Faking Life Read online

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  80 Fifth Avenue, Suite 1101

  New York, New York 10011

  www.diversionbooks.com

  Copyright © 2010 by Jason Pinter

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce

  this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For more information, email [email protected].

  First Diversion Books edition January 2011.

  ISBN: 978-0-9829050-7-4 (ebook)

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Faking Life

  Also by Jason Pinter

  THE MARK

  THE GUILTY

  THE STOLEN

  THE FURY

  THE HUNTERS (ebook exclusive novella)

  THE DARKNESS

  Upcoming books for Young Readers

  ZEKE BARTHOLOMEW: SUPERSPY!

  THE GREAT DIVIDE

  Author's Note

  This book wasn't supposed to be published.

  Wait, let me rephrase that.

  I never thought this book was going to be published.

  I began writing this book back in 2002, while I was a student at Wesleyan University. It began like how, I suppose many creative endeavors begin--a moment of inspiration combined with boredom. I was sitting in a not-too exciting class when I had the idea for a story. I was at the age when young men and women are supposed to be figuring out what they want to do with their lives, only I had no clue what I wanted to do with mine. And that's where the inspiration came in.

  So I started writing--longhand at first--the story of a man whose life had come to a crossroads, only to find that life taking many unexpected turns, in part because of forces outside of himself. I don't want to give too much away, but I loved the story. Thought it was interesting and fairly well written and also spoke to a burgeoning, cynical trend in our culture that I'm sure you'll pick up on as you read.

  I managed to land a literary agent for it, went through numerous titles and drafts, and finally began submitting to publishers. Despite numerous close calls, we weren't able to sell it. I was devastated.

  Undaunted (ok, slightly daunted) I went out and wrote another book. It was called THE MARK. That book went on to sell hundreds of thousands of copies, was optioned for film, and has been published in a dozen languages.

  Yet this book, this book you're about to begin, stuck with me. Something about it struck a chord with me then, and strangely the storyline is even more resonant now. After the James Frey scandal broke, I remember emailing my agent saying, “If only this book were out now…”

  I don't really consider FAKING LIFE the evolution of my career, but a glimpse at an early work that I am proud of, despite its flaws. There's something ironic in that I began this novel at the age of twenty two, and now, at thirty one, I'm older than the character of John Gillis. For some reason, that makes me smile. And I'm happy that this book has finally made its way into the world.

  I hope you enjoy FAKING LIFE.

  Jason Pinter

  January, 2011

  Faking Life

  a novel

  by Jason Pinter

  Contents

  Book 1

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Book 2

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Book 3

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Epilogue

  Book 1

  Chapter One

  “Esther, what is this?” Nico Vanetti boomed from his office.

  Esther had been waiting for over an hour, so her head perked up immediately. Tidying up the papers on her desk, she ran through the selling points in her head. She knew what questions to expect, and had to have answers ready on the spot. She wasn't going to let this one go. If her presentation wasn't up to snuff, Nico could dash her hopes quicker than it had taken her to slice open the envelope. This one was too important to be unprepared.

  “Be right there.” She finished the last sip of her French Vanilla and smoothed her skirt. Entering Nico's office, Esther's heart drummed as she watched his eyes skim over a sheaf of paper. The paper she'd handed him that morning. He was sitting in his black leather chair, feet resting on his desk atop the latest manuscript from an old client. Coffee stains buttoned his otherwise brilliant white shirt.

  Standing in the doorway, Esther smelled the stench of Nico's unbearably strong aftershave. She could almost see the individual Hugo Boss molecules. “So what's up, Nic?” Nico finished skimming and held up the pages for her to see.

  A trim man with olive oil skin and gray hair sprinkled about his slicked back coif, Nico Vanetti was a man whose unbridled passion had mesmerized Esther four years ago when she joined Vanetti Literati. Since then, however, the impermeable aura had been cracked. His eyes no longer sparkled like they once did. Phone calls, how Nico spent a great deal of his working day, began with heavy reticence in his voice, as though the caller was interrupting some great pontification.

  Nico Vanetti was a powerful agent by name, but his dwindling skills and fading glory had led to an even faster dwindling clientele. The mailbox used to overflow with letters from successful writers reaching for the next plateau, confident that Nico's abundant skills and resources would help them achieve success which eluded them with their prior representation. He dealt with only the most promising artists, hand-picking the best of the best.

  Nico Vanetti had climbed to the top of the literary establishment by being both bold and clever, and his marketing savvy was better than any publicist Esther had ever known. Every submission glowed like antique china, and his contacts in Hollywood guaranteed film interest for anything he deemed worthy of the hype. Every client was a potential blockbuster waiting for the right editor to snap him up before they could reap huge profits for another house.

  Esther had actively campaigned for the job of Nico's assistant after reading a glowing profile of him in a magazine. For the first few months, her resume submissions were ignored. Undeterred, she'd sent follow-up letters every other week until she'd literally badgered her way into an interview. Bold and clever. Just as the profile described Nico.

  To her delight they clicked instantly. She was hired a week later, sure she'd found an employer and a profession that would keep her sated for years.

  But since then, everything changed. She wondered if Nico had been on that path when they'd met. Whether she'd simply been blind to it. Perhaps it was just blissful ignorance.

  Two years into her job, New York magazine ran a story detailing Nico's troubled marriage, a failure expedited by his allegedly incurable penchant for Guatemalan housemaids. It was the first time Esther had seen Nico in a personal light, and it scared her. Several clients took the moral high ground and severed their relationships. Most of his longtime clients remained, but their good will either slo
wed to a trickle or ceased altogether. Fruit baskets stopped coming after contract negotiations, and his birthday cards were perfunctory. Esther tried her best to keep her personal feelings about Nico separate from her professional life. She figured he'd made these people enough money over the years that they could forgive a slight marital infidelity because, when it came down to it, they knew their careers were in great hands.

  The breaking point came a year and a half ago, when Esther's perception of Nico changed permanently. It involved Chester Peabody, a fantastically popular romance author who'd earned nearly four million dollars in royalties writing under the alias Brendan LaQuattro. Peabody wrote sweaty bodice-rippers, starring bored housewives and muscular he-men who whisked them away for grand adventures and fabulous sex. No time period—or sexual position—was sacred. Yet Peabody's dream, which he'd expressed to Nico on several occasions, was to write a space opera, a story that would put “Star Wars” to shame with its epic scope. Nico had discouraged this from the start. So when Chester finally put the pen to the paper for his first Sci-Fi opus, authored under his given name, he overnighted the manuscript to Nico, his trusted agent.

  It was a risky departure for Peabody, Esther knew that, but one that could pay substantial dividends for both he and Nico Vanetti. The story was visionary, the writing poetic, and Esther recommended the book full-heartedly to Nico. Yet when she returned from lunch to find Chester Peabody's manuscript on her desk with a post-it note instructing her to return it with Nico's disapproval, Esther was heartbroken. The pages looked like they hadn't been touched. She stormed into his office, horrified that he would ignore her opinion and the dreams of a client with such indifference.

  “Howcome you passed on the Peabody manuscript?” she'd asked.

  Nico lifted his head from a pile of paper and removed his glasses.

  “Est, I just don't see Chester's romance fans paying money for Sci-Fi. Very few people make real money in that genre. It's a real nitpicky audience and Chester doesn't have a name or reputation to stake it. It might sell, but likely not at the price he'd expect, and his romance fans would look elsewhere when he stopped producing” Noticing her astonishment, Nico added, “and Chester Peabody is the worst name for a writer I've ever heard. His name alone will drive people away.”

  Later that day, Esther sat at her desk and listened as Nico explained his reasoning to Chester, who two days later terminated his contract. Within the month, Chester Peabody had a contract worth $1.1 million, the film rights sold for a cool $500,000 with Tobey MaGuire set to star. It was the mother of all “I told you so” moments, but Esther held her tongue. She resented Nico's inability to see the project's potential, but there was something redeeming about knowing her ability to recognize its quality. Although the end result was the loss of one of the agency's most profitable clients, it gave Esther the confidence to trust her instincts. And to not always trust Nico's.

  So when she opened the package from John Gillis, spent two hours poring over every delectable sentence, she was determined not to let it go the route of Chester Peabody. She simply wouldn't settle for anything less than yes. Still though, it was Nico's agency and he had the final say.

  “What is this?” Nico asked, holding up the paper-clipped sheaf of paper. The pages were facing away from her, but she knew what was written on them.

  “Unsolicited query that came in today from a guy named John Gillis. There's definitely something there.” Nico stole a glance at the cover letter and took a deep breath.

  “Who is this guy, John Gillis? What's he done before?”

  “Well,” Esther said, trying her best not to sound like a child asking for permission to stay up late. “It's kind of a memoir. He's never written before, but I think that works to his advantage. It's unpretentious and doesn't pass the blame like most memoirs. He says that this is just the first chapter, but I like where it seems to be headed. It's a real breath of fresh air, and the 'everyday guy' really has appeal. Good publicity opportunities.”

  Nico mumbled under his breath as he reread the cover sheet.

  “Give me the one minute pitch. You're on the phone with the Today Show. Oprah. They're impatient. Why would they want John Gillis on their show?” Esther sucked in a breath and started.

  “John Gillis is twenty eight. He's worked as a bartender since graduating from NYU, never aspired to anything more than that. Then one night the short order cook dies, literally has a heart attack at the stove. This throws Gillis's life into upheaval. It makes him question his ambition, his whole life. This book speaks not just to, but for millions of people out there who've been content with normalcy. John Gillis wants something more out of life, and this book is his journey to find that.” Nico scoffed.

  “Sounds like lad lit.” Esther shook her head.

  “It's true, Nico. That's what's great. He's not some bedhopping scumbag, he's a real guy with real dreams that he's only just begun to see.” Nico waited, and Esther continued. “It's someone's life Nic,” she said, placing her hands on his desk and leaning in close. She breathed through her mouth in an effort not to inhale the sickly sweet aroma wafting from his smooth cheeks. “It's not a celebrity tell-all or someone bored with nothing to say. He's a normal guy, just like millions of other people out there. Nothing fancy about it, but that's what makes it work. In fact, it's better he's a nobody. Think about it—your average Joe, or John in this case—sick of his mundane existence decides he's not gonna take it anymore. You know how many people feel the same way, just getting up in the morning because they don't know what else to do? Because they're used to it? It touches a nerve, Nic.”

  Nico flipped the pages with his thumb. “Is this all he sent? How much more does this Gillis have written?” Esther smiled. She was prepared.

  “He says he has a little over a hundred pages. He sent 50 of it. It's all in the cover letter. It's unique, in that we can watch his story unfold over time.” She waited, Nico stayed silent. Then, reluctantly, he spoke.

  “And how does it end?” Esther looked at her feet for a moment, then back up.

  “I don't know. I don't think he does either.” She could feel Nico slipping away. She needed to reclaim it. “I ran a Google search on that bar he works for. There's story there too. You know Travis Barker, the actor?”

  “Of course. Action star. Did those Near Death movies in the 90's.”

  “Right. Well, remember that messy divorce he had, was in all the papers?” Nico nodded.

  “Well, the bar Gillis works at, Slappy's Slop House, that was where it all went down.”

  Nico steepled his fingers. “Do tell.”

  “Barker showed up one night with this blonde, not his wife, and they get pretty boozed up and start making out right there, a PDA display worthy of late night Cinemax. Right in the middle, this tourist takes a picture of it. Sells it to the tabloids for a hundred grand, next thing you know Barker's all over the news. And this bar, this Slappy's Slop House, it was mentioned in just about every article written. You could see signs for their World Famous Wings. Gillis was working that night. He served Barker his drinks.”

  “So there's an angle,” Nico said.

  “The bar became an overnight celebrity. They have a much more upscale clientele now, velvet rope and everything. In a way, it meshes with Gillis's story. Everything's changing around him, except him.”

  “I remember that story. Pretty ugly custody case. People will remember it and be curious to see how Gillis fits in.” Esther nodded. She stared into Nico's eyes, afraid of his response but confident in the project she was vouching for. Shit, if he couldn't see the potential here, she might as well quit now. Assuming the rest of Gillis's story made her feel the same way—kind of tingly—like the first section did, she knew readers would gobble it up in a heartbeat.

  Nico picked his teeth with his fingernail and spat something small and white through his lips.

  “Run off another copy,” Nico said. Esther nodded, waiting until she'd turned around before letting the smile
come. She took it as karma when the copier didn't jam and handed the warm pages to Nico, pride coursing through her body. She was sure that if John Gillis knew what she'd just done, he'd be eternally grateful.

  Esther took the original and went back into the main office. She sat down at her desk, a light brown wooden slab with unsteady legs from years of ten-pound manuscripts being thrown upon it. Adjacent to the desk was a large oak bookshelf, lined with dozens of tomes represented by Vanetti Literati. In less than four years, she'd read every title in the Vanetti catalogue, most of them written long before her hiring.

  Caressing John Gillis's pages in her hands, Esther felt satisfied. She wasn't quite sure why, but Gillis had inspired real emotion in her. A stranger. Her body felt warm. She fished the torn envelope from the recycling bin and looked at the return address. John's address. She tried to visualize what his apartment looked like, what he looked like. Was he ugly or handsome? Washboard abs or a few too many six-packs? She'd read intimate details about his life, but he remained a mystery. She wondered if they'd ever have a chance to meet. It was all up to Nico, she supposed. But she'd done her part. Anything else was up to chance.

  “Hey Est,” Frank Menegaro said, striding up and placing a manicured hand on the polished wood. He took it off when she glared at him, leaving a five-fingered sweat stain that refused to evaporate.

  Frank was twenty-four and a recent graduate of a college that Esther refused to name on account of her application having been rejected in high school. Although he was an Administrative Assistant—a notch below Esther—he wore impeccable custom-tailored Italian suits every day and interchanged four pairs of spiffy Bruno Maglis. He wore a tie tack. She'd never met anyone under fifty who wore a tie tack. His hair looked as though he kept Jean-Louis David on retainer and he never seemed to have a five o'clock shadow, even on the rare occasions when he stayed past five o'clock. Three weeks after Frank started working for Nico, Esther had made the mistake of taking him up on an offer (after three glasses of wine at a theoretically friendly dinner) to see his “meager apartment,” as he put it. Upon seeing the doorman and riding in the bronze-gilded elevator, she knew he wasn't paying for the two-bedroom on 57th and 3rd on his $21,000 a year salary.