I stopped at a little pub I had been to a time or two. There were two others inside, both dejected and miserable looking and unworthy of my company. I sat at the bar nonetheless and ordered a shot and a beer. I was a man caught up in the certainty of his own genius, and as such, I tried projecting this image so the others there could pay heed, maybe find comfort in holding the company of a man on the rise. They paid me no notice, and I had the urge to feign a conversation on my phone so that I could espouse the good tidings loudly enough so that everyone could hear. Perhaps they’d find inspiration in it. But then I came to my senses and slammed the shot and beer and strutted back home. I knocked at Gene’s but he wasn’t there. I went downstairs but felt cooped up in the apartment. I walked to the lake. I skipped rocks across the water, watched the runners and bicyclists while breathing in the summer air and feeling the warm sun on my face, which had begun to ache from all the smiling. Carolyn wouldn’t be home for another two hours, and it took forty-five minutes to reach North Avenue Beach. Half-naked bodies were strewn everywhere, and I sat in the sand and stared at all the pretty girls in bikinis. I sat for about an hour and then I left and took the Red Line home.

3

I couldn’t sleep that night. I lay for a while and then got up and walked to the bathroom mirror. I took pleasure in the confident eyes staring back and fantasized about fame, imagining what I’d say when introduced at book signings, how I’d act far cooler than I really was, or maybe by then I would actually fit the role I’d spent most of my life creating. I decided in my mind what passages I’d read, what I’d write when personalizing my autograph. I stood answering questions, showing my witty side with ease, making everyone laugh. The crowd would be enthralled. Even the booksellers would act awkwardly around me, unsure of what to say. Then they’d thank me for coming and ask in an almost pleading way if I’d please consider returning.

I crawled back into bed.

“What are you doing?” Carolyn asked.

“Thinking I might never step foot in another office again. Can you imagine?”

“No, I can’t. That’d be amazing.”

“I mean, even if it doesn’t go for that much, I’ve always been able to live on little. Twenty-five grand would last me a year and a half, enough time to write and sell another. And even if it does go for a smaller amount, it could still get a huge following and pay a ton of royalties over time.”