• 14 •
"You should keep asking your characters why," Keenan lifted the short stick to his mouth and released smoke, "Why does this person annoy this person," he glanced at Adil, "Why is this character always pissed," he glanced at Slater, "Why does this character like this person," at me, "Or why is this dude doing this and that, and everything," he shot a look at Jess.
"If his reason is shallow, you gotta make it weigh in internal monologue," he shrugged, "You need to justify their actions. Since mystery and crime's my flavor, this is must, but I believe that it should be applied to every other book as well," another puff, "Give them motive. Kill your darlings. Scenes must be relevant—even if it's just to show another character's attitude. Don't make them fuck on the first chapter without making their attraction weigh tons or unless it's the effect of something that happened beforehand or maybe it's a habit and that habit, of course, comes with a root," he shot a look at me, obviously referring to the project I chose.
"There are readers who won't buy your shallow bullshit. You don't even have to reveal motives right away—in fact, it keeps readers on their toes when you don't," Keenan butted the end of the cigar against the glass window behind him and discarded the stick on his desk. Then, he picked up his drink and took a long sip, having everyone worried for insides. My eyes fell to the chair in front of him. Keenan Travino fingered me on that damn seat just an hour ago.
"When people are reading, they turn into detectives and lawyers," he cocked his head to the side and regarded each one of us, me indifferently, "Drag the audience with clues. Give them enough for judgement. The best reader is the one with imagination," he narrowed his eyes at the ceiling, "You can give them a single line and they can form conspiracies from it. They can imagine a whole n'other scene from that little set of words."
He sat down on his chair and memories came rushing in. Fuck, I held my breath. Keenan put his feet on the table, "One line: I visit the cemetery every week," he said to everyone.
We stared and Keenan stared back, "Now why would I do that? I'm a man with poor temper, I disappeared for seven years, my house is in the middle of tall trees, I'm fucking lonely, I'm killing myself with alcohol and smoke," he downed his drink and cringed afterwards.
"Imagination. If it led you to think that a loved one tragically died," he shrugged again, "How did she die? Why was it tragic? Why this, why that. Of course, you'd read on until I reveal that I wasn't lying when I said that I had a daughter."
Adil and I exchanged looks, both quietly asking 'the fuck?'.
"That's only an example, Gia," spoke Keenan, "Calm your ass," he rolled his eyes. An example doesn't have to be made-up.
"Sometimes a powerful scene pops into your head and you wanna include it in your novel," he continued, yawned, and closed his eyes, "It's only then you think of the path that may lead to that scene happening. Make sure you don't turn it into a darling. You ask yourselves the hows and whys. It's fill in the blanks and make the whole paragraph work. It's fill in the holes and make the whole story work."
He opened his eyes again and waved weakly, "Shoo and go think about what I said while I correct the crap that Slater sent me," he gazed mockingly at Slater.
Slate scowled at the other man, but Keenan didn't mind. Instead, the latter put his glasses on, brought his feet down, and proceeded to do what he said: correct Slater's crap.
I reviewed my work so far, looking at actions that are uncalled for. If I found myself wanting to keep certain lines and scenes, I gave my characters good reasons for doing what they did. If not, I killed my darlings, cut them and pasted on a different file for future use. I knew I had unnecessary aspects, but it took a statement from my mentor to delete them.
Keenan spoke after a while, "Goddamn, Slater," he said, "You made it into my top one list of bad writing."
Again, Slater scowled. Jess had to whisper him down. For the next hour, it was Keenan making blunt comments on our work. His favorite words? shit and stupid.
By the time two hours were up, the man was nursing his head in his hands, elbows on his desk. He sighed in deep, deep disappointment, "I hate you all. Except for Adil, you did great. Leave."
Slater fled through the double doors with his panties in a bunch. A tired Jess trailed after him. I sent Adil a look and he automatically knew what it meant—I'll stay for a while. The man smiled tightly and headed outside.
Keenan lifted his head and glared at me, "What?"
"You said characters have their reasons," I shrugged, "So why me?"
"You're still on about that?" he questioned, "I know I look like Terrence Ambrose, but I'm not Terrence Ambrose."
Fuck. I felt my ears warm up, "Yeah, you're Keenan Travino and surely you have your own reasons."
He sighed again and sent a silent prayer to whoever he believes in, "Was 'appreciate yourself more' not enough for you?"
"Under what context, sir?" I opened my arms weakly, "Looks? Mind?"
"You aren't the best-looking person in the world," he spoke firmly, "But you look nice, Gianna."
"So..." my weight shifted from one foot to the other, "Looks?"
"Not at all," he told me, "Other people don't have a small yellow car. They don't have a teddy bear named D8BFD8. They don't have an old PC with shitty children stickers on the back."
I folded my arms in front of me. It was my turn to glare, "How did you know my baby bear's name?"
"How else?" Keenan stood to his full height, "We talk about you," creep.
"And he said you don't seem to care much," I narrowed my eyes at Keenan's calm stature, the opposite of my tense one.
He scoffed, "That's what he said?" he licked his lips and thought to himself, "Interesting."
Keenan took another death stick out and put it in between his lips. I couldn't stop myself, "That's gonna kill you one day."
He lit it, "I'm gonna die one day. I don't give a damn about the reason."
The smoke he released was like a cloud in the air—a cloud made of Keenan Travino's gray soul, "I should go," I said and grabbed the bag on an armchair.
"Gi," he started again. When I turned, I held my breath. The chair in front of him grabbed my attention for a second and I feared that once the program's over, all seats in Keenan's mansion will give me memories, "Come to my party."
I raised both brows, "What party?"
"The surprise party that I shouldn't know about," said Keenan.
I questioned, "Why do you know about it?"
"Alicia's not a great liar," he told me, "Come if you can."
His dark brown eyes held me captive for a while. In the end, all I could say was that I'll think about it. I headed out right after, meeting Adil outside. Like always, he was leaning against his black car. He squinted as I neared.
"They left screaming at each other. Very problematic couple," said the boy with a smile.
I laughed softly and stopped in front of him, "I don't wanna pry into their lives," I said after recalling the many burning looks that the woman sent me earlier.
He nodded once and dropped the topic. Then, he spoke again, "I'm going to the party, by the way," that damn party.
"What made you decide to go?" I wondered.
"Keenan asked me to," he answered. Great. Fucking great. He continued, "But you don't have to go just because I will. I know you never considered it."
I shook my head an sighed. Janella texted me this morning, asking for my decision, also encouraging me to go. At this point, I'm the only one saying no. "I'll attend," I told Adil.
"You're sure?" he queried, "I don't think I'm gonna stay long anyway. Just there for the cupcakes."
A sharp sigh exited my lips. I'm not going because of Keenan and I am not going because of Adil, "I'm going because I want to go," I said to him.
Adil beamed, considerate once again, "If you say so."
My phone buzzed in my pocket and upon swiping up, my eyes met a message from Ralph. I stomped a foot on the ground. We always share problems.
"What's wrong?" asked Adlib.
"I gotta go," I told him, "Ralph forgot to bring something to work and I have to delivery it to him."
After a wave, I was off. Helping Ralph has become a chore that requires different equipment every time. He made it up to me by buying tacos, and to also make up for puking on Lemon, he added pizza.
The thought of Ralph and his job is tempting me to get my own job. The profit from writing is only enough for gas, food, and rent and I found myself comparing once again to my peers who have occupations—real occupations with bosses and work hours. I didn't wanna have my mother send me money if my expenses are ever compromised by the tiniest concerns. The barista job, although it doesn't give much, still gives, and that's better than depending on people's emails that have no guarantees.
I mentioned it to my mother when she called on Sunday, the day after session number eight. As always, she was supportive. Has she found passion in a new potential profession? no, thank fuck.
On Sunday night as I was typing away on my laptop, I decided that I'll start at a real job once the program ends. It lessened my self-pity.
It was also the same night when I sent my latest progress to Keenan to which he replied with 'Too predictable. Scrap. Come here on Wednesday, stop avoiding me'.
It was a command, that much I inferred. I read my work three times the whole night, all the while placing myself in the shoes of my future readers and realized that shit, Keenan's right—it is predictable.
Adil tried to help by suggesting alternative plots, but none of them sat well with me. Ralph attempted too, even going as far as to write a possible scene on his own. Although I appreciate their help, they technically weren't able to help.
So, I found myself swallowing what remained of my pride this morning. After a shower, light breakfast, and a quick rack of my cabinets for jeans and a shirt, I rode Lemon to a nine-million-dollar-mansion that never fails to amaze me. David, the guard, greeted me with his fixed cheery aura.
I poked the small button by the door. Yes, a shirtless Keenan with a cigarette, blah, blah, blah, wet panties, whatever.
This Wednesday meeting didn't start out any different. We took a moment to stare at each other and without a word, I entered his foyer, into the living room, and down on the black couch. Down to business, I told myself, no sexscapades, Gianna.
Yeah, right.
Once I had my trusty device on my lap, I spoke to Keenan, "Predictability. Tell me, Mr. Writing Coach Sir, how do I make my steamy love story not come out like a script of a telenovela that my mother loves?"
He crossed his arms, furrowed his brows, and of course, dick big. Shit, there you go again, Gi.
"Terrence got jealous over Karylle and her new boss and he seems like a nice guy," said Keenan, "I guessing a testosterone-fueled stand-off between the two men. Tell me I'm wrong," he looked bored—probably is.
My smile was more of a cringe, "You are right."
The mentor scratched the back of his head, "And Karylle is gonna get mad at Terrence for being a jerk and long story short, they'll fuck into oblivion."
I narrowed my eyes at Mr. Travino, "Do you read romance novels online?" I wondered, remembering I had a phase when I did. If those things are Keenan's guilty pleasure, I wouldn't blame him. They're pretty addicting.
He looked unentertained, "If you're gonna use a cliche, at least add a twist," he muttered.
"I couldn't think of a good one," I admitted. One good aspect of a romance novel, they say, is jealousy—a triangle of some sort. There's something flattering about having two people compete for the same person.
Keenan Travino stared at me, eyes transparent so that I can see the shiny gears in his head, "Don't make him jealous."
"Why?" because by then, I've already established an emotional bond between the two.
His reply was cool, but his stare was heating me up, "Because if I were him, I'd be sure that Karylle won't find what she's looking for in another guy. Only in me."
I gnawed at my lip and considered his words. Keenan walked to the window. What is it with this man and windows? He continued, "How about you make the other guy pressured to compete? Taunt his ego, step on his pride. He tries hard, but in the end, he doesn't win and Terrence doesn't even lift a finger."
"And that guy leaves by himself," I added.
Keenan pouted, "It may be."
"Then comes the fucking?" I wondered, "The frustrated fucking," I corrected.
Keenan chuckled softly and faced me. Nope, not pregnant. Not pregnant at all, "That's your choice to make, Gigi. Would she go for Terrence when the other guy's out of the picture? Maybe you should give her a reason not to. That would be interesting."
Why does this feel like it applies to other things? "For example?" I asked.
He glared at me again, "Use your brain," well, that's kinda hard when you're around. I watched as Keenan discarded his nth cigar of the day. Of course, I've smoked before and I still do on very rare occasions. I can't imagine myself using at least one a day.
I looked at Keenan and tried to asses again. I pushed down the desire within me. If I were Keenan Travino, what past would I have? There are thousands of possibilities and my mind can't think of a specific one to believe.
Travino scoffed, "Will you ever stop staring? It pisses me off."
"I was lost in thought," I defended.
He didn't believe me, "Of course you were. If you want something else from me, you can just ask, you know."
I brought my focus to my device and started noting Keenan's ideas, "What might I want from you?" I wondered aloud.
"You want me to call you out?" said the man, "Again."
Maybe.
"I don't want anything else from you, thank you very much," and for good measure, I beamed sweetly.
"I can see through bullshit," said Keenan as he walked to where I sat. He stood nearby and when I looked up, he spoke some more, "Can you see through mine?"
"If you don't mind," I began, "I'm only here to get help for my book and to work on my book. If you have bullshit, I'm not here for any of it," and felt a pang of pride with a mix of fear at my words.
"Right," his brows once against made a fold in the middle, "Of course. Though I think you should watch your words, Gi."
What are you gonna do about it? Fucking hell, I wanted to taunt the man. I checked within me if I had the courage to do an unnecessary banter that might just backfire. After a lift of a prayer, I began, "Why? You don't like your bullshit disregarded? You are full of it."
Keenan visibly paused. After a beat, he reached out and closed my device off. As he bent for his face to meet mine, my thighs clenched in anticipation—with Keenan around, it's easy to get high off of excitement. He grabbed my chin and turned my head to face him, "Since when did you become so feisty?" he asked with his eyes like slits.
I took the shameless chance to admire him up close, quietly apologizing to people that I need to apologize to when I realized how much I wanted to kiss Keenan Travino's soft pink lips. He spoke after assessing me, "I see," said the man. With those two simple words, I knew that he'd seen through the little act.
He attempted to suppress his smile, but it still showed—both sexy and adorable at the same time. Keenan asked another question, his lips near the corner of my own when he spoke, "How much do you dislike me?" he wondered and expected a hefty answer. That's what I gave.
"So much that I wanna shove a packet of cigarettes down your throat," I said plainly, "And light."
He kissed my cheek as he chuckled, "You're one violent woman. It's concerning," he pulled away. Keenan looked amused and knowing it's because of me made me feel a hundred feet taller.
"I read violent books," I told him, "Like the ones from that Travino guy."
That Travino guy's smile widened and it was breathtaking. He responded, "One hell of a guy," he released my chin and grabbed my wrist. Then, he stood me up and held me right against him. I died.
"Seems like he has a lot of issues," I told Keenan, shocked that I sounded composed even though his hands were exploring my sides freely. His chest was warm against mine and the heat was so good that I pushed myself harder against him. Keenan groaned in appreciation and I died again.
"Hard issues, I'm guessing," he spoke. Keenan gripped my hips and ground my pelvis against his front, "Maybe you can help him out."
I've grasped my courage. This time, I was the one to lean close—lips to his ear, "I wouldn't wanna compromise," and pulled away.
Keenan turned me around and it was so quick that my clumsy ass would've fallen if it weren't for his hands on me—literally on me when one squeezed my chest and the other grasped my hip. I whimpered as my back arched, making my behind dig further against him. The man's fingers digging into my breast felt more good than painful. I died for the third time.
He rubbed his hardness against my shorts and with a distinctly hoarse voice, delivered a message against my neck, "You feel that?" he asked, and I most certainly felt it, "You can have all of that if you choose to compromise."
Shit, let's compromise right now.
To barb further, he took my hand and led it to the rock-solid bulge, "All of this," a kiss to my neck, "As deep as you want," another kiss, "If we compromise," and another.
This is death number what again?
I squeezed and Keenan's moan was so low that I wouldn't have heard it if his mouth wasn't right against my ear. The air around us was thick with sexual eagerness and with every breath I took, it filled me. Keenan, however, had to break it which had me wanting to shove a tiny box down his windpipe like I said.
He removed my hand from his pants and stepped away. Then, he turned my around, "My sister's visiting again. Let me know if you wanna help me with my issues."
It was then I realized that Adil's not the only man waiting for me.