Chester rolled his eyes but went back to reading on the sofa. Giles stood at the door to their den. The pressure inside Giles’s head reached its limit and he had to ask. He just had to ask.
“How do you like it so far? Is it everything you expected.”
“That,” Chester said, bringing his eyes out from the book and looking up at Giles. “And quite a bit more.”
Chester groaned as he sat up on the couch and assumed a huddling position – as if to advise him in a professorial manner, Giles thought. If only Chester could be a little more himself, which meant being the unemployed waiter with a book of poetry exactly nineteen people bought. Two hundred eighty-one copies sat in the guest bedroom closet.
“Oh, I’m so glad you love it, Chester. I worked so hard on the story and had it critiqued and critiqued and critiqued. What was your favorite part?”
“Giles, I’d work a little more on the dialogue. Make another pass on the dialogue. And the setting doesn’t work for me. Why’d you set this store in Butte, Montana?”
“Where else would you set a story about gay men who have sex addictions?”
Chester chuckled a little. “Well, the scene at the inn when James has sex on the bar with the African-American Jewish transsexual quadriplegic while the cowpokes look on, don’t you think that’s a bit far-fetched?”
“Oh, Chester,” Giles said. “It just leads into the grand finale! The best part is yet to come!”
Chester rolled his eyes again and lay back in the couch. “I’m lactating, I’m so excited.”
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