Faerie Tale. Raymond E. Feist

comb, and clean blouse. And Jack seemed suddenly unable to sit comfortably. Gloria glanced from Jack to Gabbie and said, ‘Right, one more for dinner.’

       • Chapter Four •

      Dinner was relaxed. Phil and Gloria, Jack and Gabbie sat around the kitchen table while the twins ate sitting on a crate before the television in the parlour. Jack had spoken little, for his questions had coaxed Phil into explaining the family’s move from California.

      ‘So then,’ said Phil, ‘with Star Pirates and Star Pirates II being such tremendous hits, and with me getting an honest piece of the box office, as well as a creator’s royalty on Pirates III, IV, and however many more they can grind out, I have what I like to call “go to hell” money.’

      ‘“Go to hell money”?’ asked Jack.

      Gabbie said, ‘Dad means that he’s got enough money to tell every producer in Hollywood to go to hell.’ Gabbie had managed to find a mirror, comb, washcloth, and clean blouse and had barely taken her eyes off Jack throughout the evening.

      ‘That’s it. Now I can go back to what I did first, and best: write novels.’

      Jack Cole finished eating and sat back from the table. ‘You’ll get no arguments from me. Still, most of your films were pretty good. The Pirates films had darn good writing compared to most others in the genre; I liked that sly humour a lot – made those characters seem real. And the plots made sense – well, sort of.’

      ‘Thank you, but even so, film’s more of a director’s medium. Even with an editor’s input, a book’s a single person’s product. And it’s been too many years since I’ve been able to write without story editors, directors, producers, other writers, even actors, all screaming for changes in the script. In films the writing’s done by committee. You’ve never lived until you’ve been through a story conference.’ There was a half-serious, half-mocking tone to his voice. ‘Torquemada would have loved them. Some idiot from a multinational conglomerate who needs to have every line of Dick and Jane explained to him is telling you how to rewrite scenes, so the chairman of the board’s wife won’t be offended. Or some agent is demanding changes in a beautifully thought out script because the character’s actions might be bad for the star’s image. There are agents who would have demanded a rewrite of Shakespeare – have Othello divorce Desdemona because his client’s fans wouldn’t accept him as a wife-murderer. Or the studio wants a little more skin showing on the actress so they can get a PG rather than a G, ‘cause they think teenagers won’t go to a G. It’s a regular Alice Through the Looking Glass out there.’

      ‘Is it really that bad?’ Jack asked.

      Gabbie rose and began gathering up the paper plates and napkins. ‘If the volume of Dad’s yelling is any indication, it’s that bad.’

      Phil looked wounded. ‘I don’t yell.’

      Gloria said, ‘Yes you do. Several times I thought you’d smash the phone, slamming it down after speaking to someone at the studio.’ She turned to Jack. ‘You’ve been doing most of the listening, Jack. We haven’t given you a chance to tell us anything about yourself.’

      Jack grinned as Gabbie replaced his empty bottle of beer with a fresh one, indicating he should stay a little longer. ‘Not too much to tell, really. I’m just a good old boy from Durham, North Carolina, who got a BA in English from UNC and wandered up north to study at SUNY Fredonia. I had my choice of a couple of different grad programmes, including a tempting one in San Diego, but I wanted Agatha Grant as an adviser, so I pulled some strings and got her, and here I am.’

      Phil’s eyes widened. ‘Aggie Grant! She’s an old family friend! She was also my adviser when I got my MA in modern lit. at Cornell. She’s at Fredonia?’

      ‘Emeritus. She retired last year. That’s what I meant by pulling strings. I’m her last grad student. I’m after a doctorate in literature. In a few more months I’ll be taking orals to see if I get to continue, and an MA in passing. I’m doing my work on novelists who became film writers, on how work in films affects a writer’s work in print. I’m looking at writers who did both, like Fitzgerald, Runyon, William Goldman, Faulkner, and Clavell. And of course yourself. Though mostly I’m working on Fitzgerald. When I figure out the thrust of my dissertation, I’ll probably concentrate on him.’

      Phil smiled. ‘You put me in some fine company, Jack.’

      ‘It’s all pretty technical and probably pretty boring.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘When the local papers printed the word you’d bought this place, I thought I might impose and get an interview with you.’

      Phil said, ‘Well, I’ll help if I can. But I don’t have much in common with Fitzgerald. I don’t drink as much; I’m not having an affair with another writer; and my wife’s not crazy … most of the time.’

      ‘Thanks,’ said Gloria, drily.

      ‘I was going to call Aggie, and take a weekend and drive up to Ithaca. I had no idea she’d moved. First chance I have, I’ll get up to Fredonia and see her. God, it’s been years.’

      ‘Actually, you don’t have to go to Fredonia. She lives on the other side of the woods now, right at the edge of Pittsville. That’s part of the deal. I double as something of a groundskeeper, general factotum, and occasional cook, though she prefers to putter in the kitchen most of the time. She only runs up to the university when she has to, commencements, a colloquium, guest lecture, the occasional alumni function, that sort of thing.’

      ‘Tell Aggie I’ll be over in the next day or two.’

      ‘She’s at NYU for the next two weeks. She’s editing a collection of papers for a symposium in Brussels. But she should be back right after. She wouldn’t miss the Fourth of July celebration in Pittsville.’

      ‘Well then, as soon as she returns, have her give us a call.’

      ‘She’ll be glad to know you’re back home. She’ll whip up something special for the occasion, I expect.’ Jack finished his beer and rose. ‘Well, I want to thank you all – for the hospitality and the dinner. It’s truly been a pleasure.’ The last was not too subtly directed at Gabbie.

      ‘I hope we’ll be seeing you soon, Jack,’ said Gloria.

      ‘If it’s not an imposition. I hike this area when I’m thinking around a problem in my thesis, or sometimes I go riding through the woods.’

      ‘Riding?’ asked Gloria, a calculating expression crossing her face. Jack’s presence had lightened Gabbie’s mood for the first time since they’d arrived, and Gloria was anxious to keep her diverted from any black furies.

      ‘There’s a farm a couple of miles down the highway where they raise horses. Mr Laudermilch’s a friend of Aggie’s, so I can borrow one sometimes. Do you ride?’

      ‘Infrequently,’ answered Phil, ‘but Gabbie here rides every chance she gets.’

      ‘Oh?’

      ‘Bumper – that’s my horse – he’s a champion Blanket Appaloosa. Best gymkhana horse in Southern California, and one of the best cross-country horses at Highridge Stables.’

      ‘Never ridden an Appaloosa; they tend to be a little thick-skinned, I understand. But I guess they’re good working stock. Champion, huh? Pretty expensive, I guess.’

      ‘Well, he’s a good one …’ Gabbie shrugged, indicating money was not an issue. Gloria and Phil smiled.

      Jack said, ‘Back home I had a Tennessee Walker. Perhaps you’d care to go riding some afternoon, after you’re settled in?’

      ‘Sure, anytime.’

      ‘I’m going down to visit my folks in Durham, day after tomorrow. I’ll be