Low Road was the only novel I’ve ever written. It’s the only story I’ve ever completed. As I’ve said many times, it wasn’t very good. But I vowed to see this thing through to the end. So I’ve edited it down to where its presentable.
Recap: Rod (drunkard, dirtbag) has moved out of Jeanne’s house and left his job. He now lives with the drug-addicted writer Jack Schilling. Rod helped Jack complete his latest novel, which re-launched his career. Naturally, resentment ensues.
I was living with Jack. Sandy was there all the time. Jack was going to get her boob implants.
I doubt her and Taryn were on speaking terms. Taryn would often bitch about this.
Jack was oddly busy. He was touring, giving speeches and interviews. With the announcement of a new book, his career was going through a renaissance.
I wrote the book, but I had yet to see a dime. The last paycheck from my time at the bank came in. Jack was as unstable as he’d ever been. I was too afraid to ask him for cash.
Sandy and I would lounge around the house in Jack’s absence. I’d mope, pouring a drink now and again. We’d watch old westerns. God knows why. Taryn didn’t want me hanging around her. She never came to Jack’s place because of Sandy.
I felt sorry for Sandy. I wasn’t sure what she meant to Jack. They’d argue far too often to be a real couple. We’d often get high together.
“Are you going to work tonight?” I asked. She was still working at the strip club.
“No. I’m going to quit.” She lit it up a cigarette. “My sister lives in New Orleans. I’m going down there.”
“Isn’t Jack getting you implants?”
“I don’t know. Don’t care.”
The conversation shifted towards Taryn. Sandy was disappointed that their friendship ended. I informed her that we had planned to move to LA once everything had settled.
“The fuck? Are you going to be an actor?” She asked.
“No. I don’t know why we’re going there. It doesn’t matter to me.”
Phillip texted me. He wanted to know where he could find weed and other shit. I’ve been supplying him drugs off and on. I gathered some shit laying around the house. It was Jack’s drugs, but he owed me money. I didn’t give a shit.
“Shit’s just been crazy, man.”, a spazzed out Phillip told me. “Mom’s hasn’t been herself since you left. And I don’t know about Angel. She seems a little out of it.”
“What’s wrong with Angel?” I asked.
“I don’t want to talk about her. You two didn’t have a thing, did you?”
“No way! She was like a sister to me. I wouldn’t do that to you dude. I’m with Taryn.”
“I didn’t think so.”
I pulled out a bag of some white powdery substance. It was probably cocaine.
“Have you done this shit before?”