Contest of Quills VI, Return of the Author

Annabeth stumbled through the door to their home, a slimy sense of ick exiting her pores with each step. It had been a horrible evening, one that she couldn’t just blame on others. She had her hand in it. But her own bed waited, and then a shower to wash as much of last night away.

She walked past the office, and took a step back to the doorway. Daniel sat in the chair, facing the door. His eyes were red, and he looked like he aged ten years from last night, and the defeat. He rubbed his chin, and wetted his lips. “Annabeth.”

“Daniel. Did you sleep?”

“No. Did you?”

She didn’t know how to answer that. “This isn’t a fairy tale. What can I say?”

Daniel sat forward a little, the chair creaking under the weight ever so slightly. “You can say that everything you did you did for us. In some fucked up twisted way, you were thinking of us. You could say that.”

Annabeth leaned down and removed one heel, then the other. “I could, but I won’t. It would be a lie. And I don’t want to lie anymore.”

Daniel pondered it for a moment. “Then you are fired.”

Of all the things that she would have expected him to say, that wasn’t on the list. She wasn’t surprised, she failed him as his agent. “I understand.”

“I don’t think you do. You are fired as my fiance too. I release you, so you can go be with him. It is what you always wanted. I was just too blind to see it.”

“I already have.” That just slipped out. Some part of her wanted to get Daniel’s blood up. Fired? Does he care about me as his woman at all?

Annabeth watched as he gripped the arms of his chair, the skin on his fingers turning white for a moment, and then Daniel breathed out deeply.

“I see. Then why are you here at all?”

Annabeth sat down on the floor, sprawling out her legs in front of her, utterly broken. “Because he doesn’t care about me. All he cared about was beating you. Someone who he thinks should never be able to compete with him. And he did beat you.”

“He did. Destroyed everything I had.”

Annabeth’s heart started to race with anger. “No he didn’t. He may have destroyed your job, your relationship, and your pride, but he can’t touch your ability. Of all the things that I am frustrated with out about, your lack of confidence in your own abilities is the greatest. I don’t know why you kept ghostwriting for him for years. You have a wonderful book, Daniel. I’ve read it. I would buy it.”

“Why then did you not try to sell it? You were not just my fiance, but my agent. My assistant. You said not one word about any of this for five years. And then you withhold the fact that he stupidly fired me before finishing the last book, so that I would complete it. And then you pushed that stupid Contest. Did you know that he had gotten better?”

He hadn't gotten better. He just returned to the form of the first book, the one he actually wrote. The one studied in the literary world. “No, I honestly thought when you beat him again, he would have to take you back. That’s why I never told you. I didn’t think that he could get rid of you when you won again.”

Daniel shifted again in his chair. “Well, that at least makes sense. But you could have told me to pause work on the book. And that doesn’t excuse last night.”

Annabeth started to cry again. Tears dripped out of the corner of her eyes, and she let them wash her makeup down her cheeks. “Last night. I thought I lost you forever.”

“So you hop into bed of my mortal enemy?”

“Daniel. I was at a low moment. He came in and saw me. Saw me. For just a moment didn’t take me for granted. And that immature selfish little bitch inside of me decided that she was gonna get hers.”

Daniel stretched his neck one way, then the other. “And now you really have lost me. You need to pack your shit and get out.”

“Can I take a shower first at least?”

Daniel waved her question off and turned around. She could hear his fingers typing, but his body blocked the screen. She stood up, and wiped her running nose with the back of her hand. “For what its worth, I don’t have an infatuation with Christof anymore. He isn’t packing very much, and when he was finished called me the wrong name and told me to get him a Diet Dr. Pibb.”

The typing continued.

“Don’t let this stop you from writing. Get that publishing deal, with your name. Don’t let his victory over you end the contest. I can’t tell you that I love you. You don’t do what I did to someone you love. But I love your writing. Maybe you can forgive me, and let me help you write. We used to be like that, before. Do you think that maybe one day, we could do that again?”

The typing stopped. “Maybe.”

***

“You won’t believe the latest sales figures, Daniel.”

Daniel didn’t. His agent, Sean Wringley, always blew smoke up Daniel’s ass. Daniel hated that about the man. But, he was an effective agent. Daniel’s first book blew up nearly two years ago. Now, his second book was racing up the charts. Sean was an effective promoter. More than one publisher had reached out with deals and offers. Daniel had a stack of them on his desk.

“As long as they keep going up, I’m not going to worry Sean.”

“You won’t have to worry. You are the new hot author out there. Oh, I should mention to you, an old friend of yours reached out, wanted to know if you had a moment for them.”

“I’m pretty busy. What did they want?”

“To see if you were interested in a rematch.”

Daniel frowned. “I’ll let my book sales speak for me. You can tell Bitchoff that since his Absolom Cycle is reduced in quality and sales, he can go pound sand.”

“I will. Talk to you later Daniel.”

Daniel hung up, and went back to work. He got as far as another paragraph when there was a knock at the door. He grumbled, and went to answer it. He was surprised to see Malcolm Vicount standing there.

“Malcolm? What are you doing here?”

“Can’t I come see an old friend?”

“Malcolm, you were my publisher, not my friend. What do you want?”

“Can I come in? I’d rather not discuss this in your doorway?”

Daniel let him in. They sat in his living room, Malcolm on the couch, Daniel in Annabeth’s old chair. She could always pick out good furniture. “Out with it.”

“I can see you are still pissed about the whole firing thing. Wasn’t my fault. Christof had taken control over the Board by then. Almost decided on forcing me out too. He was pretty good as playing dumb. Didn’t realize until it was too late.”

“How is that my problem? I don’t owe you anything. I don’t even get royalties for those books I wrote for you. I get nothing for my work continuing to be sold at your publishing house. In what fucking world do you have the balls to ask me for anything?”

Malcolm sucked in a breath, and fidgeted for a moment. “In a world where I need your help to get Christof out. He is starting to run my house into the ground. Forcing out other good authors who don’t kiss his ass. Once we get rid of him, I can give you a new contract for those books.”

Daniel’s ears pricked up. “A new contract. Not for new ones, but the old ones. Why would you do that?”

“Because if you won’t help me, Vicount Publishing will cease to exist in five years. We will have to sell those rights, and you think that anyone else is gonna make it right? Everything I built will be destroyed. I know you know how that feels.”

Daniel closed his eyes for a moment. “Suppose I agree with you. How am I supposed to force him out?”

Malcolm’s eyes glimmered with a bit of hope. “Challenge him, publicly. He won’t be able to resist. I have enough board members willing to vote, but they need a reason to. Christof is still a golden boy too enough people. Just a little bit of tarnish is all we need.”

“And the failing fortunes of Vicount isn’t enough?”

“Most of them don’t notice. Those that do, they believe him when he says the next book will save them all.”

“Fools,” Daniel pondered for several chimes from the clock on the mantle. “Will she be there?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t been around Vicount since you were let go.”

“I’m in. I even know what ad to run. And in the Times too.”

***

The room was packed. Daniel spotted several journalists even from literary journals from London. Vultures.

The usual types that only could wish they possessed the imagination to write. All they knew was to tear down. Daniel felt a tapping on his shoulder. He turned around.

“Daniel.” Annabeth stood there. She looked much the same she did two years ago.

“Annabeth. I wasn’t expecting you here.”

“How could I not? I help start all this. I wanted to see it through.”

Daniel for a moment felt like hugging her, but didn’t. “I didn’t know it at the time, but part of me did challenge Christof because he was a prick to you. It wasn’t the whole reason, but I should have told you that I appreciated you. It wouldn’t be the Contest without you.”

Her eyes glistened, and she dabbed them with a tissue. “Thank you. You know he is going to give you his best shot, don’t you?”

“I hope so, otherwise it isn’t going to be much of a third and final act, will it?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek. “Go get him.”

She released him when grimy smirk spoke behind him. “My two favorite people.”

Daniel turned, and witnessed Christof. His golden hair perfectly coiffed, muscles straining against a tee shirt emblazoned with his likeness and name in big letters, and too tight pants. “The legendary talent himself. I was amazed you could fit us into your busy schedule.”

Christof scoffed, “Well, I felt that this would be fun. Whupping your ass again. For a third time. And how dare you put me a second billing in the ad. I’ll do more than fuck your woman this time.”

Annabeth chimed in. “I’m not his. And no, I wouldn’t want the pleasure of your micro midget again.”

Christof giggled, “It was more than you could handle, don’t lie.”

“Let’s not consider the sizes of our manhoods, Christof, but our pens. Because you are going to have to put everything into yours this time.”

“Fine, lets shake for the cameras. Make sure to smile. Its going to be the best picture you’ve ever taken.”

Cameras and phones snapped, and then Christof dropped Daniel’s hand to press the flesh of the sycophantic press. “Annabeth, I’m going to head to the stage. Thanks for coming.”

He watched her smile from ear to ear as he walked up the stage. He sat down, and answered a few questions from actual authors and people in the industry. He spotted Sean, grabbing a seat near Annabeth.

It took for Hammerstien to emerge from the back, cloud of smoke still surrounding his head. Daniel nodded to the old man, who grabbed the mic and spat words into it. “Listen here assholes. We are here again, for some reason, to do the same shit again. And again, they asked me to judge. But this time, because why the hell not, each party is going to read their work to everyone. So I am not the only one to suffer.”

He laughed at his own joke, burped and Daniel thought he farted as well, before resuming. “Now, Bitchoff, get your ass up here so we can get this over with.”

Daniel nodded to him as Hammerstien retreated backstage. Christof took his place onstage, and then the quills were brought out. “You can still back out now Daniel. No harm, no foul. Do you really want to be embarrassed again?”

“No. But no matter what happens, I still get to go back to my life. Where I am a bestselling author, and you can run Vicount into the ground.”

Christof’s armor looked dented after that remark, but he quickly shook it off, and gave a beaming smile to the cameras. And then the bell sounded.

***

The ending bell stuck long after Daniel had finished. Malcolm strode up on stage, and collected his work. Christof barely finished before Malcolm tried to grab the quill from him. “Now, Hammerstien is going to read and judge. After he announces the winner, both will read. How exciting!” Malcolm bore a shit eating grin on his face.

Daniel just smirked at Christof. It bothered Christof, that much was clear. He tried getting up, but instead of heading out into the crowd, he paced onstage while Hammerstien read backstage. Daniel sat and smiled.

Hammerstien came out, the pipe smoke now tinged with a hint of blue. “I’ve read them both, and there is no question as to who won. No question at all. Christof is the clear winner.”

Christof jumped up for joy, while Daniel shrugged his shoulders. He looked over at Annabeth, whose face was twisted in sadness. He felt inside himself to console her, but remained seated.

“I wanna read first! Suck it Daniel! It wasn’t even close! Did you hear that? I’m champion! Three times in a row!”

Daniel motioned for Christof to read. He grabbed the papers from Hammerstien and strode over to the mic.

As much as Daniel hated to admit it, Christof actually knew how to write. He had talent. Buried under layers of asshole, prickness, and douchebaggery so deep that that talent should have drowned. On this occasion, though, enough of it poked through the surface.

He read a story that touched the heart, heated the blood with action, and even made Daniel a little misty with the main character’s death at the end, having set wrongs right and had the girl of his dreams profess her undying love for him. A beautiful story, one that he could see a sappy movie about.

Christof then did everything besides spike the football on stage, writhing and dancing over his victory. After Hammerstien cleared his throat, Christof sat back down at his seat, and then it was Daniel’s turn.

He approached the mic to a quiet crowd. If there had been people fucking in the bathroom this time, he could have heard them. It would have been appropriate.

He began to read, letting each word hang off his tongue. Throughout it, you could hear crickets, the prose dying with each paragraph. He saw Annabeth, tears streaming down her face. He saw the open mouths and gaping jaws of the crowd. He saw Sean, look utterly bewildered. And then it ended.

Before he left the mic, he turned to Christof, who sported incredulous confusion. “Yes, that was what I submitted to Hammerstien for this contest. Now before I go, I must admit, Christof’s story was better than this one. No doubt about that. In fact, I should be embarrassed to even have read that to you all.”

Silence answered. Outstanding. Just the reaction that I wanted.

“But I do have a confession. I am embarrassed for reading it. I’m not embarrassed for writing it though. Because I didn’t. What I read to you all was Christof’s real submission for the first Contest of Quills,” Daniel turned back to Hammerstien, who was nodding along with his words. The old man remembered. “Now, Christof, you know why you are confused. You must have blanked out that you wrote this.”

Christof stammered, but said nothing. “Let me finish that for you. I wrote the Absolom Cycle, not Christof. Me. Malcolm put his name on it so he could milk Christof’s celebrity. But he hired me to write it. This contest demonstrates that fully. Christof has some talent, but not enough. Everybody make sure you hit up the winner’s dinner in the next room over. Some of Christof’s favorites are being served.”

Daniel walked off stage, before the uproar from the crowd buffeted the podium. He walked to the back, a small smile on his face. He entered the hall, and was halfway down it when he heard the door open, and a pair of shoes clicking on the tile. “Daniel! I can’t believe it.”

He turned, to catch a breathless Annabeth. “Why can’t you believe it? It just happened.”

“Was that the plan all along?”

“Not to give away all my secrets, but Malcolm gave me Christof’s story from the first Contest. I knew that he could write a great short story. He did last time. But he couldn’t beat himself.”

“Oh Daniel. I am so proud of you. Do you want to go catch up somewhere, maybe in the men’s room?”

Daniel chuckled. “Nah. Maybe over a beer. Your number still the same?”

“You know it. What are you going to do now?”

“What all heroes do. Ride off into the sunset.”

Daniel walked away, and headed for the exit. He needed to hurry. Only a little bit of sun left.