Jack's Inspiration
By Charisa
By Charisa
Part One
Jack Griffith watched his girlfriend Kim standing at the bar with satisfaction. A tall, sporty redhead, she was his perfect idea of a sexy woman, he thought. Beautiful, confident and smart, his girlfriend of two years was drawing attention from all over the bar. Her slender form was encased in a tight raspberry-striped blouse and grey skirt; she looked fresh and cool, which was a long way from how Jack felt. He was exhausted and over warm, even though he'd taken his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He'd have loved to go straight home from work, but he had an announcement to make to Kim and he wasn't sure how she would take it, so he had decided to take her out for a drink at her favorite bar to be sure of getting her in a good mood.
Jack was a trader for a merchant bank, and he hated it. At only 28 he earned more than his father did, and had all the status symbols. When he graduated from university, he'd have been astonished to hear that a beautiful loft-style flat, a great car, a kick-ass stereo system and all the gadgets he wanted wouldn't make him happy, but he had to admit it; he lived on his nerves, and he couldn't take the long hours and constant stress any longer. Jack had put up with it as long as he could, but for the past two years, he had been unable to sleep most nights for worry about work. Was he making good decisions? Could he make the grade, or would he make some catastrophic mistakes and lose his reputation and his livelihood? Since he'd had unlimited Internet access in his flat, it only made things worse; he could now look at what the markets were doing at any hour of the night. He had often been online until pale dawn light began to show out of the window.
Kim was a great girl, he thought, and she'd been very supportive, trying to make sure he looked after himself, took enough exercise and so on. He thought he was in better shape than most businessmen; though tall and broad across the shoulders, he only weighed about 170 pounds and could still get into some 32" waist jeans he'd had at university. But he looked haggard and was always tired, while Kim had boundless energy and always wanted to be out socializing. In his constantly wearied state, Jack felt he couldn't keep up with her (though he tried), but he was unsure how she would take the idea of his "downsizing" to a less prestigious but less stressful career.
She certainly liked the lifestyle that came with his money. Now, though, he thought he had found a way out for himself, and was bracing himself for her reaction.
"Here you go!" Kim handed Jack a Carlsberg and put her gin and slimline tonic down on the table. "You look worn out; tough day?"
"They're all tough days." Here was his opening. "Kim, I've got something to tell you. It's good news, I think. You know how I usually go on the computer when I can't sleep? I started going on to check the indexes. But one night, about six months ago, I was lying here thinking about work and a story started to come into my head. I used to write stuff when I was at school and university, not for anyone to see, just for my own enjoyment. So I thought it might be soothing to try and write it down. That's what I've been doing recently at night. It really takes my mind off things."
"That's cool," said Kim. "Can I read it?"
"Certainly." Jack was pleasantly surprised that she wanted to; she wasn't much of a reader. "I just wanted to make sure it was good before showing you. But that's not all I wanted to say. I think this story is good. It's kind of a thriller , the background is world finance ,"
" Which you know plenty about."
"Right, or enough for the background. But it develops into a crime story. You can read the chapters I've done and the synopsis when we get home, if you like. But the news is, on a whim I took it to an agent, and he's got me a publishing deal, and an advance." He took a swig of Carlsberg.
"That's brilliant!" Kim beamed at him and raised her glass. "You're a writer!"
Jack grinned back at her. "I've got a plan. I've got quite a bit of money saved, and I know how to make it turn over. With the advance, I could give up work and get the book finished much more quickly. The publishers seem to think it'll do well , they've compared it to John Grisham , and if it does, I want to write professionally in the long term. I have lost more ideas for stories. It's what I've always dreamed of doing, but I never thought I could make a living at it." He felt very relieved to have told Kim.
"Won't you be bored, in the flat all day on your own?" Kim said, frowning slightly. She would have been; her job as regional manager of a chain of health and beauty spas was very social, which suited her down to the ground.
"I don't think so. After six years of the market, you can't believe how good a little bit of peace and quiet will be. And I'll have more energy to go out with you, won't I? I just can't go on as I am."
On the Monday after he left his job, Jack spent a happy day at the computer, writing, with the tall windows open and sunshine streaming in. No more suits for him, and no more stress either! He dressed in some baggy old jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. The words flowed out of him at first but by mid-afternoon, he had got stuck. He hadn't written for such a long period for ages and began to feel the need of a break to refresh himself and take a critical look at what he had written so far. He went through to the kitchen and made himself a fancy coffee with the espresso maker , which he had never really had time to figure out before , and then, in a gesture to the weather, got himself a bowl of ice cream from the freezer and went and ate it sitting in a patch of sunlight on the living-room floor.
A slightly odd combination, but as he sat in the warmth, feeling the coolness melt on his tongue, the turn the chapter needed to take suddenly came to him, and he returned to his computer and continued until Kim came home. They went out to a restaurant for dinner, to celebrate his first day as a writer. As he tucked into his steak, Jack noticed how juicy and tasty it was, and realized that for ages he'd been coming home so stressed and worn-out that he'd had no appetite; he couldn't remember when he'd last enjoyed a meal so much. "I wasn't living," he thought, "just existing."
The days passed and Jack had never been so happy. The book was going on steadily, and he enjoyed the silence of the empty flat, the sunlight bouncing off the pale wooden floors, and the time to himself. He looked better, too, less worn; the dark patches under his eyes, which had been a fixture for the past few years, were starting to disappear, as were the tension lines between his eyebrows. He had taken over some of the chores which Kim used to do, such as the laundry, cleaning the house and grocery shopping, which she used to do on the way home from work.
The first week he had simply wandered the aisles with no method, picking off the things he remembered buying in his student days and which they never seemed to have anymore, only to be laughed at by Kim when she realized they had bacon crisps, bottled beer, American muffins, and chocolate none of which would have been her choice, but no fresh fruit or vegetables. After that she wrote him a list of essentials to get every week, green stuff, chicken breasts, skim milk.
He kept on picking up a few treats, though; when Kim did the shopping, it seemed the contents of the fridge were very boring, and a little snack seemed to help the brain when he got stuck for an idea. He knew Kim didn't believe in eating between meals, though, and took care to push the empty wrappers well down in the kitchen bin so she wouldn't see them. Privately, he thought she was a little faddy about food; she tended to be very precise about calories and portion sizes, too. He couldn't see what the harm was in a treat now and again.
Kim seemed to appreciate having him be there when she got home, and suggested that as well as going swimming and to the gym, they should start playing squash on a Thursday evening. They had a membership at a gym attached to one of the spas she helped to manage, and there was an amateur league being organized. Jack had played squash at school, so he agreed to take it up again.
Kim loved playing squash. She had really fast reaction times, was naturally competitive and full of energy. By the end of his first game with her, Jack had remembered that he hadn't really liked the sport all that much when he was 18, which was why he hadn't played for 10 years. He got a crick in his neck trying to follow the ball, hardly ever hit it, began to get somewhat annoyed. He kept it undercover, since Kim was evidently enjoying herself, but wondered if he could drop some hints about preferring a different sport. By the end of the evening he felt as tired as if he'd been back in his old job, but Kim was raring to go. After a shower, they went out to a club, but Jack didn't really enjoy himself; the music seemed too loud and he just wasn't in the mood for energetic dancing. He'd have preferred to go to a pub and relax.
Kim seemed to pick up Jack's bad mood on the way home, and she was rather cold to him that evening, and even the following morning; maybe she was feeling a little stiff by then, fit though she was. Jack certainly was. That morning he couldn't really get started and sat at the kitchen table feeling gloomy and browsing his way through a packet of biscuits, feeling that he wouldn't grudge having sore muscles and a bit of a hangover if he had enjoyed any of the night before. He decided that it was stupid of him to have tried to conceal his mood until Kim noticed he was annoyed; it would be better, if he didn't want to go out, to be honest and say so. This decision made, he went through and started the day's work, feeling a little better.
The next day, Jack had to go in and see his publisher. For the first time in a month or so, he dressed in a suit and tie, noticing how uncomfortable they seemed. The stiff collar confined his neck and the trousers seemed somewhat tight compared to his comfy old jeans and sweatpants; funny, he had never noticed it before. In the warm air of the Underground he began to sweat lightly, and as he mounted the steps to the street, he felt his waistband dig in as he climbed. He was glad to enter the air-conditioned foyer and take the lift up to the editorial office.
Looking around, he saw that nobody there was as formally dressed as he was. Most were in short sleeves as a concession to the heat and some of the young junior editors were in T-shirts and jeans. He'd dressed formally by instinct, but here the only one wearing a suit was the head of fiction. As he sat down in his editor's glass cubicle and felt his waistband cutting into him again, he vowed that he wouldn't wear a suit to future meetings. Or at all, if he could help it.
The meeting went well , the new chapters were apparently perfectly up to scratch , but Jack was glad to get home and out of his suit. He pulled on his jeans and noted with irritation that they weren't as loose as he had thought, either; there was barely any spare room in the waistband and he didn't need a belt. Obviously he hadn't quite got the hang of the washing machine yet; must have washed them at too high a heat. Never mind, they would stretch out with wear, he thought, going through to the kitchen to get a sandwich and some ice cream.
It was Friday. Kim was going out with some girls from her office, and it was raining hard so Jack felt like staying in and relaxing. He called up some friends of his, Sam and Angus. Sam was an old mate from university and Angus was an ex-colleague, whose girlfriend was a friend of Kim's. They planned to watch DVDs on Jack's plasma TV. Jack stuck some cans of beer in the fridge and got out some crisps and snacks, and when Sam and Angus arrived, after a bit of teasing about Jack's new role as a "housewife", the three men began their usual silly discussion over what kind of pizza to order from the place on the next block. This was practically a tradition, as was the decision to order four 15" pizzas with varying toppings. After all they were not so expensive that a few leftover slices would matter.
The pizzas arrived partway through Fight Club. Jack went to answer the door and put them on the low table in front of the couch, in their cardboard boxes; they just about all fitted in a line. He sat down on the end of the couch and began to eat slices of the nearest pizza, a Caprese. About 20 minutes later, he hadn't been paying attention; he'd been watching the film, Jack realized he'd just eaten the last slice, without tasting any of the other pizzas. Oh well, never mind, it had been good. He took a swig of beer and absently took one of the four remaining slices from the next box along, folded it and took a large bite. It was a bit cold now, but still tasty. He took another, unconsciously rubbing his belly as he did so, then reached for a slice of the furthest away; that spicy beef topping was the best. Shame to waste any, really.
After Fight Club they watched Gladiator, which Jack had seen before. The rain had stopped, so he wandered out on to the terrace for a breath of air. The sky was clear now and a few stars were visible despite the lights of the city. He felt a warm satisfaction with life; relaxed, at ease and full of pizza. Very full, actually. His trousers felt tight now, and he could feel his packed stomach sticking out a little when he put his hand on it. Kim would have said something about the way he had stuffed himself, but he didn't care. Just as well she was out, he thought; she didn't really approve of pizza anyway. Not healthy enough; too much gooey cheese; but then that was what made it taste so good. He belched gently and went back in to watch the rest of the film. Noticing there was no pizza left at all now, he offered to get some ice cream, but the others didn't want any so he just got some for himself.
Kim came in very late, but she seemed in a good mood the next morning, and demonstrated this by taking the initiative for some vigorous lovemaking. It wasn't good to do everything together, thought Jack afterwards as he went to the delicatessen down the road to buy some fresh bagels, smoked salmon and pastries for a late breakfast. Some time with other friends was vital if you didn't want to annoy each other; they should do that more often. He sneaked a pastry from the bag as he walked, brushing the crumbs off before he headed inside.
