Chapter 14 - William

                                    

                                          
William
PRESENT
I've booked a boutique hotel in Venice Beach.  It's small, but still big enough for a king-sized bed, a desk and I get a view of the ocean, so no complaints here.  Venice can get crazy, especially the stretch with all the vendors selling art, jewelry, bongs and pipes, and t-shirts with vulgar catch phrases on them.  This particular hotel is perfectly situated far from the bustle.  It's why I chose it.  I needed quiet.  I needed focus.  I needed to write the next bestseller.  And I just couldn't do that from home.  Home holds memories.  Dark memories.  Forbidden memories.  Of her.
Barbara tore me a new one after she read my first draft.  Apparently, she agreed with my wife.  It was shit and she wasn't and has never been afraid to tell me so.  
She's represented me since the beginning of this whole book business thing.  Erica was actually the one who hooked me up with her.  Before Erica got her D.D.S., she was an English major like me.  She invited me to attend one of Barbara's talks and I immediately became enamored with her.  Her incredible background and quick-witted boldness moved me.  She represented authors who I'd admired and who have influenced my past work.  And I wanted to be her next big thing.
After getting suitably acquainted, Barbara told me it was my hard-headedness that gave her pause, but ultimately my charm and talent that won her over.  She still gets on me sometimes when she knows I don't exactly comb through every single detail of my book deals.  I know my parents are lawyers, but that doesn't mean that I am.  That mumbo jumbo legal jargon is just a prelude to a nap for me.  Besides, Barbara has always had my best interest at heart.  I trust that woman with my life.  
I've been typing away for several hours like a good boy, taking breaks only to eat and relieve myself.  I don't let my mind wander to that stolen afternoon.  I can't afford to.  I've got too much riding on this novel.  I know lots of writers who can skate by on that one book that put them on the map to begin with.  But not me.  I'm not one to pop out a bestseller and do a disappearing act.  I love writing too much.  Been doing it since high school.  This is my craft.  My bread and butter.  My oxygen.  
After what feels like forever, I feel like I've made enough solid edits.  There's only so many cuts a guy can make.  And I hate to admit it, but Sarah was right.  It had too much filler.  Too much fluffy, unnecessary dialogue.  It needed to be sharper.  More to the point.  Sarah sure knows her shit.  I don't know why I denied her that.  I let my ego get the best of me.  I already apologized for my sour mood on Thanksgiving, but I feel I should also express my gratitude.  A gift.  Something nice.  
I lean back in my hotel room's office chair with my hands threaded together across my torso.  I rock side to side and blow out a sigh.  Maybe I should read through it one more time.  But shit, is it already 9 PM?  No, I should take a break.  I should switch on the tube.  I should stretch my legs.  I should definitely not do what I've been trying to avoid doing since I got here.  
Knowing that the woman I squirted in my pants for just a week ago is only a couple minutes away from here has been driving me crazy.  Fighting these urges to reach out to her has been challenging to say the least.  I distracted myself with jumping jacks.  Push-ups.  Sit-ups.  But after each rep, I'd just look at my phone.  Willing it to ring.  Willing it to be her.  
Fuck.  Enough of this.  I'm just gonna call her.  No harm in that.  I want to call her.  I want to... I don't know.  Not apologize.  Not really.  What we did, whatever it was, it was clearly consensual.  
When I came home that afternoon, I didn't expect to find her like that.  I thought she'd be feeding Violet lunch or reading to her or whatever she normally does to keep her entertained.  But I happened upon Violet's nap time.  And then I happened upon her.  Touching herself.  God.  The vision of her plays on repeat in my mind incessantly.  I can't get it out.  I can't stop it.  I eat breakfast and I hear Rochelle's moans.  I take a piss and I envision her fingers playing with her nipples.  I sneeze and I can see her approaching that gorgeous crescendo just for me.