Adam from, “Way of the World.”
Thomas and Adam were both sitting on the curb together. Thomas was wearing his shoulder sling, while Adam was sipping scotch from his flask, dressed in his usual eccentric attire.
“Rah, why are we here, Thomas?” said Adam.
Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know. Just wanted to talk, I guess.”
“Talk? You want to talk let’s do it at a barroom.”
“We’re here, so just deal with it.”
“Sure.” Adam scoffed. “Deal with it. He shook his head. “What a terrible phrase. Well, let’s have at it then. What have you brought me here for?”
“I wanted to talk about your plot. I wanted to see how you felt about it.”
“About what, exactly?” said Adam.
“You know, the love curse. The prophesy on the train. The fact that if you fall in love it puts your entire company at risk.”
“You know that company hardly matters to me. And I don’t care about love, either. Despite what you might think,” Said Adam, scratching his long white chin.
Thomas laughed and adjusted his sling. “What about those quiet moments when you seem ashamed of yourself?”
“What! C’mon! Everybody has those moments! It’s called having fun. Thomas, listen, I honestly don’t care about my plot, whatsoever. I just need you to do one thing for me.”
“What?”
“Allow me to fuck Evelynn.”
“What! I can’t do that!” said Thomas.
“Why not?” said Adam.
“Because that’s what’s driving your whole story now! It’ll kill the suspense!”
“Oh, forget suspense! Here, I’ve got an idea.” Adam stretched his tall lanky legs straight out in front of him, then rested his white-gloved hands in his lap.
“What?” said Thomas.
“How about this – If I don’t have sex with Evelynn at least twenty times in your novel, the Kingsley Products goes out of business.”
Thomas laughed. “I’m sorry, I can’t see that appealing much to readers over the age of thirteen.”
Adam stood up, then brushed some dirt off of his white buckskin shoes. “Rah.” He stood up straight. “Well what’s with you, anyhow?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, how are you? What exactly happened today?”
“With what?” said Thomas.
“Oh, c’mon, you know what! You had a captivating story going for a few days, then you published the finale this morning, and… well… let’s just say it wasn’t good.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“In fact, I’d say it was shit.”
“Yeah. I know,” repeated Thomas.
Adam laughed. He picked up a small black pebble then tossed it into the street. “Why did you publish it?”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know. I had forty-five minutes to write it, and by the time the first draft was finished, I had to get out the door. I guess I just pressed publish without a second thought.”
“It was a mistake.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. Nine views and three likes. I’m hoping they just didn’t wanna press the button.”
“No,” said Adam. “They read it and decided it was shit.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, or that.”
“Billy the butler? That was almost offensive. You’re not a very good writer, you know.”
“I created you.”
“Yeah, that’s why I said it. You don’t bring a character out of his normal setting to have a conversation with him. And about his own plot, for rah-sakes!”
Thomas stood up. “Well shit, I’ve been struggling all day with this thing. I even wrote a poem about it.”
“Yeah, and the poem sucked.”
“You’re kind of a dick, you know.”
“And you’re kind of a bad writer.”
“Whatever dude. I’m leaving.”
“Hey dude!” Adam called out, as Thomas started away.
“What?!”
“Write me more sex scenes! Get me some new flousies or something!”
“It’s spelled floozies.”
“Shut-it, you’re the writer. It was you who decided to be different and spell it your way.” Adam adjusted his black felt topper and failed to hide his smirk.
“What?” said Thomas.
“I’m just embarrassed to have been created by you, is all.”
Thomas opened to speak, before biting down hard on his bottom lip and walking away.
– Billy the Butler
Thomas M. Watt 