“I need the marks towards my degree,” said Jenny. “Don’t you?”
“I don’t give a shit about a degree,” he said. “I just want to write a book that’ll sell a million copies.”
Jenny laughed. “Come on, Adrian.”
“I’m serious,” he said, staring at her intently. “Education doesn’t count for anything anymore. All you need these days is a laptop and Google and you’ve got access to all the knowledge in the world, pretty much. And you think a reader cares if the writer of the book they’ve just downloaded has a degree or a PhD or if they even finished High School?”
“Downloaded?” repeated Jenny. “You’re talking eBooks. Not real books?”
“There’s no difference. A book is a book is a book. What matters is how many people read that. Actually, cancel that. What matters is how many people PAY to read a book.”
“So you don’t care if your work is published or not?”
“EBooks are published. All published really means is being offered for sale. I don’t care who buys my book or how they buy it so long as I get their money.”
Jenny grinned. “So you’re a mercenary, a cynic and a rebel?”
“I am truly multi-talented, yes.” He put his head on one side as he looked at her. “I know what I want, Jenny, and I know how to get what I want. Sometimes that scares people. It’s a wolf and sheep thing.”
“You’re a wolf, is that it? And everyone else is a sheep?”
“Not everyone, no. But there are more sheep than wolves out there, and they always get nervous when they know that there’s a wolf around.”
“And what am I, Adrian? Sheep or wolf?”
“Don’t you know?”
“I’m more interested in what you think I am.”
Slater narrowed his eyes as he sipped his coffee. “You’re not a sheep, Jenny. If you were, you wouldn’t be here with me.”
“So I’m a wolf?”
He put down his cup and grinned. “Let’s just say you’ve got wolfish tendencies,” he said.
“What does that mean? I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”
“More like the reverse. You’re a sheep in transition.”
“I’m not sure if I should be offended or not.”
Slater laughed. He looked so much more handsome when he laughed, Jenny realized. More often than not in class he had a slight frown, as if something was troubling him, and usually there was a blank look to his eyes as if his mind was somewhere else, but sitting opposite her in the coffee shop he was totally focused on her and so much more relaxed. Without his trademark RayBans she could see that his eyes were a deep blue and had a girl’s lashes, long and black. His skin was so smooth that she kept having to fight the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek. “I really would like to read your work, Jenny,” he said. “I can tell from talking to you that you’ve got talent.”
“You’re just saying that,” she said.
Slater shook his head. “I’m not like that. I don’t lie. Life’s too short.”
Jenny sighed. “I don’t know,” she said.
“You don’t know what?”
“If I want someone to read what I’ve written. You might hate it.”
“But if I did, I’d tell you why I’d hate it and I’d probably tell you how to improve it. How’s that a bad thing?”
“It’s not, I suppose.”
“Exactly. But I can promise you one thing, you’ll get an honest opinion, and that’s more than you’ll get from Grose.”
“Dudley’s honest with me, he always has been,” said Jenny, quickly. Too quickly, she realized, and her hand went up to cover her mouth.
“He wants to get inside your pants, Jenny. You must know that. And you must know he’s married.”
“Why are you so mean?” she asked.
“I’m honest. I tell it like it is. He’s a fifty-one year old man who hasn’t written anything of any substance for almost twenty-five years. You’ve heard the old saying, right? “Those that can, do. Those that can’t, teach’. That’s exactly where Grose is. He wrote a couple of decent books when he was younger but for whatever reason he hasn’t been able to repeat it. So now he teaches. Which means that we’re being taught by a writer who can’t write, which when you think about it is a pretty pointless exercise.”
“So why did you enroll on the course?”
Slater shrugged carelessly. “I wanted to spend some time in New York. I wrote The Basement while I was in LA and I wanted to check that I’d captured the city. And I wanted to get feedback. That’s about the only good thing about the course, the fact that we get to critique each other’s work. So, will you show me your work in progress?”
“You’ll be gentle with me?”
“I’ll be honest,” he said. “And if I hate it I’ll be honest and gentle.”
Jenny reached into her laptop bag. There were several small pouches on the inside and in one of them was a small green thumbdrive. She took it out and slid it across the table to him.
“Don’t forget my burger,” he said.
“Burger?”
“The burger with The Basement on it.”
“Sorry,” said Jenny. She fumbled in her bag, found the thumbdrive and gave it to him.
“What are you doing this evening?” he asked.
“Why?” She realized she was sounding defensive and she forced a smile.
“I was going to offer to take you for a drink, that’s all.”
“Rain check,” she said. “I’ve got to get some writing done.”
“Haven’t we all?” said Slater. “I’ll hold you to that rain check.”
CHAPTER 14
The Head of Faculty sneered at Grose as if he’d just broken wind. “Dudley, I really don’t see what the problem is.”
Her name was Belinda Kellaway though she preferred to be called Linda. She was in her early thirties, overweight but dressed to hide it, favoring long shirts over long dresses and baggy jackets with the sleeves turned up. She wore little or no makeup and clear varnish on her nails. Behind her on the wall were her framed credentials and degrees. There were a lot of them.
“The problem is that Adrian Slater is threatening to kill a fellow student,” said Grose. “Haven’t I made that clear?”
“Mr Slater is a student on your creative writing course and he was reading from his work in progress, that’s what you said.”
“Yes, and he said that he was going to choose a victim from among the students on the course.” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think I can make myself any clearer.”
“But it’s a novel, you said.”
“No, I said it was supposed to be a novel. But he’s working on something called The Bestseller which he says involves him killing a fellow student and writing about it.”
Kellaway chuckled dryly. “Dudley, if he was really going to commit murder, he’d hardly stand up and announce the fact to the world.”
“Unless he’s a psychopath and doesn’t care.”
“Is that what you think? You’re not a psychiatrist, are you?”
“Of course I’m not a psychiatrist. But that’s not the point. The point is that he’s talking about killing a student and I’m not prepared to have him in my class. He’s off the course.”
Kellaway looked pained. “I’m not sure that we can do that, Dudley. We can’t go throwing students off courses just because their lecturer doesn’t agree with their views.”
“Views? Who said anything about views?” Grose wanted to stand up but he knew that she’d see that as aggression so he took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “He stood up in front of the class and said he was going to kill to write a bestseller.”
“It’s an expression, Dudley. Probably every writer in the world has said that at one time or another.”
“Today he started talking about zebras and cheetahs and the jungle and then he said that he was thinking about targeting a student. A student, Linda. How do you think it’s going to look if a studen
t dies and the Media finds out that we knew about this?”
“But that’s not going to happen,” she said. “Seriously, Dudley, what is your issue with this Adrian Slater? It can’t be just about the book. There has to be more to it than that.”
Grose threw up his hands in frustration. He wanted to snap at the stupid woman and tell her what he really thought of her, but he knew that would achieve nothing. Kellaway simply wasn’t listening to him.
“Dudley, I’m not sure that now is a good time for you to be picking fights with one of your students. Not with the way things are?”
“What do you mean?”
She flashed him a tight smile as if he was her cleaner and she’d just asked him to give the stove a going over. “There’s talk of revamping the course, and perhaps bringing in a younger teaching staff.”
“What? What do you mean there’s talk? Who’s talking?”
“I’m not in a position to say.”
“You’re the Head of Faculty, Linda. You must know.”
“I didn’t say that I didn’t know, Dudley. I said that I wasn’t in a position to say. But just be aware that there are those who’d like to go with a younger structure and that changes could be made to the curriculum to make it more modern.”
“Modern? In what way.” He leaned forward. “You’re talking about letting me go? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Of course not, Dudley. No one is even suggesting that, not at the moment anyway. But the world of publishing is changing and perhaps the courses we are offering need to change along with it. Perhaps we should be looking forward and not back.”
Grose frowned, not understanding what she was getting at.
Kellaway smiled at his confusion. “EBooks are the way forward, Dudley. EPublishing is the future. We should be teaching our students how to write eBooks, and how to market and promote them. We should be showing them how to get their work out into the marketplace and communicating directly with their readers.”
Grose’s eyes widened with horror. He felt as if he’d just been punched in the stomach. He knew exactly what the Head of Faculty was planning. A new industry, a new course, and if the existing lecturers weren’t up to the job, then a new teaching staff.
“You see what I mean, Dudley. Our courses are becoming more user-led, rather than dictating to our students we need to be more open to their needs and wants, we must start helping them develop their talents rather than pushing them to conform to what our idea of success is.”
Grose nodded despondently, then forced a smile. “Absolutely,” he said. “Amazing technology.” He stood up. “Well, thanks for your time anyway, Linda.”
“A pleasure, Dudley.” She was already looking at her computer screen. “My door is always open.”
CHAPTER 15
Jenny dipped her wooden spoon into the bolognaise sauce and tentatively touched her tongue to it. She decided it needed a bit more salt and added some, just as her buzzer sounded. She pressed the button to let Grose in and stirred her sauce as she waited for him to come up to her floor. He tapped on the front door and she opened it and kissed him at the threshold.
“Something smells good,” he said.
“Is it me or the food?” she asked.
“Both,” he said. He walked over to the sofa and tossed his briefcase onto her armchair as he sat down heavily.
“Bad day?” she asked.
“Faculty meeting,” he said. “It just went on and on.” He looked at his wristwatch. “I’m going to have to be out of here by ten,” he said.
Jenny tried not to show her disappointment but he wasn’t even looking at her. He reached for her eReader and switched it on. “I can’t believe you read on a thing like this,” he said.
“Dudley, it’s brilliant,” she said. “I can put three thousand books on it,” she said. “Do you know how much space three thousand books would take up?”
“One good book is worth three thousand bad ones,” said Grose. “This is just a glorified calculator.”
She put a handful of spaghetti into a pot of boiling salted water. “The battery lasts for weeks and I can buy any book I want within seconds,” she said. “It’s like having the biggest library in the world at my fingertips.”
Grose snorted. “You sound like a salesman,” he said.
“I’m a convert.”
“A zealot.”
“Dudley, really, you should try it. Once you’ve tried an eReader it’s hard to go back to dead tree books.”
Grose raised his eyebrows. “What did you say? Dead tree books?”
“It’s what they call paperbacks these days. Think of all the trees that can be saved if everybody read eBooks? Think of the energy that’s wasted making books, all the water that’s wasted in making paper.” She took two plates out of a cupboard and put them next to the stove.
“First of all pretty much all paper is made from sustainable timber,” said Grose. “For every tree that’s cut down, the companies plant another two. And pretty much all the water that’s used is recycled.” He sighed. “Why am I even discussing this with you? It’s not about the environment or energy conservation, it’s about books. Books are meant to be held, the pages turned with reverence not by pushing a button. Reading is a tactile pleasure as well as stimulation for the intellect. You might as well read a novel on a laptop.”
“It’s almost the same as a dead…” She stopped herself. “As a real book,” she said. “There’s no backlight so it feels like you’re reading a page rather than a screen. It’s better for your eyes, they say. And there’s no glare so you can read it outside no matter what the light.”
Grose chuckled. “You really are sounding like a salesman now,” he said.
“Red or white?” she said.
“What?” he said, confused by the change of subject.
“Wine.” she said. “I’ve got a Pinot Grigio in the fridge.”
“That’ll be fine,” he said as he studied the screen. “So what are you reading?”
“Nothing,” she said as she opened the fridge.
He looked at her over the top of his glasses. “Nothing?” he repeated. “You spent what, a hundred bucks, on it and you read nothing?”
“I meant nothing important,” she said. She uncorked the wine, poured some into two glasses and took them over to Grose. He took one of the glasses and she reached for the eReader. He moved it out of her reach. “Dudley, please…”
Grose looked back at the screen. “Nothing?” he said. He pressed a button and the screen was filled with words.
“Dudley,” Jenny pleaded. “Give it to me.”
“What is this?” he said. “It reads like some awful pulp fiction story.”
“It’s nothing. Come on, put it down. We don’t have much time left.”
She tried to grab the Kindle but Grose turned his back to her. His face hardened as he finished reading what was on the screen and pressed the button to get the next page.
“What is this?”
“It’s nothing.”
“The Basement. By Adrian Slater.” He looked at her, his face as hard as stone.
“Dudley…”
He turned to look at her and held up the eReader. “What the hell is his book doing on here? Did you buy it?”
“It’s not for sale. It’s not published yet.”
“So how did it get on this thing?”
“It’s not a thing, Dudley. It’s a Kindle. My Kindle.” She held out her hand. “Please give it to me.”
“How did an unpublished book get on here?”
“He gave it to me on a thumbdrive.”
“But why? Why did he give it to you?”
“He wanted a second opinion. Please, Dudley, let me have it. Supper’s ready.”
Grose continued to stare at the screen. “That’s what the course is for,” he said. “For feedback. Peer review.” He looked across at Jenny. “Is there something going on between the two of you?”
“Dudley, that’s crazy,” prote
sted Jenny.
“Is it? I’ve seen him looking at you in class.”
“For God’s sake, Dudley, we’re students on the same course. Of course he’s going to look at me.”
Grose waved the Kindle at her. “And how many students did he give his book to? Because Slater doesn’t seem like the sharing type.”
“Dudley, he just wanted a second opinion. That’s all.” She sat down next to him and rubbed his leg, just above the knee. “Please, let’s not fight.”
“This isn’t a fight,” said Grose, looking at her over the top of his spectacles. “I’m just trying to ascertain what’s going on.”
Jenny sighed. “Honey, nothing’s going on.”
“So what do you think?” asked Grose.
“About what?”
“About what he’s written. His book.”
She shrugged. “I haven’t finished it yet.”
“What about what you’ve read so far?”
“It’s interesting,” she said. “But it’s hard to identify with any of the characters. It’s very plot driven.”
“But you’re enjoying it?”
Jenny screwed up her face, not sure what to say. She knew that Grose had taken a dislike to Adrian but she didn’t want to lie to him and tell him how much she was enjoying the story. It was gritty and edgy, and she’d never read anything like it. “It’s very easy to read,” she said. “It flows. And the dialogue is really good.”
“So the answer is yes, you are enjoying it.” He gave it to her and she stood up and took it over to her desk, afraid that he would take it from her again. He had a temper at times and she could imagine him hurling it against the wall. “I still don’t understand why he gave it to you to read.”
“I think he was just worried that people might laugh at it,” she lied. “He wanted to know if it was good enough to read out in class, that’s all.” She didn’t like having to lie to him, but she could see that he was spoiling for an argument.
“What about this piece of crap he’s working on now. That Bestseller nonsense.”
The Bestseller Page 8
