7. Jess #3
I leaned back, holding up my hand. “Wait. You auditioned for Valley of the Red Tyrant, because your niece told you to?”
He smiled, and a warmth flooded my chest that I tried to squash.
“Her name is Faye and is a huge reader. Especially for the Tyrant series,” he continued. “And yes, when Brandon quit, she insisted that I audition for the role. She also made me promise that I would read the books. But I didn’t. I only watched the show and didn’t tell her or Paige.”
“Ooooooooh,” I said leaning back, now understanding Paige’s anger backstage. “Oh, you are in some deep shit.”
“The deepest,” he admitted. “I’m trying to dig myself out of it. The look of disappointment when I got back to the hotel room was brutal. I mean… not having a soul is one thing. Disappointing someone you care for is heartbreaking.”
He looked away from me, and I frowned. I wasn't used to seeing a shameful expression on the face of someone I dated. I cringed at the thought. Dated? Get it together Jessica. This is not a date.
“Anyway, that’s what I want to-”
“Apology accepted,” I said, immediately. I didn’t think I would do such a thing, but with everything he said, I realized he was trying his best to make amends.
His eyebrows shot up, and his mouth dropped open. “Just like that?”
“Oh, your sister and niece are going to be way meaner than I ever could be.” It wouldn’t hurt to give him a tiny bit of sympathy.
He gave me a grateful smile and nodded. “Thank you.”
I pretended to shrug it off like it wasn’t a big deal and tried to change the subject. That smile had me thinking back to the night before, and I was bound and determined to keep those thoughts away. “So, how are you getting yourself back in your niece’s good graces?”
He smirked and laid his forearm on the table. “Well, first I brought her soup dumplings, her favorite food,” he said, as if describing a multi-pronged attack on a fierce enemy.
“A good start,” I agreed. Food, mostly desserts, was a good way to earn back my good graces.
He hesitated before continuing. “And I’m reading the books.”
I snorted and rolled my eyes at him. “Oh, come on.”
“It’s true,” he said, earnestly. “I’m on book two.”
“Okay, now I don’t believe you. Nobody reads that fast,” I said.
He let out a chuckle. “Clearly you have never been on a soap opera during sweeps. So many rewrites. If you don’t learn to read fast and retain it, you’ll drown.”
I wanted to test him. Ask him questions over and over again, make him prove that he did indeed read the books. However, as a female in a nerdy world, I did not want to be that kind of gatekeeper. But there was one thing I was dying to know.
“If that is the case, you should be able to answer my interview question. How do you feel about Roderick Galfast and how the show handled him?”
His face lit up as he became animated, holding up his arms in amazement. “I can’t believe he’s not in the series! He’s fantastic! Not to mention some serious comic relief. He’s the heart of the first two books!”
I smiled, and that damn flutter in my chest returned. This time, I didn’t squash it down.
He continued to rave. “He’s completely the person Tyrst’an needs in the series.
I mean he’s more than a sidekick–- he’s a foil to Tyrst’an’s stoicism.
His loyalty and his optimism are absolutely integral to the series!
When Tyrst’an’s at his lowest at the Crossroads of Braselton, it’s Roderick who practically pulls him out of the mire and gets him back on track with the quest! ”
I took a sip of my cocktail and let him go on, trying to hide my smile. I had no doubt in my mind that he was reading the books. He talked on and continued to quote little bits of the story that I had even forgotten after multiple re-reads of the series.
“The weird thing is I keep picturing him as Falstaff in the Merry Wives of Windsor. It’s unreal that—” he paused, tilting his head as if examining me.
I realized I was staring at him in disbelief. For a moment, I was back in my grandmother’s living room sitting on her lap as she told me stories.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
“No. No,” I said, shaking off the memory. “I was surprised. When the author created Roderick, she was inspired by Falstaff and that play. I’ve never met anyone who made that connection before.”
“Wow!” Daniel said, his lips curving into a wide grin. “That’s amazing. I’m impressed. You really know these books.”
I hesitated with my answer as I could see where this was going. “They are very much part of my life,” I admitted.
He sat back in his chair, evaluating me. “Can I ask you a question?”
We were interrupted when the server brought the first round of food and placed it in front of us, or rather, me. A big bowl of soup which had… tentacles in it. And shrimp, which still had their heads on, their beady eyes staring up at me. I poked at the shrimp head with my spoon.
“Is your question ‘Do I have a steel stomach?’” I asked, feeling very wary of the culinary adventure I was about to have.
“No,” he laughed. “But try it. It’s amazing.”
I tried a simple spoonful of the broth first and was stunned. For such a watery broth, it had significant weight to it. I knew of the term ‘umami’ but never had I truly experienced it before. I dove back into the soup, and yes, ate a tentacle without thinking about it. “Oh my god!”
“I know, right?” Daniel said, smiling at me as I almost inhaled the entire bowl.
When I realized the bowl was empty, I felt my cheeks grow warm. They had to be beet red. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he assured me, with a warm smile.
“You wanted to ask me a question before I rudely hoovered this soup?”
“I did,” he said leaning in. “Feel free to refuse to answer, but… I know this whole franchise is your livelihood, but you don’t seem like an average fan. Or even a super fan. And I don’t just mean the tattoo of the house of Glen Orrin on your arm–
I resisted the urge to scratch at my shoulder.
“-which is beautiful by the way. I can tell you have a stake in this series. These books are deeply personal to you.”
I took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Yes. They are.”
“Why is that?”
I hesitated. I never shared this information publicly. Some people had made the connection elsewhere. Usually they were devoted fans of the books like me, and respected my wishes to not let it be known to everyone.
I took a sip of my cocktail, as my mouth had gone dry. “My grandmother wrote the books.”
His mouth dropped open in shock. “Your grandmother is J.K.C. Richards?” he asked.
I nodded, absently tracing the lip of the soup bowl with my finger. “My parents named me after her.”
He sat there for a moment, stunned. “How did I not put that together?”
“Not many people do,” I said with a shrug.
“Richards is a pretty common name. My grandmother wrote the Valley of the Red Tyrant back in the early 1940’s as a way to escape the anxieties of World War II.
She was the original Jessica, my namesake, but the publishers forced her to use the initials of her maiden and middle names, all so the world wouldn’t know the author was a woman.
She signed away all rights for a small advance and a tiny percentage of the royalties.
The publisher exploited the contract, and we haven’t even seen a cent from the TV series. ”
I watched as his face went pale. “Oh my God. Oh, no.”
“What?”
“You must be disgusted with me,” he said, his jaw going slack. “Oh, my God, I’m an utter piece of shit.”
I watched in horror as he began to spiral. Without thinking, I reached across the table, grabbing and squeezing his hand. “Not at all.”
He looked at me in disbelief. “I am so sorry. I had no idea.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I assured him. “I have never seen anyone outside of literary circles make the connection to Falstaff and Roderick.”
“No, that was horrible of me,” he said, putting his hand over mine. “I feel like I’ve insulted your entire family.”
“You haven’t. I promise,” I said.
I saw the warmth creep back into his eyes, and I realized that both my hands were now around his. The sharp zing lit up my chest again. This time I didn’t hate myself for it.
“So,” he said, his voice quiet and curious. “How did the clown from Shakespeare inspire Roderick?”
I smiled. The story was told countless times to me as a child.
“On the night my grandfather took her out for their first date, he tried to impress my grandmother by taking her to the theater. It was the Merry Wives of Windsor. She created Roderick to honor that moment. They were married sixty-three years.”
“So, it’s not just a character, it's a tribute to your grandfather,” he said, acknowledging my own thoughts. “No wonder it’s so important to you.”
I tried to think of something witty to say, but all I could do was gaze into his eyes and enjoy the feeling of his hands in mine. It was a perfect moment.
The server appeared with the next round of food, and I reluctantly released his hands.
A plate of tiny, deep-fried dumplings sat in front of me.
They looked golden brown and delicious. However, I had some trepidation about biting into something when I didn’t know the contents of it.
The soup was amazing, but I was still a little wigged out from eating tentacles and shrimp heads.
“Have you eaten these before?” I asked.
He nodded, leaning back on his chair. “I have.”
I poked at one of the dumplings with my chopsticks. “What’s inside them?”
He laughed. “This whole meal is making you anxious, isn’t it?”
“Don’t make fun of me,” I pleaded. “What’s inside?”
“Heaven,” he replied. “Try one. They’re delicious.”