Read Jack Be Nimble: Gargoyle for Free Online Page A

bestseller. My prose is too goofy. And I can’t help but slip in the action scenes.”
    She picked up her white napkin and began rolling up an edge as she spoke. “I keep wondering how a nice guy like you knows so much about exotic poisons and military weapons and things like that.” She began rolling another edge of the napkin.
    “It’s not that hard. I read a lot. The thing is—well, it’s the same with these scripts, Carly. I’m just—I have a tough time making myself believe the way all these stories wind up. So trite. I mean, can all the problems in life tie themselves up and get solved within a few chapters, a couple of hours? Everybody needs a break from reality now and then, but—”
    Carly smiled and touched his hand. “You don’t need to explain it to me, we’ve been friends long enough. Look, you know how good this stuff is.” She tapped the stack of scripts. “Everybody back home knows I came over to try to get you back in the business in front of the camera instead of just as a writer, but that’s got to be up to you. You don’t just quit after five great movies in five good years, not counting that documentary that the Academy liked so much.” The waiter brought her a large cup crowned with froth, and Carly took a sip before continuing.
    “I think it’s great that you're over here, that an Idaho boy is doing Cyrano in Paris–in Paris , for crying out loud–and you’ve got a book on the bestseller’s list, but Jack, enough of this business of reinventing yourself European. When are you going to come home?”
    Jack pressed his hands hard into the tabletop. “Home?” An brittle slice of bitterness crept around the edges of his voice. “And where is that exactly, Caroline? Rodeo Drive? Hollywood and Vine? Do I even–ah, sorry.” He looked away. “This isn’t me. This isn’t the person I want to be. Sorry.”
    Carly covered his hand again with hers. “Jack. Jack, I’m going to keep coming around. Don’t worry about me.”
    He looked back at her, silent. Listening.
    “I’m one of the people who owes you, whether you like it or not.”
    Jack flinched a little around the eyes. “For Victoria’s sake.”
    “No, not just for Toria—Lord, she married somebody as mulehead-stubborn as she was.” She signaled for the check. “Either of you get an idea in your head and forget to eat or sleep until you’ve made it real. Not that we ever had the money for food in those days.”
    The haunted look in his eyes was quickened by a flicker of merriment. “I remember when you two were living on Gatorade and those checks sent by the phone company.”
    “And you had to give blood so you could afford to take us to dinner!”
    She watched him start to smile, but joy had no momentum within Jack, and the smile never quite came together. Carly gathered the scripts together and filed them into her leather bag. “I had copies of all these sent to your apartment. Take your time.” She sipped her cappuccino. “Call me if you find a project you like, Jack, but even if you don’t, call me. It never used to bother me when you’d disappear for a month or two, or when you’d take Toria with you wherever, but lately—” Her eyes, deep and liquid, filled with concern. “You seem like you’re looking for . . . trouble.”
    He shifted in his chair. “Don’t worry, Carly. Thanks. I’ll be careful. And I’ll read some of these, too, I promise,” he added. “We’d better call a taxi, if you want to make your flight home.” Jack paused and considered her. “You’re a good friend, you know that?”
    Carly smirked. “I’m a good agent , Jack. I’m a better friend.”
    Jack used his phone to call for a cab as they stepped out. A brisk wind, a harbinger of the storm to come, snapped at the edges of their coats. Carly turned up her collar and threaded her arm through Jack’s. “What about that girl I heard you were with? The blond?”
    Jack leaned close, the inconstant wind snatching at his