Page 120 of The Evening Wolves

“Well,” I said. I almost mentioned Will Gower. Vivienne genuinely seemed to want to know, and I’d lived with Will Gower for so long, in all his various incarnations. But Phil, Mom and Dad’s agent, had said no more Will Gower. He’d said I needed something high concept. Something with a hook. “I guess one of them is—have you seen 21 Jump Street?” The silence grew until I said, “Like that. Only gayer.”

Vivienne blinked. “That sounds…timely.”

The words loosened something in my chest, and I sat forward, talking more easily now. “Oh, and do you know Veronica Mars? That’s another idea. But make it, like, super gay.”

“I see.”

Excitement made me speak faster. “Or Riverdale. And I know what you’re going to say, but yes, we can go gayer.”

“Uh huh.” For a moment, her face was blank. And then she gave a rueful grin. “Are you going to be terribly disappointed if I tell you I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

Then she started to laugh, and for some reason, I burst out laughing too.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can explain—”

“You’ll explain later,” she said, waving the words away. “I want to hear all about these ideas. I’m very impressed with what you’ve done, Dashiell. Very impressed. And I want to see more of it. You’re very talented, and you’re going to go on to do great things.” She gave me a droll little smile. “And if I can offer a spot of advice here and there, well, I’d be happy to help however I can.”

“Oh my God, that would be incredible. I—I’ve been struggling lately. With writing. Struggling to finish things. Struggling, um, to write anything, actually.”

It was impossible to read her expression, but her voice was kind when she finally said, “I know a little something about that myself, believe it or not. We’ll see if we can’t shake something loose.”

“That would be amazing.”

“It would be friendly, Dashiell. This is a small town; being friendly is our way of life.”

“I don’t want you to think I expect you to, I don’t know, do anything. You’re busy, I understand that. And this is a job. I’m not asking for special treatment or favors or anything.”

“I understand,” she said gently. “And I’m telling you that I want to help you. I’m looking forward to it, actually. Believe it or not, life does get a little stale every once in a while. I believe you’re going to be a breath of fresh air.” Her pause had an unexpected quality to it—something I thought might be another kindness. “Your mother was distressed when she called me. I understand you made the decision to move rather suddenly.”

“It might have seemed sudden to other people,” I said. I fought to keep my voice easy and relaxed. “But I’d needed a change for a long time.”

“I understand you’ve had some…difficulties lately.”

Shaking my head, I said, “I’m fine. My parents are being dramatic.”

Vivienne said nothing, but the raw intelligence of those blue of her eyes told me she didn’t buy it. I waited for the thing I couldn’t handle: questions about Hugo. Questions about why. The questions my parents had been asking for weeks.

“I promise, Mrs. Carver: I’m fine. The chance to work with you is an incredible opportunity. I’m excited to be here, and I promise, I’m not—” I almost said, I’m not running away from anything, but that would have been a lie. “—going to let you down.”

In the distance, the surf crashed restlessly.

Then Vivienne nodded. “So, you’ll take the job?”

A beat passed as I processed the words. “Yes, definitely, absolutely.”

“Wonderful. We’ll have some paperwork for you to sign later, of course. Non-disclosure agreements, tax forms, that kind of thing. Writing is a craft and an art, I don’t need to tell you that, but it’s also a business—most people are terribly disappointed when they learn that, but I’m sure it’s something you learned growing up with your parents.”

“I don’t know if they’ve ever learned it,” I said. The surge of relief at her offer—a job, a place to live, stability—was so great that the words slipped out before I could stop them. My face heated as I added, “They let their agent handle everything. And their accountant, I suppose.”

“Then I see we have some work to do,” Vivienne said as she came around the desk and took my arm. “If there’s one thing I can teach you, it’s business. Now, let me give you a quick tour, and we’ll get you settled. I bet you want to rest after your early start this morning.”

“How did you—” I cut myself off and grinned. This was, after all, Vivienne Carver. “Okay, how did you know?”

“A hint of stubble; you don’t have a heavy beard, but it’s there. And you missed a button on your shirt.”

I fumbled at my placket.

“And you did seem a bit flustered as you came up the drive, dear.”

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