ONCE MORE INTO THE DRAMA ZONE:

Following the mind-numbingly retarded events of the previous night (see previous post) I find myself in a weird state of not-quite-there-ness as I start work. I feel as if I’ve been removed from reality and set aside in some type of holding pattern. So naturally, as far as work is concerned, I do quite well.

Last night before going to bed I sent publisher a text message telling her Rudy felt terrible about the events at her house but that Joe was a total prick who ignored me completely. Basically, I informed her I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was dealing with someone that immature so matter how talented. That was last night. I haven’t received any reply or update since before I went to bed.

I glance at the time display on my computer and realize the last day of the convention will begin within the hour. I send a text message to Bill asking him what, if any, progress was made between the three of them. I don’t care if they’re still friends or whatever the hell they consider themselves, all that matters is that they can put their egos back in their Fruit of the Looms and get back to the business of running the country! Or, you know, something like that…

It doesn’t take long to receive his reply, something to the effect of, “I’m not sure yet. I have no idea what’s going to happen today.”

Filled with the warm glow of supreme confidence, I continue to work for another hour or so before texting his arse again. This time he writes that he guesses things are okay, but publisher isn’t talking to either one of them. Lovely. She’s there workin’ the convention but not speaking to her business partner and the head of the graphic arts company. What exactly is she doing?

At some point EFB decides to text him as well and starts forwarding his responses to me. “She won’t talk to me.” “I am so broken-hearted right now.” “Honestly I don’t know what’s going to happen.” If it can be found in the bitch-boy manual, he sends it as a text message. Keep in mind this is the guy I actually like! But I am too disgusted to be positive.

I finally decide to text publisher and see what is going on from her perspective. I write, “I hope everything is OK today.” Her eventual reply is terse and rather withdrawn in my opinion: “I appreciate your concern. I need to concentrate on the books which is where I should be concentrating.” Well, amen to that. Let the artist run his shit and you run yours and never the twain shall meet.

I forward that message to EFB and she replies, “She kind of told on herself there. What the hell else has she been concentrating on?”

Good point. Very good point. Once the workday has ended. I text Bill: “OK, dude spill. (I hate using the word “dude” but white guys seem to respond positively to it) What’s going on?”

His reply comes in a minute, possibly less: “I guess she’s OK now. She talked to me. She was really hurt by what happened.”

“Hurt by whom?” I ax all proper English like.

“Both of us,” he replies. “She just needs time.”

“Is she considering not doing the publishing anymore?”

“She doesn’t know what she wants to do.”

“What to do about what?”

“Business, her personal life. She needs time.”

Fair enough, I suppose. We all need those moments to ourselves to re-chamber and reevaluate. Happens to the best of us. But when you hold someone’s life’s work and fate in your hands, you need to let it run its course in fast forward and move past it. Someone like that doesn’t have the luxury of moodiness and tantrums…at least not to the extent that it has an adverse effect on fiction writing stud muffins like myself!!!

I don’t bother to reply to that. Like I said, I’m too disgusted with the whole affair. I’m starting to feel that I came close to attaining my one and only dream, only to see it crushed on the Shores of Dumb MotherFucker’s Island.

I spend the next day bitching to anyone who will listen. Surprisingly, everyone does. People love stories like this, I guess. Eventually, I decide to text publisher again. It’s been a day since I last heard from her and, contrary to EFB’s opinion, I felt it made sense to let the situation cool down a bit.

I break the tension by sending both of them a forwarded video message of Family Guy’s Peter Griffin boogieing to “Do you Think I’m Sexy?” in a French-cut bikini brief. It seems to do the trick as I receive separate emails from both of them basically both commenting on how crazy I be or how sexy the image was.

At that point I decide to go for broke and text publisher to find out what the holy hoppin’ hell was a’goin’ on.

The text message I sendbasically askes her if anything major has changed and whether or not my book was still getting published. Her response is…unexpected.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t you be getting published? Especially YOU! Are you kidding?”

Um…no, not kidding. Just very confused. From there, things move deeper into the surreal. She starts telling me how she wants to get my book out and how she knows I will drop her like shitt in a wet paper bag. OK, I made that term up, but it sounded better than hers. From that point on, she starts buttering me up like a biscuit. I feel like I am sitting in something wet & realize it’s because I’m getting my ass kissed!

What was this? Embarrassment? Revelation? Damage control? All of the above? I tried to pry some other answers out of her by mentioning the graphic artist and she alluded to both of the males having been reprimanded. Interesting. Perhaps Bill was more at fault than he let on. But apparently everything was back on track. Good. I need that book to come out because it will make me more marketable when I take the bigger leap.

The next morning EFB I received a text from Rudy thanking me for being such a good friend. Later that day he sent EFB one too, after she’d referred to him as an ungrateful “turd” for not having thanked her, he sent her a thank you as well. He also told her all was well with the life of his life.

Aww, true love in business.

Just like in a GodDamn storybook~