Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
“ S orry I’m so late,” I say, striding into the conference room, disseminating the coffee orders to the right individuals. “It was a big order, and then there was a small accident, but all’s fine now, I hope they haven’t gotten too cold…” I pause, looking at the iced coffee in my hand. “Or warm, I guess?—”
“No, no, Jesse, it’s all good. We really should have sent someone with you, that was a big order,” Hank says, warmly. I look over to see him smiling at me, and it feels like a total change in demeanor to the man I’ve known before. He seems more relaxed, more friendly, more…inviting.
I nod and make a move for the door.
“Actually, Jesse, why don’t you join us. I think it’s only fair,” Hank motions to an empty chair at the front end of the table, nearest me. I look at him, and then briefly towards Anna sitting next to him. She shrugs.
“Okay, sure. Thanks,” I reply, as I move to take a seat. Sitting, I notice several bemused and awkward glances being shared around the room, before Hank pulls the meeting to order.
The discussion mainly revolves around the remaining parts of set up, and how some of the interactive elements of the booth will work on the day, most of which will be handled directly by on site tech support provided by the booth builders, but they’re keeping us in the loop so everyone knows just what can be achieved. There’s some bits and pieces of planning for how the booth will be manned, and how the various panels Excelsior are running will be, well, run. It’s mostly way above my ‘pay grade’, so I’m at a loss as to why I’m even here, and I’m starting to get a little bored.
“Jesse, I’d like you there for that one,” Hank says, bringing me crashing back into the room, wondering what I just missed.
“Um, for a panel?”
“Yes,” Hank says, eyebrow raised, but a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. I look to his left and notice Anna’s furrowed brow. “The ‘What’s Next-celsior’ panel is where we’ll be announcing the Excelsior Pride issue, and Arran has agreed to attend the panel as we announce his involvement. Seen as you were instrumental in putting that together, seems only right that you’re there. We’ll keep you backstage, you can help make sure the talent are all watered and happy.”
“Oh,” I say, not really successfully hiding how startled I am. “Um, that’s awesome. Thank you, Mr?—”
Hank tilts his head at me.
“Thanks, Hank.”
Shortly afterwards, the meeting comes to an end, and I make a beeline for my desk in the corner. As Anna passes, making a wide crescent of the desks en route to her office, she passes by me and squeezes my shoulder. When I meet her eyes, we almost share a wordless conversation as if she’s making sure I’m okay. I nod, and she squeezes again and then heads through her office door.
Hank wasn’t kidding. He’s giving me opportunities to be part of this whole thing in an even bigger way. I’ll get to actually be there as we announce this thing Anna and I, all of us, have been working so hard to make happen over the years.
It occurs to me that this might be a sort of show of intention on Hank’s part. That this is his way of pushing forward the idea he planted: that he could help me with my career…if I just ‘helped’ him.
Which makes me think, does that mean I even have a choice in which path to choose? Hank could help me achieve so much, meaning several of my worlds will line up and be in sync…but what will I lose to do that? Do I really want to get it that way?
I pull out the card in my pocket, and remember just how intense that first and brief interaction with Luther was this morning. Can I really ignore the message the universe is giving me, in gigantic rom com font?
I pull open my mailbox, and make an addition: Luther definitely needs to be in the list. I choose the character name Patriot for him - it makes the most sense. He’s inspiring in all he does, and seems determined and forthright, which are great energies to have in your life.
I’m looking at my list, a seemingly random list of comic character names to anyone else, but to me feeling like the vital stepping stones to my future, if only I pick the right one. And it has to be right, because if I choose the wrong stepping stone and it sinks under me, who knows what’ll happen.
If only I could focus on how any of them would work, instead of falling into how it might not, or how I might screw it up.
I find myself wishing I could talk to Cal about this, before I shake it off. He made his feelings on the whole situation and me very clear. A pang of sadness ripples through me, and I feel the threat of tears starting behind my eyes.
Suddenly, a heavy hand lands on my shoulder, and I look up to see Hank standing over me.
“Jesse, I need you to do something for me. I forwarded you the press release for the Excelsior Pride issue. I need you to disseminate it to the creators on the book, but with added notes of when they can talk about it, and to stick to the released info and artwork for the time being,” he leans closer to my face, never once looking away from my eyes. “Can I leave that in your capable hands?”
“S-sure, Hank, not a problem. In fact,” I turn to face my screen, making a few quick clicks, and feverishly slamming away at the keys, as Hank’s other hand comes to rest on my other shoulder, “There, done.”
Hank looks at the screen, a look of faint surprise on his face. “Already? How did you do that so fast?”
“Oh, it’s nothing. I had the creators involved saved as a group file in my mailbox, so I can easily put an email together and send all to the whole group as a BCC email. It just helps me keep track of everyone, and makes sure I don’t miss anyone out on emails to whole teams,” I explain.
“Huh, very clever. It always amazes me what you younger kids can manage with these things. Guess it comes from growing up with a computer in your hand since you’re a toddler.”
“Ha, I guess,” I laugh and hope my nerves don’t show through.
Hank leans in close again, his hands giving my shoulders a tight squeeze. “You’ve been incredibly helpful, Jesse. Invaluable even, these last few days. And that should be rewarded.”
He spins me in my chair so I’m facing him. “Rewarded?” I stammer out.
“I’m sure you have some ideas on what you’d do if you were actually in the book, right?”
“Yeah,” I do, actually. A few. Something I idly toy with, a fantasy, ranging from rough ideas in my notebooks, to ones that got away from me and are already full scripts, working on them whenever I have a free moment (when I should strictly speaking be working on my own actual comics that can actually happen). “I mean, I think I have a few I could probably neaten up and make pitch ready.”
“Good. Pitch me a story for the book. Bring it to me at my hotel. I’m staying at the Roxy, a block away from the Javits Center. Checking in after work tonight. I’ll be there most nights from 8pm now. So come up with a story, come up to my room and we’ll…hash out the details.” Hank’s expression is serious, his eyes trying to convey the hidden meaning layered beneath his vagueness. Messages I’m pretty sure I’m picking up just fine.
“Are you saying…”
“You’re smart, Jesse. You know what I’m saying,” and with that, Hank abruptly stands, readjusts his shirt and with a curt nod and a wink, heads away. As I follow him with my eyes, I pass Anna’s office, and see she’s missed the whole thing, but as Hank passes her windows, she looks out to me.
I nod an acknowledgment to her and turn back to my desk.
It’s not all in my head. Hank’s offering me my first Excelsior gig. I just might have to let go of my morals to get it.