The Sequel Read Free Page B

idea in his head.
    Maybe I’ll become like Jack Nicholson in The Shining . Go crazy. Type the same phrase over and over. Even that is better than a blank screen.
    Suddenly weary, he shuts his eyes and rubs them.
    He opens them to find a beautiful young woman seated across from him. Round blue eyes, almost too blue to be real. Full red lips, wavy black hair flowing down past the shoulders of her pale blue top.
    She reaches across the table and touches the back of his hand. “Can I help you?”
5
    They’re making better-looking librarians these days , he thinks.
    â€œI’m sorry if I don’t belong here,” he says. “I just needed a quiet place to write.”
    She smiles. “I’m not a librarian.” The voice is velvety, just above a whisper.
    He gazes back at her. She is radiant. The high cheekbones of a model. He even notices her creamy skin, like baby skin. She isn’t wearing any makeup.
    She doesn’t blink. “Sometimes I help writers,” she says.
    â€œHelp? What do you mean?”
    The cheeks darken to pink. The red lips part. “I … do things for them.”
    She’s teasing me. Coming on to me?
    She taps the back of his hand again. “I recognized you, Zachary. I loved your book.”
    â€œThank you. I—”
    â€œI can’t wait for the sequel.” She tosses her hair back with a shake of her head.
    Zachary shrugs. “I’m not sure there’s going to be a sequel.”
    She makes a pouty face.
    He’s tempted to laugh. The expression is so childlike. “Look, I’ve been sitting here for two hours thinking about a sequel, and … well, I haven’t exactly been inspired.”
    â€œI can help you,” she says. “Seriously. I like helping writers.”
    â€œYou want to write it for me?” he jokes.
    She doesn’t smile. “Maybe.” She tugs his hand and starts to stand up. “Come on. Let’s go talk about it.”
    He closes the laptop. “Where are we going?”
    â€œTo talk about your book.” She has a clear, childlike laugh from deep in her throat. “You look so tense. Come on. Follow me. I can help you.”
    Outside, the afternoon sun is high in the sky. Two cherry trees across the street have opened their pink-white blossoms. The air smells sweet like springtime.
    She is more petite than he imagined. She can’t be more than five-five. Her slim-legged jeans emphasize her boyish figure. He wishes he was better at guessing a woman’s age, but he hasn’t a clue. She could be eighteen or thirty.
    He likes the way she takes long strides, almost strutting, her hair swinging behind her.
    She leads him to the Beer Keg Tap on the corner. A broken neon sign over the front promises steaks and chops. But the place hasn’t served food in thirty years.
    Sunlight disappears as he steps into the long, dark bar, and the aroma of spring is replaced by beer fumes. Two men in blue work overalls are perched at the bar, bottles of Bud in front of them, arguing, their hands slashing the air as they both talk at once. A small TV on the wall above them shows a soccer game with the sound off.
    The bartender is a pouchy, middle-aged woman with a red bandana tied around henna-colored hair, red cheeks, a long white apron over a yellow I ♥ Beer t-shirt. She leans with her back against the bar, eyes raised to the soccer game.
    Zachary and his new friend slide into a red vinyl booth at the back. He sets the laptop on the seat beside him. He gazes at the vintage Miller Hi-Life sign on the wall above her head.
    â€œMaybe I’ll just have coffee,” he tells her. “It’s a little early …”
    â€œYou’re a lot of fun,” she says. It takes him a few seconds to realize she’s being sarcastic. “Guess what I had for breakfast. Vodka and scrambled eggs. Breakfast of the czars.”
    â€œYou’re serious?”
    The bartender