Supermarket(35)

I figured I would write the robbery scene on the evening of the twenty-seventh, the day before Vernon picked up the cash deposit from Hector, the security guard. It felt more authentic to write this way. That’s when the robbery would most logically happen in real life. I’d be able to write it like a reporter would. It’d be more vivid and alive that way.

For example, I made Frank call me every time he and Rachel went out. They would hang, hit the movies, fuck, get something to eat—and then he would tell me exactly how it happened. Like when they had sex after the movie . . . in the goddamn theater! Like, Jesus.

It made me appreciate what I had with Mia. Frank and Rachel were pure animals, just constantly having sex and being sarcastic and negative about life. Mia and I had depth. We loved to do things together. Talk, ride bikes, grab lunch, hit the bookstore, play catch. She played softball in high school so she had a pretty good arm. There’s nothing sexier than a sporty girl. Oh, and, of course, shop for records at Fisher’s Vinyl Village. The guys who worked there were like if the cast of Clerks face-fucked Superbad. They were always out of it, especially the owner, Fisher. That dude definitely did a lot of drugs in his day. Straight acidhead burnout. But one thing was for sure—they had an amazing selection of music. Anything you could imagine, they stocked it. Except for Tame Impala’s Currents. Guess it was that much in demand.

One night I was waiting for Frank to call and tell me about his time with Rachel. Mia and I didn’t talk much on the days they went out, ’cause I would need to be home to write. I’d give excuses as to why we couldn’t hang that night. All the while I would be at my typewriter writing about what Frank and Rachel were currently doing.

Frank would tell me exactly what his plans were for the night. Then when he called to explain what happened on the date, I could pick and choose between fact or fiction. Basically, I wrote what I thought would be intriguing to the reader, and then I’d pepper whatever actually happened into my story, making it more believable.

Frank obviously hadn’t actually robbed the grocery, but he had given me an outlandish scenario for how he would execute it. And I’d taken notes. This scene was going to be realistic as hell. Every night Frank went out with Rachel, I would write and wait for his call. But tonight was different.

I sat down at my writing desk and noticed an unopened envelope. The return address was Darjeeling Publishing. Shit. I opened it up:

Dear Flynn,

I hope you’re well. I just wanted to check in on your progress. I know you’ve been hard at work but I also know life happens. I want you to know that I’m here to support you. But I’m also here to remind you that your deadline for turning in your finished manuscript is right around the corner. Remember, we have a deal, a contract, and I need to get this out into the market soon. We’ve got high hopes for it.

This freaked me out. I was almost to the climax but I was far from having it in a place for my publisher to read.

I started to type out a response:

Hi Ed,

I’m making fantastic progress and am definitely on track to meet the deadline. I’m excited for you to read it. I think it’s my best work, it’s really a speci—

An aggressive knock interrupted me. It sounded like a cop’s knock.

Nervous about the banging on the door, I tiptoed over and looked through the peephole. It was Mia! What the fuck was she doing here? I told her I had to help my mom move furniture at home.

She knocked again. “Flynn!” she said. “Are you in there?”

Oh shit, I thought to myself. I was in the middle of writing and waiting for Frank’s call. And it was very important, as he would give me a needed last bit of information regarding Rachel.

“Flynn!”

Mia seemed upset, maybe even unsure—I couldn’t tell.

“One moment!” I said through the door, then quickly ran through my living room picking up all the papers I had written on about Rachel.

“Flynn, open this door!” Mia yelled as I did my best to shove everything into a drawer under my typewriter. Scrambling, I fixed my shirt and opened the door.

Mia immediately pushed past me and into the apartment. “Flynn,” she said suspiciously. “What are you doing? Why are you being sketchy?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, not quite sure what she meant.

“Have you been out tonight, Flynn?”

I had no idea what she thought was going on. “I haven’t been anywhere,” I told her. “I’ve been chilling here. What are you getting at?”

She set her bag down. “You tell me, Flynn!”

“Tell you what, Mia?!”

“Oh, I don’t know. The random days and nights you ignore me. The lame excuse you gave me about how you need time to yourself?!” She looked almost betrayed.

“Wait, what do you think is going on?” I asked, confused.

“Just admit it, Flynn. You’re cheating on me! I had my suspicions, but I tried to push them away . . . I didn’t want to trust my gut because . . . when you look into my eyes and say the things you do, I want to believe you! I want to trust you. I felt like I could. But I’ve been cheated on before and I know all the signs. It’s so obvious. What a foolish girl I am!” she said, heading for the door. I grabbed her arm.

“Wait, Mia, please! Whatever you think is going on . . . obviously isn’t!” I said.