Glitter Girl - Chapter Two

‘I don’t know why we’re bothering with this five finalists lark,’ Roger muttered. ‘I don’t envy you having to pick through all this rubbish to find five ‘not quite as rubbish as the rest of the rubbish’ stories.’1

André glanced up from the manuscript he was reading. ‘That’s because you have no soul, my friend. You don’t understand the desire to nurture young artists along their journey to greatness.’ He shook his head sadly and went back to deciphering the typo riddled story of ‘I FuoNd GoD In GaOl’.2

‘Oh I understand that right enough,’ declared Roger dismissively, ‘I just don’t understand why we’ve got to take four no-hopers along for the ride. ’Cause let’s face it mate,’ his hand slammed down on a pile of Rough Drafts, ‘there’s only going to be one Shakespeare in this lot and that’s if we’re lucky.’ Fingers sweeping sideways, he shoved the papers over the desk edge and into the wastebasket. 3

‘Sad. But true.’ André rolled up the 50,000 word account of a child walking onto a football field and finding a three-legged dog asleep in goal. ‘But our finalists are being chosen on Potential.’ The tight scroll was javelined after Roger’s rejects. ‘Who wins depends on who shines under the guidance of an experienced and caring editor.’4

Roger’s left eyebrow twitched upwards. ‘Meaning you?’5

‘Meaning me,’ André conceded with a small nod. ‘And you.’6

‘WHAT?’7

‘You expect me to deal with FIVE all on my own? One bank-robber turned nun, one child prodigy and TWO life changing trips overseas?’8

‘That’s four.’9

‘Huh?’ André slid some specks on and bent low over jumbled pages. ‘Oh. Well. I’m still considering Number Five…can’t even remember what it’s about, off-hand. Sign of desperation, eh? Choosing a finalist destined to loose – ’10

‘Rubbish,’ snorted Roger. ‘Even more rubbish than this,’ he waved a random manuscript. ‘You’ve gone and got another damn pet-project, haven’t you? Haven’t you?’11

The Chief Editor’s eyes flicked up to the exhibited entry, widening. ‘Don’t know what you mean – '12

‘OH I GIVE UP!’ Roger turned, growling, flung the manuscript toward the waste and himself toward the open door. As soon as his friend was gone, André dived from his office chair and started tearing through the discarded entries, upending the basket in his frenzy. ‘Looking for this? You’re SO predictable!’ Laughing, Roger dangled the pages just out of reach of his kneeling friend. ‘I’ve got to admit, though,’ he said, flicking through the typed draft, ‘it does have that shine you’re after. It’s good, mate.’13

‘GOOD? Are you KIDDING? It’s TERRIBLE!’ Red in the face, André struggled from the floor, grabbing back Finalist Number Five. ‘If this has shine, it’s only what the moon’s got. A reflection. A pitiful, pale reflection of something with enough shine to burn your eyeballs to ash. And I’ve got to find out what that something is!’ He sat down at the desk again, fingers tracing title and by-line. ‘There’s a great story behind this piece of rubbish…if only I can get to the truth of it!’14

‘Truth? Hah! How many times have I told you? In the publishing game, truth doesn't count!’ Roger flopped into the chair opposite. ‘So tell me. Have you even told Mr Moon that he’s in the finalists?’15

‘Nope,’ André shook his head and tossed the novel draft to Roger. ‘First I’ve got to figure out how to pronounce his name. And it’s not Moon either.’16

Roger cast his eye down the title page.17

GLITTER18

by Charlie Kahill19

‘Well, old Charlie-boy’s hardly likely to refuse a lucrative publishing deal on his first work ’cause his names said wrong.’ Pulling the desk-phone closer, he dialed the code for an outside line. ‘Tell him to pick something easier for Oprah to pronounce on her bloody Book Club. Now!’20

Reluctantly accepting the handset, André didn’t bother pretending to look for the number. He punched it in and waited…not for long.21

‘Hello. Who’s calling?’22

‘This is André Guerre from Star Publishing Ltd. I’d like to speak with Mr…er…Kay-Hill…please.’23

‘Who? Sorry. Wrong number. No Kay-Hill’s here – ‘24

The speaker’s curt voice faded, allowing André to catch a faint piping he’d thought was background noise.25

‘ – me! It’s for me! Why are you answering the phone? Didn’t you say you’d be tied-up all evening in S&M meetings? Give me that!’ By now, the piping had got close enough to sound human. 26

‘Kay-Hill? Your names not Kay-Hill!’ the first voice protested, becoming decidedly annoyed. ‘And for that matter, nor are you – ’27

‘SHUT-UP, STEVEN!’ yelled Voice Two, so loud André dropped the receiver.28

‘Ooooh. Pardon me for living!’29

‘I will NOT!’ Mocking laughter disappeared into the distance, leaving an out of breath Voice Two on the line. ‘Karl! It’s pronounced KARL! It’s Irish!’ Out of breath AND patience!30

‘Well, Mr Karl…’ André cleared his throat, feeling suddenly nervous of the disembodied voice. Or was there another explanation for his quickened pulse? ‘Perhaps you should consider matching spelling to pronunciation. Make things easier for Oprah if you’re the last man standing amongst our finalists…’31

‘What?’ the voice had returned to a squeak.32

Pinching the bridge of his long, sharp nose, André wished his conversations went as smoothly in reality as they did when rehearsed in his mind. ‘My name is André Guerre and, on behalf of Star Publishing Ltd, I’d like to congratulate you, Charlie Karl, on becoming a finalist in our Future Stars Writing Contest…’33

‘What?’ the voice was faint now. ‘I thought you said you had something to do with the opera…?’34

Oh, God! André only realised he was tearing at his hair when long, dark brown stands started coming away in his fingers. ‘No. NO! That was just my little joke…not funny…sorry. But honestly, you’ve got a real chance of winning. If you just trust the editor assigned you. He…or she…will be there to help you every step of the way, getting YOUR personal story down on paper. Working with you through the painstaking process of ferreting out all those little secrets tucked away in your past. All the juicy truths that make YOUR story unique and interesting – ’35

‘Oh…’ came the small gasp, followed by a high-pitched wail, ‘SHIT!’36

There were muffled thumping noises and André's phone was dropped yet again as the other handset bashed against something solid. Him and his big mouth! Rule One: NEVER let a first-timer hear you get overexcited. They got scared. Thought they weren't good enough. Straining his ears, a voice became just audible.37

‘Charlie? CHARLIE! Oh my God! What’s happened?’ It took the perplexed and somewhat panicky editor a minute to recognise this hysterical intruder, voice choked with alarm, as the same hostile man he’d first spoken to. Suddenly, it was easy to tell, because…Steven, wasn’t it?...was back to barking in Andr&#;s ear. ‘What did you say t my friend? 38

TO BE CONTINUED...