Mr. Personality by Carol Rose Read Free Book Online Page B

you’re actually writing these notes in.”
    “Fine.” All of his typists annoyed him. He was accustomed to it. This woman, though, with her cheerful impertinence really annoyed him. He’d been nuts to think her likeable in any way.
    Pad in hand, she went down the staircase without responding, her trim figure retreating down the hall.
    Max propped his pad on his knee and turned back to stare out the window. Refusing to return to fruitless pondering of the past, he forced himself to consider the wispy, fragmented plot possibilities on the paper before him. Normally, when he started a book, his ideas took a life of their own. They unraveled in front of his mental gaze with such speed he sometimes had to rush after them.
    Today, the words lay on the paper, mere lines of tracing, without spark. He studied the brick on the opposite building, his thoughts idling, circling around the central theme of his defeat. He felt defeated.
    Maybe if he read over the character sketches he’d doodled six months ago. Surely, Nicole was finished with them by now.
    Flinging down his pad and pen on the wide window sill, he jogged down the stairs and traversed the short hall leading to the office. Conscious of how familiar the short pile carpet felt beneath his bare feet, Max rounded the corner and entered the room.
    Nicole sat with her back to the door, words filling the screen in front of her as her hands moved over the keyboard. For a moment, he felt annoyed that she should be able to do so easily what he hadn’t accomplished. When this book was through, he had to conquer his technological limitations. He’d be damned if he remained dependent any longer. Surely, his creative abilities could withstand some readjustment of the system. If other authors could simply type their thoughts into a computer, there was no reason he couldn’t. Later, when the book was in….
    “Where are the character sketches? You’re done with them, aren’t you?”
    Nicole jumped, turning to glare at him. “Jeez, you don’t have to scare a person like that! Make a little noise when you come into a room.”
    “The character sketches?”
    “I’ve only finished one.” She pointed to the printer where several sheets of paper lay.
    “You haven’t done the others?” He picked up the printed pages.
    “Not…yet,” she said with a smart-alecky lift to the words.
    “Well, get them done as quickly as possible.” He pivoted to leave the room.
    Walking down the hallway towards the stairs, he heard her muttering something, but he couldn’t catch the words. His bare feet climbing the polished treads, he shut his mind’s door and tried to focus on the character outlined on the pages in his hand.
    He wasn’t even sure where this character fit into either idea. In fact, the woman described in his notes didn’t seem alive at all. Max sat down, scribbling random words on his pad, in hopes that the movement of his hand over paper would jar something lose. Squinting again at the two concepts he’d been trying to nurture, he tried to lift the iron cage from around his mind and open his thoughts wider. It had to be there. He firmly believed there were an unlimited number of stories in his head, but getting hold of one…. Just one was all he needed today.
    Fifteen minutes and three pages of scribbled notes brought him up against the realization that he was running in circles. Nothing new, nothing even slightly interesting. Still, he pushed the Pilot pen across the page until the words seemed too abstract to have any meaning.
    Shifting restlessly on the window sill, he considered going up to sprawl on his bed. Maybe he needed a new place to write. Maybe this book had a certain portal, a singular way in which it could be poured into his brain.
    Max sat thinking about going upstairs to his bedroom. Maybe he should lure his typist into some meaningless, distracting sex. Perhaps that was his problem. He’d been celibate too long.
    The blonde in the office certainly had