Her lips flattened. “The objective and focus of crushing dreams?”
His jaw ticked. “That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it? You made at least three women cry this morning.”
“They need to toughen up if they’re going to go anywhere in this business. Authors need rhino skin to survive.” He’d heard his dad say it often enough, so it must be true. Personally, he thought criticism could be dished out with a healthy portion of kindness. Then again, kindness took extra time—a commodity he didn’t have—and so he’d been forced to strip it from most of his language while at the conference.
Martha pushed her chair back and stood up. “I need a break,” she announced before storming out of the room.
He couldn’t blame her. He’d like to take a break from himself as well. But what was he supposed to do? There wasn’t any way that he could make everyone happy. All the writers pitching, this wasn’t their only chance. They had other agentsand editors they could pitch to. Other conferences they could attend. Query letters they could send out. Julien had this one chance. This one shot. If he failed...
He couldn’t fail. He refused to even entertain the thought. Too much rode on this trip being a success. He had his mom’s words repeating in his mind—whatever it takes—and the image of his dad collapsing in his office.
Afterward, maybe he could make things right. When he had more time, when he’d done what he had to do to convince his dad to retire. He had each appointment’s one-sheets, which included contact information. He could send them an apology. A note of encouragement. Maybe even put in a good word with his colleagues at other houses or with agents he’d worked with in the past.
In the meantime, he’d do whatever he had to do to meet his objective.
19
I’m starting to think Suzanne Collins had real-life inspiration for tracker jacker venom and the mind-control technique she called hijacking inThe Hunger Gamestrilogy. It would be an excellent explanation for the complete one-eighty Julien’s personality has undergone. I’m half tempted to check his skin for any puncture marks.
I’m kidding. Obviously.
Although something has definitely happened to make him start acting out of character. If he hadn’t already proven to me that time has only made him kinder and more considerate than he was in his youth, I’d be tempted to think he’d grown up to be the spitting image of J. King, Senior. But this is a man who waded out in the muck and mire to rescue a little bird and then laughed about looking like a mud man afterward. A man who patiently held my hand and distracted me when I was scared on the plane. A man who, instead of berating and belittling an employee for incompetence, consoled his assistant when she was distraught over making a fairly big mistake about the hotel reservations.
So how canthatman be the same one I’ve sat beside during all these pitches? The one who didn’t mince any words if he thought someone was wasting his time. Who didn’t havea problem dismissing someone if he found them unworthy. Who, let’s face it, soundedso muchlike his father that I’ve been vacillating along a line graph marked with shock, paralysis, anger, and sadness.
I’ve asked what’s wrong, what happened, but he shuts me down every time. The thing is, Iknowthere’s a catalyst. Iknowthat how he’s behaving isn’t him. And Iknowthat whatever caused the change in him happened on that phone call he took right before the appointments started yesterday.
What I don’t know is who he talked to, what was said, or what I can do to bring back the real Julien.
The sand sinks beneath my feet, and I push off my toes with more force than I’d need if I were walking on solid ground. I decided to take a walk along the beach to clear my head, but all its accomplished so far is making my calves burn from the effort of walking in loose sand and sweat to trickle and collect into places sweat has no business being.
I approach a gentleman at the shoreline with a rod and reel in his hand, sitting and enjoying the late-afternoon sun. He smiles in greeting, so I smile back. As I move to walk past him, I do a double take. He notices and grins wider.
“In awe of my throne, I see.” He says this with a sort of cheeky pride in his voice.
I inspect his chair, not sure if I should believe my eyes. “Okay, I have to ask. Is that really a medical bedside toilet you have here out on the beach?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He takes off his sweat-stained cap and scratches his forehead before putting it back on his head. “Come here and I’ll show you the genius of it.” He stands and motions me closer.
I’m both intrigued and slightly nervous as he lifts the lid of the toilet. Inside, tiny fish swim around in the water-filled toilet bowl. The fisherman grins up at me. “It’s a great place to store your bait and lets you rest your tired dogs while you reel in supper.”
“Very, uh, creative.” Which it is. But also very strange. Not something you see every day, that’s for sure. I mean, really, how many people take a nice walk along the beach and stroll past medical equipment for bedbound patients? Not on any tropical brochure I’ve ever seen, that’s for sure.
“I thought so too. And see here?” He indicates two tackleboxes at his feet. “That red one, that’s where I keep all my fishing tackle like lures and weights and bobbers and things. But this one—” He reaches down and picks up the blue tackle box. “I bet you can’t guess what’s in this one.”
“I bet I can’t either.”
He undoes the clasp and lifts the lid. An assortment of cured meats, sliced cheeses, crackers, and olives are arranged in each of the dividers. “It’s my snack-le box.” His laughter booms at his own joke.
His good nature is infectious, and I find myself chuckling and shaking my head. “I think you must be the most ingenious man I’ve ever met.”
“Naw.” He brushes off my compliment. “I’m just a Florida man, is all.”
We say our good-byes, and I continue walking. Thoughts of Julien immediately start to crowd my brain again, but I desperately need a break from trying to figure him out. I wish I’d brought along my earbuds so I could escape into an audiobook, but they’re back in the hotel room. Instead, I pull my phone out and angle it so the sun isn’t glaring on the screen. The fisherman gave me an idea. I open a search engine and type inFlorida man.
Florida Man Arrested for Trying to Get Alligator Drunk.