It’s not that I’m trying to dismiss the contributions of the older generation—they had their time, and I’m sure they did the best they could within the constraints of their era.But audiences are more sophisticated now.They don’t need to be spoon-fed motives or have every plot thread tied off in a neat little bow.”Hartman paused to take a sip of his drink.

Again,whowas he talking to in that lecturing tone?Finn was right across the table.No need to project to the back row.

I couldn’t help glancing over.Finn was listening attentively.I knew him well enough to recognize that look of amused tolerance.He got that same look with me sometimes, when I was ventingmytake on writing and publishing.

In the midst of my reflections, Finn’s gaze moved from Hartman to me.His eyes were shadowy in the soft light, but it was a steady, serious, appraisal, and my heart picked up speed as though I’d unconsciously recognized some looming threat.

But I’d already identified the threat, so no adrenaline rush required.I’d been judged and found wanting.For whatever reason, Finn had changed his mind.About me.About pursuing anything further with me.Or apparently even spending an extra minute in my company.

Not to make a production out of it.Things changed.

But we wouldn’t have had to pursue anything more than what we already had.I would have been fine with that.I could have been content with that.I didn’t understand why that no longer worked for him, unless it had to do with the Boy Wonder pontificating at the next table.

“Fried calamari?”Kyle suggested.

I said automatically, “Sounds great.”

“I think what I’m doing—what my readers respond to—is respecting their intelligence.I don’t write puzzles.I writeexperiences.”

Right, kid.Because you’ve had so many at your age?

Okay.Not fair.Experience in all its variety—and brutality—struck whom and when it chose.As I knew very well.

Kyle added to the waitress, “And a glass of the Kendall Jackson chardonnay.”

I said a little abruptly, “Actually, I think we’re ready to order?”I glanced in inquiry at Kyle.

“Yes.”He sounded a little vehement, and my mouth twitched.

“Cool!”the waitress said, and took down our entrée orders.

Hartman concluded, “Of course, that’s not something everyone can do.Youdo it naturally, instinctually.That’s a rarity in my experience.You have to be willing to challenge the conventions, and frankly, not everyone has the courage for that.But I think my numbers speak for themselves.”

Not unless 1,000 units was considered midlist at Black Fig Editions.

Finn murmured something too quietly for me to hear.

Hartman suddenly laughed; a relaxed, boyish laugh that seemed to come from another person entirely.“Maybe,” he admitted.And his cheerful admission that he was (I surmised) maybe full of shit was unexpected.

So, yeah, I got it.The charm of something new.Something—someone—young and fresh.Someone full of Big Ideas and with maybe a little case of hero worship?

A wave of weariness washed through me.

Maybe it showed.“How many of these do you do a year?”Kyle asked.

It took me a moment to think.“It varies.Typically, seven or eight—and then there’s the London Book Fair.”

He looked taken aback.“I didn’t realize you were living out of your suitcase.”

I smiled, but yes.I did just that during the spring circuit.I’d actually looked forward to those trips because Finn was traveling the same circuit.

I was going to have to figure out a new reason to enjoy…anything.

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