She was already wearing two pieces of costume jewelry she’d found: a pendant and a bracelet. I wasn’t going to tell her she couldn’t have them. I wasn’t even sure the owner knew about this place anymore, based on the half-inch thick layers of dust. It was everywhere, on everything, dancing through our flashlight beams, all thick and swirling. The more we moved, the worse it got.
“So tell me… why do you work so much?”
She asked the question abruptly, while examining the brass top to some old oil lamp. I could tell by the tone in her voice she was trying to make it sound casual.
“Because I can,” I shrugged.
“Yes, but the others take days off to relax,” she said. “Recharge their creative batteries. You on the other hand, never seem to stop.”
I wanted to tell her the truth. That writing was harder for me than it was for them. That I had to work at it, a lot more than they did, to make stories that flowed.
That maybe, just maybe, they were better at it than I was.
“I like to plan,” I said instead. “I outline a lot. I take notes.”
“That’s good,” said Kayleen.
“Yes, but the others don’t always do that. Chase sometimes scribbles things down — ideas, dialogue, whatever comes to mind. It’s not much though. And Nathan pretty much writes straight out of his head.”
Kayleen was in front of an old credenza now, rifling through drawers. Stirring up more and more dust.
“They write twice as fast as I do,” I explained. “So I write longer hours to make up for it.”
She nodded as if accepting the answer. But I wasn’t so sure.
“You ever think that stepping away from your keyboard more often might help you write faster?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because I’ve tried it, I wanted to say. Because I’ve tried it, and all I get is writer’s block.
How could I tell her the truth? That I hadn’t written more than five pages in the last two days? That I’d gone back and rewritten those same pages, over and over again, and I still hated them?
That sometimes I wondered if I should be writing at all?
“I don’t know…” Kayleen said, picking up the conversation where I’d let it die. She was tracing things in the dust now. Drawing elaborate designs. “It just seems to me you need some time off, Burke. Some fun. Some—”
“Adventure?”
“Yes,” she smiled up at me. “Exactly.”
She looked so beautiful, even in the shadows. The flashlight’s beam lit up her hair like spun platinum. Kayleen was extremely pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way… if the girl that lived next to you had a sassy, sardonic edge.
“I suppose this is where I come in,” she said, drawing closer. “The whole having-a-girlfriend thing could be inspiring for you. Break up the monotony. Help… keep your juices flowing?”
She put down her flashlight. In the dusty, semi-darkness, I felt her arms slide around my waist.
“Are you talking about my creative juices?”
Kayleen chuckled. “Maybe.”
She pushed forward, slithering her body against mine. Everything about her was soft and feminine. She was so warm, so wonderful. And she smelled fucking fantastic.
“Maybe I’m talking about all your juices…”
Her face was absolutely perfect — high cheekbones and smooth, porcelain skin trailing to her sexy, pouty mouth. Even in the darkness her eyes shone. I could seem them glimmering up at me now, expectantly.