It was late afternoon when Chad woke up to his cell phone ringing. He felt groggy, like he'd hit an entire bottle of cheap wine the night before, which he hadn't. With no amount of enthusiasm, he answered the phone, "Hello."

"Hello, yourself!" Terry spoke with a hint of agitation. "Where are you?"

"Home?"

"You forgot again."

"Forgot what?"

"Our meeting, Chad. Our meeting."

Chad remained quiet. He couldn't recall a meeting, and even if he could, it was dangerous territory to admit to such mistakes with the woman. Terry wasn't what you'd call a woman of infinite patience.

"You should hire a PA like I keep telling you to."

Chad turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "So she or he can make me coffee and watch me miserably attempt to write? No thanks."

Terry sighed. "I'll be over in half. You and I need to have a heart to heart."

"Sure. Bring food. I'm starving."

At 3:30 pm, his doorbell rang, forcing him out of the sofa to which he'd migrated after the chat. He opened the door to one unimpressed lady. Her striking beauty could have gone somewhere on the catwalk. Then he could have had a terror-free or Terry-free afternoon.

"What's this?" Her jaw dropped. "You're still in your pyjamas."

"I was sleeping," was his rebuttal as he let her in.

"Well, you look dreadful." She dropped her handbag on the coffee table before turning to him.

"I feel terrible. Thanks for noticing." He smirked. "Coffee?"

"Coffee can wait. Go take a shower. I can't talk to you while you're in your pyjamas, and we need to talk."

Chad groaned like a child, yet obliged. Pyjamas had no place in a meeting with the immaculately dressed Terry, he knew that much for certain. "Make yourself at home."

When he got back to his semi-bare lounge, the very lounge Setal had stripped bare off all her furniture days after mincing his heart under her heels, was empty. Except for the sorry-looking sofa and the coffee table; they were his. 

"Terry?" he called out, hoping she'd changed her mind about a 'serious chat', taken pity on him and left, but then again, her handbag was still present. She would never leave without it, and his already empty stomach sunk further. It may as well have hit the floor with an unceremonious thud.

"In here," came her voice from the kitchen. She was inspecting his fridge when he found her. "There's practically nothing in here."

"Why do you think I asked you to bring food?"

Terry considered him for a moment. "You've taken this hard."

"To you? Or the looming doom of cancelled advances?"

"Setal."

"Oh."

"Let's go grab a bite." She slammed the fridge shut and strode past him, her gorgeous hour-glass figure sashaying. "Bring your stuff. We can brainstorm together and find you that story."

"Great. Can't wait!" he grumbled, grabbing the laptop off the bench and followed her out like a puppy, a puppy craving pets galore, maybe even a tummy rub. Praise or two, now that would definitely help.

♡

They settled for a cozy café couple of blocks from his home. Terry drove them there, even if it was within walking distance because her feet 'deserved better'. She would never admit to him that the devil designed heels to punish women for being the fairer sex, even though he'd heard her grumble about it a few times in the past. 

Chad stared at the wooden table, feeling useless as Terry stared him down. "So, tell me the story?"

"The story?" he asked with feigned ignorance.

"The story, Chad, the one you are writing, are you not?"

All he could do was stare at her as if she'd spoken a foreign language he didn't understand.

"The story I can expect within the year when you hit deadlines and start making excuses, Chad. That story!" She said it in one breath, and Chad thought she'd have made a splendid swimmer too with those lungs. If only.

"Are you even listening to me?" she asked, irritated.

No. He stared at the waiter placing their coffees on the table and wondered if he looked like a fish in a tiny bowl. The guy threw him a sympathetic glance before leaving, confirming his assessment.

"You don't have it." Terry breathed in astonishment. "You don't have it this time, do you, Chad?"

Chad succumbed to the truth and put Terry out of her misery. He shook his head. It was the only thing he could do. Words and him were on a break at the moment.

"Not a single clue?"

He shook his head, which made it tricky to sip his coffee.

"A theme?" Head shake. "A character?" Another head shake. "A place? An image? A piece of dialogue? Nothing?"

"Nada." He gulped the last sip of his scalding hot coffee, pretending it was the way he liked it. It was better than the roasting from Terry.

"What are we going to do, Chaddy?"

"No idea."

"Your usual methods aren't working?" He shook his head again. "Try something new then?"

"I did." He laughed, calling the waiter over for another cup. "Last week, I went to the park across from the café to see if something would hit me."

"And did it hit you?"

He laughed again as he recalled the brown-eyed girl and her colourful words. Words he'd normally blush to speak in the presence of people other than his family. He shook his head and said, "Oh, something almost hit me, but it wasn't an idea."

"What?"

"A homeless girl. At least, I think she was a girl. Damn near gave me a heart attack. She leapt from behind the bench I was sitting on, yelling and kicking."

Terry's eyes glowed with mischief as she peered at him.

"What?"

"When was the last time you wrote anything that challenged you, Gilligan?" Her smile got wider, freaking him out.

"I don't follow." This was his fail-safe excuse whenever he wanted Terry to elaborate.

Terry opened her phone, pressed a few tabs, made a note in her calendar for another meeting, flashed it to him, then grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Will you to do something for me, Chad?"

"For you, Terry, anything," he said it because in her happiness lay his own, and he was wise enough to know that by now. What Terry wanted, Terry always got. Except for that one time, a couple of years ago, at a Christmas party, drunk, she'd tried to have him, and he had to say no as she'd reached for the front of his pants. But it was the one time, and neither of them ever mentioned it. Well, Chad didn't, because he enjoyed having his nuts attached to his body. Terry didn't, because he suspected she didn't remember the night.

"I want you to go back to the park and see if you can strike up a conversation with this girl. Find out her story. Maybe you'll learn something."

"Are you crazy?"

"You said, Chad, anything."

Chad narrowed his eyes. "What's the catch?"

Terry shook her head. "No catch. I think you've hit a wall and even if I wanted you to, you can't write. I need the old Chad Gilligan back. Not this new, angst-ridden writer, who barely gets some shut-eye because he chugs coffee like the world is facing a coffee famine and takes sleeping pills like they are candy because he wonders why he can't sleep. I don't want to find you dead in your house. I want to find you holding a typed manuscript out to me with that goofy grin of yours."

"I don't have a goofy grin," Chad squabbled, like a little boy, despite knowing deep down, a lot of things about him were 'goofy'.

Terry inclined her head at him, watching him as he gave the approaching waiter a 'goofy grin' despite himself. "You have a goofy grin, mate." She took the bill off the waiter and turned back. "So, you'll go out there and for a month, you'll do everything that makes you uncomfortable."

She gave his hand a barely-there squeeze in a manner that told him he could do this. "If your mind tells you not to do something, I want you to do it and see what happens. We need you to find that old carefree Chad. Can you do that?"

"I don't know if I was ever carefree, but do I have a choice?" he muttered. If he had ever been carefree, he'd never known it. He drained his coffee in a shot, dismayed.

Terry laughed, rising to her feet like a goddess in the presence of a mere mortal. "You have a choice, hun. Everyone always has a choice. Your choice is to deliver another Zachary Eve bestseller or watch as your contract end because you didn't fulfil your end of the deal."

Chad followed her out of the café, his heart thudding away, imagining the sound of his contract being ripped. "After all our years together, aren't you being a little harsh?"

"Do you know how many people could kill to be in your shoes?" Terry unlocked her car from across the street. "I'm not being harsh, Chad. I'm being honest. My job is to make sure you do yours, and if you can't do it anymore–"

She patted his arm. She didn't need to say '- then others will'. He could fill in the details himself.

"I like you, Chad. I do. But I need you to do your job, so I can do mine. We'll meet again in a month, and that time, you better do the talking!" She gave his cheek a quick air kiss before crossing the road, waving a general goodbye in the wind.

Chad had an image rush to mind then, an image that made him feel both horrid and hopeful at the same time. He imagined Terry getting ploughed by an oncoming vehicle as she strutted back to her car. The image vanished like wisps of smoke when she reached the driver's door and slipped into safety. She rolled down her window. "Want a lift home?"

"I think I'll walk because that's opposite to what my mind's telling me to do!" he yelled back willfully.

She laughed, pulling the car out onto the road, and speeding away. Within seconds, he was standing alone, tired, and nursing a headache. Completely at the mercy of his legs, which felt like they'd turned to jelly. Great. Freakin' great!

♡

Chad fell onto his bed; face first as soon as he got home, exhausted. It was around midnight he woke, startled by the phone ringing somewhere nearby. The room was gloomy. Barely enough moonlight streamed through the window for him to see where he was. He struggled, wriggling up to his nightstand and patted it down in search of his phone as the ringing stopped. He buried his face back into the covers and groaned, his entire body aching. The headache had moved to the back of his head, mild, but annoying, like the ringing of the phone again. This time he patted himself down and found it in his jean's pocket.

"What?" he groaned down the phone, his face barely out of the covers.

Silence greeted his ear.

"Hello," he said, this time lifelike. The line clicked dead. He stared at the time on the screen, wondering who was calling so late only to see a private number.

The house creaked and groaned, and outside, he could hear the soft drizzle of rain starting to fall, but he was far from relaxed. Chad kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket somewhere on the floor and crawled on all fours, getting under the covers. There he lay, wondering about the caller. Was it Setal? But then again, it could be a stranger. A creepy stranger. He hadn't had a fan problem for a while, not since Cassie Micah had somehow let herself into his old home, set up personal effects showing them as a couple. And one day when he'd gotten home after a long day of book signing to crawl into bed, he'd found her stark naked, crawling all over him in the dark. Let's say, it wasn't his finest moment, having to call the police while a crazy fan tried to convince him they were married. She'd even shown him proof of their marriage, a fake wedding certificate and photographs, not to mention the wedding band.

Chad scrolled through the incoming calls, only to spot Setal's old missed calls. He missed her, as miserable as he was. As he was about to fall asleep, his phone vibrated in his loose grip. He picked it up, and again no one answered.

"Who is this?"

Silence.

He turned the phone off and threw it somewhere on the bed. After that, he ran around the house to check the doors and windows and lock them. The phone call had spooked him and he would not take the chance that a small deranged woman he held a restraining order against could skulk around his house with him unawares again.

(Header image by loufre on Pixabay)