Free Innocent Monsters by Barbara Doherty Page A

I’ll get us a drink. What you havin’?”
    “Vodka. Straight.”
    In less than a couple of hours she was going to sit at a desk in one of the biggest book stores in the world with a thirty by forty picture of herself behind her back and start autographing hundreds of copies of her novel. People queuing up to have her signature. Unbelievable. She had no intention of sitting there completely sober.
    Jessica’s gaze followed Roger to the bar, his expensive suit jacket flattering the lines of his back and shoulder, watched him hold his hand on the small of the brunette’s back, whispering something in her ear while the bartender poured the drinks. She wondered whether she would have found this little scene as irritating if she wasn’t feeling so edgy and stressed. She needed to calm down.
    When Roger came back with a glass of vodka in each hand, he was beaming.
    “Picking up girls while you wait?” She scalded him.
    “Didn’t put you down as a prude, y’know?”
    “I’m not a prude. I just tend not to pick up guys during a work meeting.”
    He made a quick disclaiming face. “That wasn’t during . You’re late. Gotta fill my time somehow.”
    Jessica was breathing heavily. He couldn’t tell if she was irritated or worried about the signing session.
    “You ok? You’re not nervous, are ya?” She said nothing, just looked at her watch and sighed loudly. She couldn’t relax. “You’re ok,” he told her. “All you gotta do is sign your name. You smile, sign, smile, sign. You don’t even need to speak. You still remember how to sign your name, don’t you?”
    “I’m sure I can try.”
    “You should feel lucky, not nervous.”
    “I do feel lucky... I can’t help feeling nervous. Not everybody has your innate coolness, Roger.”
    “Yeah, hold the sarcasm, thanks.” He sipped his vodka.
    “I wish I had somethin’ like this happening to me. No one ever printed a poster o’ me when I was a writer.”
    “You never told me you wrote!” He shrugged. “Published?”
    “It ain’t something I like to talk about. It was a short stories collection and it never went anywhere. I was dropped faster than I was signed. It was back in New York years ago, when I was young and thought I had somethin’ to say.”
    “You are young. Forty’s not old.”
    “Thirty-eight, thank you very much. Not quite there yet. But so I keep hearin’.” He was not convinced. Despite the hours he put into his routine at the gym every week his body kept reminding him that being forty or thereabout was definitely not the same as being twenty.
    “You should give writing another go. You never know.”
    “Nah. I’ve got my career now. Better to work on other people’s stories than struggle coming up with my own. Anyway, we ain’t here to talk about my failed writin’ career, are we? Let’s talk about your next book. You know the company didn’t pay you an advance for nothin’. What’s your plan?”
    She shrugged without looking at him.
    “Hello there? Planet Lynch? Can ya hear me?”
    “I can hear you, Roger. I know I’ve got commitments. I am not an idiot.”
    “For Christ sake, who said anything about you being an idiot? I just need to know you’ve got a plan.” Then suddenly his hand was on her shoulder. “Look, if you’ve got any problems, I need you to be honest with me. That’s what this is all about, this me and you thing.” He waved his index finger between the two of them. “Get it? You need time, you tell me. I can cover for you if you’re honest with me. I know you’re havin’ a hard time. You hear me? Are you honest Jessica Lynch?”
    “I’m honest, Roger Wither. I hear you.”
    She was not going to come out and say it. She was not going to tell him she was struggling to deliver. “Then, lemme help you out. Have you thought about non-fiction?” She shook her head at him firmly, shook his ridiculous helping idea away. “I can’t write non-fiction . It’s not the same. There’s no feelings in