Another Successful Interaction with a Man: Day Three, and 6,057 Words

First of all, I have so loved reading everyone's posts on their blogs. Everyone is knocking it out of the park and I am so proud to be writing with all of you.

The second half of the chapter that I was writing today involves Nora's run-in with her own Mr. Darcy. She meets him in the office of her book agent, brian j. Pickles:

There are a few things that you need to know about brian j. Pickles. First, the lower-case b and j were not typos. He just chooses to spell his name that way and gets belligerent if it is spelled any other way. Second, he is in an Aerosmith cover band called Broken Aero, and they only perform at the dive bar called Jackie’s Place that served as inspiration for the portal between the magical and Gentle worlds in Nora’s novels. The reason that brian j. Pickles had approached Nora in the first place was that he had heard that an up and coming author had featured Jackie’s Place in a pivotal role in her oeuvre and knew that he could be the only person who could represent her as a book agent and bring Jackie’s Place to the masses. Third, he tries to cultivate an air of mystery, and he does so by pretending—and I truly mean pretending—to be a breatharian. Breatharians are a curious class of people who claim that they can subsist on air, and air alone. While doctors disagree, brian j. Pickles liked to make a show of it. Fourth, he had just moved into a larger office on Bay Street. While this is not interesting in and of itself, it explains why Nora had trouble finding his office. She had even more trouble because she was carrying a large housewarming plant.

“Happy officewarming!” Nora exclaimed when she spotted him from the hallway. “Here’s a Kawhactus,” she said, holding up the leafy plant.

“The air from this plant will be delicious,” brian j. Pickles said, prompting Nora to look to the ground and roll her eyes. He was certainly eccentric, but he definitely knew how to shop books around.

“I only have a few minutes to chat since my next client is coming in. I have him to thank for my new office,” brian j. Pickles said as he gestured around the cavernous room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the business district of Toronto.

“How’s the air up here?”

“Oh, uh, it’s thin,” he responded, partially joking about the height of the building. But also, being a breatharian isn’t a thing.

“How is the movie script coming?,” brian j. Pickles continued. “I know you said you were finding it challenging to cut your book down into a digestible script.”

“It’s going well. There are some changes that I want to make, but it’s coming along.”

“They ask authors to write screenplays of their own novels because they don’t want any changes, Nora.”

“Well, the thing is—” Nora’s justifications were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Both Nora and brian j. Pickles turned their focus to the entrance to the office. A man who looked quite impatient indeed was darkening the door.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your discussion with your… assistant?” the man said rudely.

Nora’s eyes bulged so largely that they almost fell right out of her head. Her. An assistant.

There is of course nothing wrong with being an assistant. But much in the same way that female doctors don’t like it when people constantly assume that they are nurses, Nora absolutely did not take kindly to the assertion that she was anything other than a client of her brian j. Pickles, book agent.

“I’m actually a client of Mr. Pickles,” Nora said with as prickly of a tone if she could muster. “We were just meeting about the screenplay that I have been commissioned to write based on my book series. I’m not sure what about me made you think I am an assistant. Well, actually, I have some ideas.”

She arched her brow in his direction, hoping he was learning something about sexist bias.

“The fact that you are holding a house plant threw me off, I suppose,” the man said with a smirk as he ran his hands through his fashionably parted dark brown hair. He was wearing a tweed blazer with elbow patches, which was clearly the smug man’s uniform.

Nora realized that she was indeed still holding the Kawhactus. She thought about explaining the situation further, but it was pretty hard to say anything else on the topic without sounding defensive. She placed the Kawhactus on the desk as quickly and subtly as possible, brushing dirt off of her blouse in a way that she hoped this man wouldn’t notice. Nora found herself wishing that she had applied another coat of the prescription-strength deodorant that she saved for stressful occasions such as these.

“I’m excited that the two of you are meeting, actually,” brian j. Pickles interjected, sensing some tension. “Oliver, this is Nora Zimmerman. She writes the Pride and Prejuwitch series, which was just picked up by Columbia Pictures.” Nora just knew that she saw his mouth twitch into a little smile. She refused to feel embarrassed for her books. Especially not in the hands of this guy.

“Nora, this is Oliver Goldstein. He’s the new client I mentioned.”

He said this as if Nora should recognize who he was from his name. It did kind of ring a bell, but she didn’t want to give him any satisfaction.

“Hi, Oliver. You might know me from my most recent feud with Ontario Premier Doug Ford,” Nora said as she shook his hand.

“Sorry, I must have missed that one,” Oliver responded, as if he wasn’t all that sorry. “My friend Kiefer recently handed Doug Ford his ass on Twitter, did you see that one?”

“Yes,” Nora said weakly. Of course, she had heard of it. Oliver was referring to Kiefer Sutherland, Canadian actor and star, as his friend “Kiefer.” He had recently taken issue with Doug Ford comparing himself to former Prime Minister Tommy Douglas, his maternal grandfather, who is widely credited with bringing universal healthcare to Canada. She couldn’t decide whether she liked it more when he said, “I knew Tommy Douglas and you, sir, are no Tommy Douglas,” or “P.S. You’re lucky my mum’s not active on Twitter.” Who was she kidding? Both were great.

“Please thank Kiefer for his service to our country.”

“Oliver just signed with us,” brian j. Pickles beamed. “We’re going to try to get him a Pulitzer for Portman’s Complaint.”

Right. Portman’s Complaint. Everyone in literary circles was talking about it.

“Erm, well, I’ll leave you to it,” Nora said as she slinked out of the office and into the hall.

“Another successful interaction with a man,” she thought to herself. She stood outside the hall, catching her breath. She was reminded of why she rarely interacted with other authors. There is so much haughtiness, almost across the board.

“Pride and Prejuwitch, eh?” she heard coming from brian j. Pickles’ office.

“They’re smart books,” Pickles shot back defensively. “She’s one of our best-selling authors.”

“I’m sure,” Oliver arrogantly replied. She imagined that even his tweed elbow patches were laughing at her.

She walked down the hall, laughing to herself. With a little bit of distance, she could appreciate that interaction for what it was: a run-in with a self-absorbed jerk. A sexist one, at that. If nothing else, she had a story to tell that night at happy hour.

Nora refused, right then and there, to let this man dictate how she felt about herself and her accomplishments. She loved her books and they were well-loved by her readers. Perhaps she wouldn’t win a Pulitzer, since they likely wouldn’t take kindly to the concept of a deflated balloon sensing the magic within. But does that have to be everyone’s goal? Hadn’t she gotten into writing because it felt good to write something that resonated with people?

One thing was for sure, though: she most certainly would not be picking up a copy of Portman’s Complaint.

As you can see, adding in breatharians, brian j. Pickles, and a Kawhactus proved very fruitful for me today!