Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) (27 page)

Finding herself drawn to the room, she walked over and placed her hand upon the tempered glass. She shuddered immediately upon contact. The door was cold, like a Siberian hard winter, as if an invisible, quiet industrial size freezer were set on full blast on the other side. She’d never felt such a thing in her life, and it rippled through her core.

“What’s up?” came a deep, rumbling voice.

She jumped in her skin and placed her hand across her heart at the sound of his voice. The handsome fellow stood only a few feet away from her with a small wine colored towel draped across his arm like some waiter at a fine restaurant.

“Um, nothing.” She shook her head, pairing it with a happy-go-lucky smile. “I take that back. There
is
something. I just thought… thought I’d seen something.”

“Well,” he said. “You know the deal.” He smirked, though his expression was pinched with trepidation, as if he feared she might flee. “You probably have. That’s weird though. Up until now, since I’ve been living here that is, I’m the only who’s actually seen anything, just like I told you. Mike, my son, some of my other friends… my agent has even been by a few times, but nobody has seen anything except me. It’s strange, ya know? Not sure why that is; made me feel like everyone would think I’m a liar. I hate to say this. But I’m kinda glad you did… now I don’t feel so crazy.” He laughed nervously.

“I can totally understand that. You said it doesn’t happen to you every day though…just most days.” She shrugged. “Oddly enough, I don’t feel uncomfortable. I mean, it was strange, but I really can’t put my emotions into words… I don’t feel threatened, or even scared, if you get where I’m coming from.”

He nodded in understanding.

“It… he… whatever it is won’t bother you though,” he said matter–of-factly, as if he were in the know.

“And how do you know that for certain?” She crossed her arms over her chest, catching a bit of a chill in the air that seemed to begin a slow migration into the rest of the area.

“That’s a good question, but I just know. I can’t explain it to you, but it’s like when someone tells you something will be okay, and you trust ’em. Nothing has been said to me, but it’s like when I was cooking dinner; I got a feeling of reassurance that you wouldn’t be bothered. I even asked that you not be.” He chuckled nervously.

“Thank you for your request,” she said, amused.

“Yeah, I would’ve never let you come over in the first place if I thought something bad would happen. Matter of fact, since you’ve been here, things feel less heavy, if that makes any sense. He must like you.” He spoke in a joking tone, though she could see in her eyes that he meant what he said.

What type of relationship was he forming with this entity? Was “relationship” even the proper term for such a supernatural occurrence? It seemed Sloan had not only accepted what was happening, but had made peace with it, as well.

Perhaps it was all an act, designed to make her feel more at ease. His eyes seemed sincere enough as he took hold of her arm and led her back into the dining room, pulled out her chair, then sat across from her. The table now had a large pan of bubbling, cheesy lasagna on it, a heavenly aroma perfuming the air. He cut the thing into perfect rectangles, fixed her a plate, and placed it before her. When she stuck her fork in, the cheese dripped through the metal prongs as she lifted it to her lips.

Sloan busied himself with his own plate, making quick work of the meal while she, on the other hand, took her sweet time, savoring the delicate and robust flavors that mingled perfectly together. After two bites, she was a believer.

“This is
so
delicious, Sloan. You really outdid yourself,” she stated around a third mouthful of the gooey, delectable comfort food.

“Thank you, baby.”

Her insides warmed and melted like drawn butter at the seductive expression on his face, because she knew he wasn’t even trying to turn her on…

The minutes wore hats made of laughter, and the laughter cackled until it spilled out the makings of an hour. A Ray Charles tune provided their background music, the distinctive voice belting ‘That’s What I Say’ as they spoke of work matters, such as his need to visit some of the places he wrote of; but of course, Saturn and Mars were not journeys he’d been able to find a mode of transportation to, and besides, they had no notable hotels there.

He always wrapped his words, serious and not, around a bellyful of glee; yet, she saw through him. Sloan was a reluctant walking, talking looking glass. Emerald observed his every word and move, recognizing his need to be transparent with her, as well as his desire to protect her from the ugliness inside him. Everyone was capable of a bit of malice, and despite his creativity, intelligence, and physical appearance, she was destined to see the craters in his moon, no matter how bright and magnificent he could be.

“I was thinking about something.” He grabbed his wine glass, swirled it about leisurely.

“What?” She mirrored his actions, taking her glass in her hand as well. Returning his gaze.

“I remember one evening we were on the phone, talking about our jobs, and I mentioned to you how I knew I wanted to write fiction.”

“Yes, you said you were experiencing a lot of highs and lows.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, cleared his throat, swirled his wine one more time, and took a thoughtful sip. “And one of the lows was my divorce. During that process, I wrote my second best seller, ‘The—’”

“‘The Green Eyes of Gypsy’.” She grinned. “I read it last week… excellent work, by the way.”

The man’s lips curled in a proud smile. His eyes hooded, he nodded, then raised his glass. “Thank you.” He took a sip and set it down. “So, I wrote that book in exactly fifty-two days. Never in my life had I written so much and so fast. I was certain it was going to be a disaster, but,” he said, “as you know, it wasn’t. I want to let you know, Emerald—not only are you the only woman I actually approached all on my own since my marriage ended, but you are one of the few people I’ve allowed to get this close to me in a short time. That’s not like me. I have a lot of trust issues. I smoke a lot. I have a temper, too. I think most people are stupid in this world… These are all character flaws of mine—a sense of arrogance, as my son calls it.

“I can’t help it. I know it’s wrong, but…” He shook his head as if disgusted with himself. “I seem to have it as part of my claim to fame, so to speak. I can be jealous…” Was that a loaded look he’d just given her? Loaded like that dish on the table. Loaded with unspoken intentions… “I don’t date multiple people at once and if I really like a lady, I’ll want to be with her whenever I can, and I’ll want her to try her best to be with me, too. I told you on our first date that I was a one-woman man, and I meant that. So, uh…” He wiggled about in his seat, hand on his gut, as if suddenly uncomfortable. “What do you think of that?”

‘Pusherman’ by Curtis Mayfield began to play at that moment.

“Think of you being an arrogant, jealous, chain smoker who is possessive, a workaholic, perfectionist, demanding, and works best when angry as hell and pressed against a deadline? Well, we all have our demons, now, don’t we?” She winked at the man and her words caused him to practically tumble out of his seat.

“Did jah really have to describe me like that?!” He threw up his hands. “You make me sound so bad!”

“You made
yourself
sound bad,” she quipped. “But at least you know these things already. Instead of trying to say that it’s just who you are though, if any of those traits or habits really bother you, then try to change them.”

“But I like being a fuck up.”

Silence reigned for a spell, then they burst out laughing.

“Sloan, you are in need of prayer, more wine, and a good shrink.” She cackled. He agreed, his amazing eyes glossy with tears of mirth.

“I am… so what about you? What stuff should I watch out for?”

“I’m sorry, but I have nothing to report. I’m perfect.” She crossed her legs and dusted off an imaginary piece of dust from her shoulder. “I thought you knew.”

“You are, but even the most perfect diamonds have a hidden, undetectable flaw. Might not be visible to the naked eye, but it’s there.”

“…I’m an emerald.”

“And I’m green with jealousy already. I wanna keep you all to myself…”

The mutual pause was stiff and unyielding as they glared at one another until they moved in unison, reaching across the table to join their hands, fingers intertwined. A burning passion like no other ignited, enveloping them.

“I grind my teeth when I’m stressed out; it caused some pretty nasty dental issues that had to be addressed. I have abandonment issues due to what my mother did to me, but I denied it most of my adult life. I struggle with religion; on the one hand, I believe in God with all of my heart, and on the other, I look at my Aunt Sugar, who I adore, and I’m afraid to pray to the same God she calls Father in Heaven. I talk shit about people under my breath at work, occasionally to their face… I’m not a good cook, just decent, and Aunt Sugar gives me hell about it. My daughter hates me sometimes, yet I can sit here with a straight face and not tell you completely why. She is the only person who makes me feel weak… ’cause I’d do anything for her, but she rejects me all the same.”

“I like how honest you’re being with me. I respect that. Our entire time knowing one another, you’ve been this way. It’s refreshing and like nothing I’ve ever seen on such a consistent basis. I actually need that. I really hate being lied to.”

“I do, too, no matter how much it may hurt.”

“So tell me some problems or flaws you think you might have in regard to friendships,” he said after a small pause. He leaned back in his seat, patiently waiting, looking cool. The music played, soothing her soul. His cigarette rested in an ashtray, the smoldering swirls flowing up and out like smoky angel wings.

“Well I’m not a jealous person, but I am territorial when it comes to people’s feelings, meaning I feel like I’m somehow responsible for how people respond to me or think of me… which is silly, I know. That trait has to do with how I was raised.”

“To try and please others, the golden book to the extreme, right?” He took a slow sip of his wine.

“Yes, my father cared what other people thought of him. He never said this, but his actions showed me the truth.” She contemplated telling all of her business, then thought better of it. “I took the death of my father, whom I was very close to, really hard… for reasons some people would never understand.”

“Try me. I’m interested.” He reached back across the table, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before relaxing again, hands linked and resting on his crossed leg at the knee.

“I… I don’t think…” She shook her head.

“Never mind. You’re not ready. But when you are, I’m here.” After another swallow of his wine, he smiled at her. “So, you’re still here, and so am I… I guess that means we still really like one another despite all these confessions.”

Their laughter wrapped around them, holding on for dear life. The conversation evolved as time wore on. The details of their jobs and relationships with friends were exposed, along with tales from college life, his growing up in Manhattan, and her explaining how she and her brother almost went over a waterfall during a summer camp adventure she’d never forget.

Along the conversational trail they travelled, she grew increasingly melancholic at the realization that eventually, she’d have to go home. Each date she had with Sloan, each conversation and all aspects of the walking myth and legend made the craving within her so strong, and the disappointment so acute when they had to part ways. Her heart began to scribe the letters of his name across it, stained with wine. Who was this man that captivated her so? The one who made her pause and delve into her own psyche, asking herself the question, ‘Why?’

Time went too fast when he was with her. The minutes felt like mere seconds. She was enamored, and feeling soft, almost hazy. A sweet smell lingered in the air, reminding her of her grandmother’s powder puff dipped in rose scented dust. Sloan was not only good company and could make a mean lasagna; he felt like an old comrade, the kind you may only speak to on occasion, but coming together felt always effortless. She fell deeply under his mystifying, lovely spell, knowing all along what was transpiring. The man was taking her down, making her fall apart, making her… fall in love. She did little to stop it… She was simply doing her part.

“So, yeah,” she said. “Remember me talking to you earlier in the week about the drama with my daughter and the whole—”

“Yeah, yeah… what’s going on with that?” He snuffed his cigarette out, then slicked a lighter out of his pocket and laid it on the table.

“Where do I begin?” She rolled her eyes. “My Nikki is coming home soon for a visit but Sugar really has no idea about any of that, you know, what I told you before.” She swallowed and grimaced, her face tight, her nose twitching. Mounting anxiety, dancing on the raised, spiky back of anger, made her want to destroy everything in her damn sight.

“So you think your Aunt Sugar wouldn’t understand? If so, as close as you two are, that’s sad to hear.”

Emerald shook her head. “If I said to that woman Jesus himself told me that he was okay with my child, she still wouldn’t believe me, even with video footage. With things like this, there is just not getting through to her. A large pepperoni pizza and keg of cold, premium beer would have better survival chances in a fraternity house.”

The man burst out laughing, throwing his head back in genuine mirth.

“That response right there is definitely my answer then.” Sliding a cigarette from a carton, he placed it between his lips, lit the thing and blew out curls of smoke. “She’s from a different generation, ya know? They’re stuck in their ways, kind of like my father was up until the day he died.” She nodded in agreement. “Let me ask you something, not to beat a dead horse or anything, but what does your aunt actually think about your daughter in general? Not her as a person, but her orientation?”

“Sloan, Sugar thinks gay people are confused. She thinks it’s hip to be gay, so people are doing it more and more for attention versus anything else. She is one of those people who believes in this whole gay agenda mess. I never felt she had to co-sign or agree with it, but she needed to be respectful and that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen. I knew it for a fact, because she’s said all sorts of things about lesbians and gay men to me and in front of me, even as a child, so when Nikki came out to me in high school, admitted what I already knew about her, there was no way I would have told Sugar. I think Nikki resented me for telling her to not say anything to my aunt about it either…thinking I was ashamed of her.”