Chapter 27
27
I can now add a gondola ride up a mountain to the list of things I have done. Granted, it’s not a long list, but this would definitely go near the top.
As the doors closed and the gondola began to climb, I watched the ground slowly pull away from us. The snowy landscape, with skiers and snowboarders carving graceful lines into the powder, looked more like a work of art the higher we climbed. The people below grew smaller and smaller, until they looked like tiny, colourful dots dancing around below us. Honestly, it was so beautiful, my nerves disappeared in an instant. It was almost too surreal to be scary, because it was a sight I had never seen before, it was like my brain didn’t recognise the fact that we were dangling from a great height.
The air feels so much crisper, and so much colder up here. I feel like I’m up in the sky, like we’re standing where the snow comes from – like, if it were to start snowing now, it would be something that happened beneath us, sort of like when you’re in a plane high above the clouds.
And now here we are, at the pizza place, and it was definitely worth the climb.
It’s so charming, and rustic, with wooden beams and traditional décor but then it has these huge windows with panoramic views of the surrounding mountains. A roaring fire crackles in a stone fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room, and then there’s another fire – the real MVP – roaring in the wood-fired pizza oven. The smell of fresh dough, rich tomato sauce and melted cheese is filling the place and I’m breathing it in like I’m in a sauna.
Caleb and I found a table near the window, the view of the snow-covered peaks serving as the perfect backdrop for our meal (and background for our photos). We ordered a couple of pizzas: one classic margherita and one with prosciutto and brie, deciding to share them both. Now we’re chatting while we wait and, as fun as Caleb is to chat to, my stomach is calling out for pizza.
‘This place is incredible,’ I say, looking out the window at the unreal view. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anywhere like this before.’
‘It really is,’ Caleb agrees. ‘There’s something about being up here, away from everything, that just clears your mind.’
‘That’s exactly what I need right now,’ I say with a sigh.
‘You don’t need to clear your mind, you need to make it dirtier,’ he jokes.
I laugh.
‘If I’m being honest, it’s not just the spice that is the problem,’ I confess.
‘Oh?’ he replies curiously as he sips his Coke.
They serve them nice and cold, in glass bottles – why does Coke taste so much nicer from a glass bottle?
‘The main problem with the book I’m writing is that it’s not really what I want to be writing,’ I tell him.
Caleb looks at me, tilting his head, his expression suddenly more curious than ever.
‘Okay, so what do you want to be writing?’ he asks.
‘Funny murder mysteries,’ I tell him. ‘Basically, I want to write what you write, just with a bit more of a romantic comedy vibe. But my editor won’t let me switch genres because my romcoms did so well.’
And apparently only celebrities get to write fun, trending books – or pretend to at least.
Caleb nods thoughtfully.
‘That’s tough,’ he says. ‘It’s no fun when you’re not feeling it. Have you talked to her about it?’
‘I have,’ I reply, frustration creeping into my voice. ‘But she’s not interested. Sex was all she really had to offer me.’
Caleb laughs at my choice of words as he leans back in his chair. He rubs his chin thoughtfully for a second or two.
‘You know, if you’re really not happy doing what you’re doing, or what she’s asking you to do, then you shouldn’t do it,’ he says.
I laugh – oh, to be a rich man in this world – shaking my head.
‘I can’t just breach my contract,’ I tell him. ‘As much as I would love to right now.’
‘Who said anything about you breaching your contract?’ he says with a mischievous glint in his eye that kind of excites me. ‘Contracts work both ways – and yours probably favours your publisher anyway. You don’t need to break it. You need your publisher to break it.’
I look at him, intrigued. He’s definitely right about my contract favouring my publisher, and I wonder if his is the same because he’s a big name. To be honest, it probably is. With these big publishing houses, I very much get the sense that the house always wins.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘Write them a book so bad that your editor thinks you’ve lost your touch,’ Caleb explains. ‘Make it so unbelievably terrible that she couldn’t possibly publish it, or want you to write another one like it. She’ll either drop you or let you switch genres. Either way, you’re free to do what you want.’
I’m laughing but the more I think about his idea, the bigger the smile on my face grows.
‘That’s… actually brilliant,’ I tell him. ‘Manipulative, kind of terrifying but, yeah, brilliant. But how easy is it to write a bad book on purpose?’
Caleb grins.
‘It’s probably easier than you think,’ he replies. ‘And I can help you.’
I can’t help but laugh. Now that I can probably trust him to do, ghostwriter or not.
‘You must know your genre inside and out,’ he points out. ‘So you’ll know what not to do, what doesn’t work, the things that your editor hates – just do all of that stuff.’
‘And what about the spicy scenes, do I just not bother?’ I say.
‘I guess you could leave it out but, I suppose, if you want her to believe that you’ve really tried, just keep doing what you’re doing – which doesn’t sound good – and throw those in,’ he says.
‘I could put my dong back in,’ I say excitedly, not realising how my choice of words sounds, as usual.
Caleb laughs.
‘Yeah, exactly, put your dong back in,’ he says with a snigger.
Oh, and right on cue, our pizza arrives. However, in a twist on the usual, it’s Caleb who the server overhears saying something dodgy, not me. Usually in situations like this I curl up and die but Caleb just owns it.
‘Ah, cheers, buddy,’ he says. ‘These look great.’
He’s not wrong. Both pizzas look absolutely incredible, with just the right balance of toppings, cheese with the perfect level of pull, and basil that smells as fresh as it did when it was still on the plant.
‘Dig in,’ he says. ‘Pizza first, book sabotage later.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ I say with a smile.
Oh, and it tastes good to me too. I would crawl up this mountain on my hands and knees to get another one of these – that good.
We chit-chat about anything and everything while we eat but, honestly, I cannot get Caleb’s idea out of my head. I hadn’t even thought about it – but why would I? Why would I think to write such a crappy book that no one will want to publish it? I’ve been so focused on working out how to do a good job that I hadn’t even considered doing a bad one on purpose.
I’ve got my original draft still, but there’s no harm in saving a copy, and adding in some awful scenes, right? It’s something to think about.