The Story Of Us Read online

  The Story of Us

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Also By Marina Lander

  Chapter 1

  "I'm going to die," Anthony tells him, sprawled on his living room sofa like a Victorian maiden with consumption, or some other incurable disease afflicting upper-class ladies in 1810. His desolation is complete, with one arm flung over his eyes. His laptop is sitting on the coffee table, and the cursor does not appear to have moved in Noah's absence.

  "You can die after you finish this draft," Noah says, and places a latte on the table that he picked up from the shop down the street.

  "Have mercy, darling," Anthony moans, and then cracks open an eye. "You brought me a latte?"

  "Drink it, stop whining, and finish that draft, or I swear to god, Mr. Anthony, I will strangle you and enjoy it thoroughly. It has three espresso shots in it. If this doesn’t raise the dead, I don’t know what will."

  Anthony sits up and sips obediently at the latte, and then smiles at Noah. "You remembered the sugar," he says happily.

  "Of course I remembered," Noah bites out. "It is, in fact, my job to pay attention to details."

  "It's why you're the best," Anthony says with casual confidence.

  Noah sets down his own cup of coffee (cream, no sugar). "Mr. Anthony, I cannot do my job unless you do yours. What, precisely, is your problem?"

  "I would let you strangle me in a sexy kind of way if that's what you're into," Anthony says.

  Noah grits his teeth. "Mr. Anthony."

  Anthony goes serious in the blink of an eye, and it still startles Noah after all this time. "The middle doesn't seem to be sitting right," he says.

  Noah has a photographic memory, and scans through the text in his head. "Well, think about this..."

  Chapter 2

  Noah has, on occasion, described Anthony to other people as Mr. Extraordinary Genius Novelist. They invariably laugh, assuming Noah is being sarcastic.

  He isn't.

  Anthony, in fact, is the kind of person that should only exist in a story -- an extremely ridiculous, self-indulgent story. Anthony is an unquestionably brilliant writer, who has managed the impossible tasks of making literary critics salivate over each successive work and charming the general public into handing over a lot of money to buy many copies. He grew up stupidly wealthy, and has only become more so since his debut.

  Noah has been his editor from the beginning. Anthony says he won't work with anyone else, and what Noah will never tell him is that he would murder anyone who tried.

  ***

  "What is this?' Noah says a few weeks later.

  Anthony taps his cigarette in the ashtray. "I understand, of course, that I'd have to publish it under a pseudonym."

  "Of course you would. That's not the issue," Noah says faintly, paging down through the document file and feeling his eyes widen. "Mr. Anthony, this is pornography. This is unbridled, unapologetic, filthy smut."

  Anthony waggles his eyebrows. "You have a problem with that, darling?"

  "I have a problem with my name being in this!" Noah bursts out.

  Anthony just drinks his coffee calmly. "Well, once I decided on the character's name, it practically wrote itself."

  Noah takes a deep breath. "If you intend on publishing this, you are changing the damn name. And the whole scene with the buttplug needs to be rewritten."

  Anthony frowns at that. "What's wrong with it?"

  "The dialogue makes me want to retch," Noah says flatly. "For instance -- Noah looked up at him, eyes glazed and desperate. 'Give it to me, I need it so bad, put your enormous prick in me right now--'"

  "You'd prefer 'cock'?" Anthony asks seriously.

  "I'm going to publish this, and then I'm going to kill you," Noah informs him.

  Anthony claps his hands together in delight. "I knew I could depend on you, darling."

  Chapter 3

  The porn sells terribly well. Noah doesn't know why he's remotely surprised -- it's not like Anthony hasn't already demonstrated a remarkable ability to tap into the mentality of this generation. Tapping into their subconscious sexual desires apparently isn't much of a stretch.

  Noah keeps himself buttoned up and thoroughly professional, even while editing a manuscript that is basically sex every ten pages. Still, there is some plot, and Anthony has structured it like a romance - and Noah will admit (but only to himself) that the relationship between fake Noah and Stephen is rather moving. The only moment of danger is when he's going over final edits with Anthony, and Anthony is leaning over the coffee table, chin in his hand and face covered with three-day old stubble, and Noah knows that he's barely slept. His voice is a low rasp when he says, "Do you think it's too much?"

  The roughness of his voice, combined with the scene they're looking at, almost threatens to make Noah betray himself, but instead he says, "What, exactly?"

  "The end bit, with all the love confessions."

  "Stephen has spent this entire book making Noah have an improbable number of orgasms. I don't think an 'I love you' or two is out of the question," Noah says.

  "Is that your personal opinion, or professional one?" Anthony asks.

  "My professional opinion is the only one that matters," Noah says firmly, and then, more coaxingly, "The sooner we finish, the sooner you can sleep."

  "The things I do for your deadlines, Noah darling," Anthony says, and musters an exhausted smile for him.

  "I didn't twist your arm and make you write porn, if you'll recall," Noah says. "Come on, just a little more."

  Anthony yawns then, a jaw-cracking affair that nearly makes Noah yawn in sympathy. "All right, then," he says, and they turn to the last of the edits.

  Chapter 4

  Before Noah had met Anthony, someone had broken Anthony' heart.

  Anthony has never spoken of it, and Noah has never asked. Their relationship is a professional one, and it's one that Noah intends to protect, no matter what. The first meeting he had with Anthony in his penthouse apartment, Anthony had grabbed a single key off his kitchen counter, and pressed it in Noah's hand.

  "What's this for?" Noah had asked.

  Anthony' face is quiet and still, and he says casually, "It's for the front door. I write when I can and sleep when I'm not writing, so it'll be more convenient for you if you just take it."

  Noah had placed it carefully in his jacket pocket -- it was by no means norMaria, but he was prepared to put up with quite a lot for the brilliance he saw in Anthony' first novel.

  He had been about to leave, when he said, "The novel's dedication -- you left it blank. Who did you want to dedicate it to?"

  Anthony had smiled then, without joy. "I had someone in mind, but circumstances have made that quite impossible, I'm afraid."

  When Noah had looked at the proofs and seen his name there, he'd thought it was a joke. A joke that left him with a heavy feeling in his throat, but a joke nonetheless.

  "You have an odd sense of humor," he'd told Anthony, afterward.

  "I assure you, darling, it was sincerely meant. You did take a chance on me, after all."

  Noah scoffed. "Only an idiot would have passed you up."

  Anthony' eyes were warm and rueful. "You'd be surprised."

  ***

  Noah uses his key to open the front door to Anthony' penthouse, and juggles the coffee carrier in his hands with the bakery box and a bag of reference books before hip-checking the door open. Anthony doesn't call out a greeting when N
oah walks over to the kitchen, which means that Anthony is either gone, or he's asleep.

  From the lump on the couch under a truly hideous afghan, Noah is going with "asleep."

  He puts coffee on the table in front of the couch, and settles down in his usual armchair. They were supposed to have a meeting now, but there is a short stack of paper on the table with a post-it that says, "DARLING," so Noah takes it up and reads through it.

  Anthony doesn't write outlines for his novels, per se -- he writes these stream of consciousness things that are frequently not in complete sentences, routinely abuse capslock, and contain direct questions to Noah:

  i don't know, i don't want this to be some fucking cowboys in space, not that space operas can't be good but then youre just going to start asking me questions about physics and horses which are pretty interesting but i cant be fucked to really deal with it, so maybe it shouldnt be set in the future after all but in new york in 1880, what do you know about new york in 1880? did the metro exist then, and were there horses still, check that will you darling

  It's a terrible assault on grammar and punctuation, but Noah loves them beyond all reason. They're for an audience of one, and no one but Noah will ever see them. It's a part of Anthony that he doesn't have to share with the world, and he hoards them jealously.

  "You have the loveliest smile," Anthony says, and Noah jumps in his seat. "Pity I don't get to see it more often."

  "I'd smile more if you'd quit blowing your deadlines," Noah says, but his heart's not really in it.

  "It's not my deadlines I want to blow, pet," Anthony says, giving him the easy innuendo that he expects at this point in their relationship.

  Noah rolls his eyes. "I'm not done reading this yet. Go back to sleep."

  "Mmm, if you say so," Anthony says, and his eyes slide shut again.

  Chapter 5

  Noah's boss, Morgan Vernard, gives him an astounding amount of leeway. Then again, Morgan knows what side his bread is buttered on, and his mantra regarding Anthony is, "Keep him happy, keep him writing."

  Noah endeavors to do both, and for the most part, he is quite successful. Of course he has other authors he works with, but Anthony is always his first priority, and Noah has no issues with electronically bitch-slapping lesser writers into doing what he wants. He saves the home visits and face time for Anthony, who tends to start having crises about dialect or planning unscheduled getaway trips to Paris if Noah doesn't drop by every three days or so.

  "What do you think of Germany?" Anthony asks one day.

  Noah looks up from his Blackberry. "Do you need reference materials? I can go to the library."

  "No, darling, I meant: what do you think about Munich? As a travel destination," Anthony says, looking at Noah intently.

  "As I am not going to Munich, and you are most certainly not going anywhere until this story is finished, I don't see what it matters."

  Anthony actually pouts, and it looks disturbingly appealing on him. "Don't you ever take a break? We've known each other for years, pet, and I can't think that you've been out of reach for more than a handful of days at a time."

  "Not all of us have trust funds," Noah reminds him.

  Anthony looks upset. "But you do get holidays, surely?"

  Noah sighs. "I do, I just use them here and there instead of going on big trips. I don't like coming back to find all the work that's piled up when I've been away."

  Anthony gets a look on his face that Noah just knows is trouble. "But darling, I'm your work, am I not? So if I wanted to go somewhere for research, and I took you with me, it'd be like a business trip, yeah?"

  Noah feels his face heat at the possessive note in Anthony' voice. Nothing good comes from spoiling writers, he tells himself. "I don't just edit your work, you know," he tells Anthony. "I have other authors."

  Anthony leans forward into Noah's space. "A week," he says, nearly a croon. "We'll research locations for the novel, look at some very nice architecture, drink wine and maybe even relax a little."

  Noah is nearly seduced by the thought of all that baroque and rococo architecture. "I can't," he makes himself say.

  Anthony sits back, but he doesn't look any less determined. Noah should have known that just because he shut up about it didn't mean that he'd stopped thinking about it. This is the unfortunate part about working with people born into stupid amounts of wealth -- they are really, really accustomed to getting their way, and Anthony is no different.

  ********

  "So, Noah," Morgan says, poking his head into Noah's office the next day. "I had an interesting phone call from Mr. Anthony."

  "Oh god," Noah says, and puts his head down on his desk. "What did he want?"

  He can practically hear Morgan's obnoxious smile. "It seems Mr. Anthony wants you for his very own."

  "What," Noah says faintly. He turns his head to see Morgan squinting at him.

  "He didn't actually mean -- well, maybe he did, but he was pretty explicit about wanting you to edit only his projects."

  "You told him no, right?"

  "Noah," Morgan says seriously, "How many awards did his last two novels win? How many books has he sold? You and I both know that his next novel could damn well win the Pulitzer. I told him yes."

  "Morgan," Noah moans, "how could you do this to me?"

  "Make him take you to London," Maria says, having slowed to a stop in the doorway.

  "I hate both of you," Noah says.

  "If you must," Maria says, her mouth curved in a knowing smile. "But you will love London, Noah."

  "Ugh," Noah says feelingly.

  Chapter 6

  Noah unlocks Anthony' front door and throws it open. "Are you actually crazy?" he demands.

  Anthony is in the kitchen, poking at a skillet and wearing - Jesus Christ - an astoundingly ratty bathrobe over some pajama pants. "I thought you said a little bit of crazy helped sell books."

  "Fake crazy," Noah says. "People like eccentric authors. That's not the point. The point is, I can't believe you called Morgan."

  Anthony lifts two eggs out of the pan and puts them on a plate in front of Noah at the counter. "Toast?" he inquires.

  "I -- what? I'm not eating breakfast, Mr. Anthony, I'm in the middle of yelling at you."

  "Yell away, darling, but eat something -- and you have the nerve to complain about how I run myself ragged. Your trousers are a little loose around the bum these days."

  Noah opens his mouth to complain about Anthony noticing the fit of his pants, but Anthony just puts two pieces of toast on his plate, and Noah's stomach lets out an embarrassing gurgle.

  "Go on, then," Anthony says coaxingly. "The eggs are over easy -- the chances of salmonella poisoning aren't all that high, I promise. And I know that’s how you like them, I asked Maria."

  Noah picks up his fork then, and takes a hesitant bite. It's perfectly fine, and he is hungry, and it's right in front of him, so he may as well.

  Anthony cracks two more eggs into the pan, and says, "Here's the thing, darling. I've an idea, and I need you."

  "The not-cowboys in space thing?" Noah asks, confused.

  "No," Anthony says. "I want to write a heist novel."

  "Okay," Noah says slowly. "What brought this on?"

  "After I got off the phone with Mr. Vernard -- who was quite gracious, by the way, about surrendering you entirely to me -- I thought of something. I want to write about time travel."

  Noah is about to yell at him about how he hasn't been surrendered, when his mind ticks through the rest of the sentence. "Time travel? Like speed of light, suddenly you’re in Egypt?"

  "Kind of," Anthony says, and leans forward on the counter to brush two fingers against Noah's temple. "But inside memories instead."

  "I need a pen. And some paper," Noah says, and unearths both from a fruit dish not being used for its intended purpose. "Tell me everything," he says, and Anthony' smile could make Noah move mountains.

  Chapter 7

  "I don't really und
erstand what your problem is," Morgan says on the phone, and then hollers something at Abdul.

  Noah jerks his ear back from the phone at Morgan's bellow, and then cautiously puts it back again. "Mr. Anthony wants me to go with him to Europe."

  "For research, I heard you. Well, it's not like you have to babysit Takahashi and that idiot Nathan anymore - Anna's got it pretty much in hand. You should have heard her yell at Nathan the other day, it was pretty good for me on a spiritual level. You might as well go."

  "And you're not worried about Anthony essentially kidnapping me for an unspecified period of time and taking me out of the country," Noah says.

  "I've already basically prostituted my best editor to him, so kidnapping isn't really fazing me at this point. Plus as long as he's paying for it, I say, enjoy your vacation."

  "It's a business trip," Noah enunciates.

  "As long as you come back with a draft, you can call it whatever you want," Morgan says, and then cruelly hangs up.

  "Well, that's sorted," Anthony says cheerfully. "Pack your things, pet -- a good friend of mine has offered his private jet to us for the occasion."

  Noah stares at him in horror. "You know that is absolutely not normal, right?"