The Girl on Paper Read Online Free PDF Page B

to bring out their new book in the same week as yours, even Stephen King, who’s pushed the release date of his paperback to January so you don’t steal all his readers!’
    To shut him up, I slammed my fist down on the table.
    ‘STOP THIS!’
    Glasses shook and people around us jumped, shooting disapproving looks in our direction.
    ‘There isn’t going to be a next book, Milo. Not for a few years, anyway. I can’t do it any more; you know that as well as I do. I’m all washed up. I can’t even put a few words downon paper and, most importantly, I don’t have any desire to.’
    ‘Well, at least try! Work is the best medicine. And, anyway, writing is your life. It’s your best hope for getting out of your depression!’
    ‘Don’t think I haven’t tried. I’ve sat in front of my screen for hours on end, but just looking at my computer makes me feel sick.’
    ‘Maybe you could get another computer, or start writing by hand in exercise books, like you used to.’
    ‘I could try writing on parchment or wax tablets – it still wouldn’t change anything.’
    Milo seemed to be losing patience.
    ‘You used to be able to work anywhere! I’ve seen you writing at a table in Starbucks, in plane seats, sitting on a basketball court, surrounded by guys yelling at each other. I’ve even seen you type out whole chapters on your cell phone, waiting for the bus in the rain.’
    ‘Well, I can’t any more. That’s finished.’
    ‘Millions of people are waiting to find out what happens next in the story. You owe it to your readers!’
    ‘It’s just a book, Milo, not the cure for AIDS.’
    He opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly froze, as though he were finally realising that there was no way of making me change my mind.
    Unless telling me the truth could.
    ‘Tom, there’s another problem.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘With the contracts.’
    ‘Which contracts?’
    ‘The ones we signed with Doubleday and with your foreign publishers. They paid us huge advances on condition that you would keep to the deadline.’
    ‘I never agreed to that.’
    ‘I agreed to it for you, and maybe you didn’t read the contracts all the way through, but you signed them.’
    I poured myself a glass of water. I didn’t like the way this conversation was going at all. For years we had each played our parts perfectly: I had let him take care of the business side of things, and I let my imagination take care of the creative side. Until now, this arrangement had suited me perfectly.
    ‘We’ve already pushed back the publication date several times. If you haven’t finished the book by December, we’ll run into serious financial problems.’
    ‘Surely all we have to do is give them back the advance they paid us.’
    ‘It’s not quite as simple as that.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because we’ve already spent it, Tom.’
    ‘What, all of it? How?’
    He shook his head in exasperation. ‘Do you need me to remind you how much your house cost? Or the price tag on that diamond ring you gave to Aurore and that she never even returned to you?’
    How dare he?
    ‘What are you talking about? I know perfectly well how much I earn, and how much I can afford to spend!’
    Milo avoided my gaze. Beads of sweat were starting to appear on his forehead. He pursed his lips, and his expression, so animated a few minutes earlier, had become serious.
    ‘I’ve … I’ve spent everything, Tom.’
    ‘What do you mean? What have you spent?’
    ‘Your money and mine.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    ‘I put almost everything in a fund that went up in smoke with the Madoff affair.’
    ‘I sincerely hope you’re joking.’
    But, no, he was not joking.
    ‘Everyone was fooled by it,’ he said sadly. ‘Banks, lawyers, politicians, artists, Spielberg, Malkovich, even Elie Wiesel!’
    ‘So how much do I have left, apart from my house?’
    ‘Your house was mortgaged three months ago, Tom. And, to be honest with you, you don’t even have enough to