The plant - By Stephen King Page 0,28

was getting fried, all right.

"I want you to help me fix the leak, John," he said, leaning forward earnestly. "That's what I'm saying. That's why I asked you out tonight. And your agreement is the only thing capable of mitigating what is undoubtedly going to be one of the most beastly hangovers of my life. Help us both. Stay on."

"You'll pardon me if all of this sounds just a little bit self-serving and fortuitous."

He sat back. "I respect you," he said a trifle coldly, "but I also like you, John. If I didn't I wouldn't be breaking my ass to keep you on." He hesitated, seemed on the point of saying something more, then didn't. His eyes said it for him: And humiliating myself by damn' near begging.
Chapter CHAPTER FIVE
"I just don't understand why you're trying so hard," I said. "I mean, I'm flattered, but - "

"Because if anyone can bring in a book or create an idea that will keep Zenith from going belly-up, it's you," he said. There was an intensity in his eyes I found almost frightening. "I know how fucking embarrassed you were by the whole Detweiller business, but - "

"Please," I said. "Let's not add insult to injury."

"I had no intention of even bringing it up," he said. "It's just that your very openness to such an off-the-wall proposition - "

"It was off the wall, all right - "

"Will you shut up and listen? Your response to the Detweiller query showed you're still alive to a potentially commercial idea. Herb or Bill would simply have dropped his letter in the circular file."

"And we all would have been a lot better off," I said, but I saw where he was going and would be lying if I didn't say I was flattered... and that I felt a little better about the Detweiller affair for the first time since my humiliation at the police station.

"This time," he agreed. "But those guys also would have turned down V. C. Andrews with her Toys in the Attic series, or some brand new idea. Boom, into the circular file and then back to contemplating their navels." He paused. "I need you, Johnny, and I think it would be good if you stayed-for you, for me, for Zenith. There's no other way I can put it. Think it over and give me your answer. I'll accept it either way."

"You'd be paying me for the equivalent of cutting out paper dolls, Roger."

"That's a chance I'm willing to take."

I thought about it. I'd started to clean out my desk that day and hadn't gotten very far-to paraphrase Poe, who would have thought the old desk could have had so much crap in it? Or maybe it was just me, and that crack about not even being able to tie my own shoelaces wasn't so wrong, after all. I'd gotten two empty cardboard cartons from Riddley's room (which smells oddly green lately, like fresh marijuana-and no, I didn't see any) and did nothing but stare from one to the other. Maybe with a little more time I could at least complete the elementary job of cleaning up my old life before starting some unimaginable new one. It's just that I've felt so fucking dreary. "Suppose we table the resignation until the end of the month," I said. "would that ease your mind?"

He smiled. "It's not the best I'd hoped for," he said, "but it's not the worst I was afraid of, either. I'll take it. And now I think we better order while we can still sit up straight."

We ordered steaks, and ate them, but by then my mouth was too numb to taste much. I suppose I just ought to be grateful that no one had to perform the Heimlich Maneuver on either of us.

As we were leaving-holding onto each other, assisted by the anxious maitre d' (who no doubt only wanted to get us the fuck out of there before we broke something), Roger told me: "Something else I learned in that psychology course - "

"What did you say they called it? The Psychology of Damaged Souls?"

We were outside by then, and his cackles drifted away in little frosty plumes of vapor. "It was the Psychology of Human Stress, but I actually like yours better." Roger energetically flagged down a cab, whose driver would shortly be very sorry he picked us up. "It also said that it helps to keep a diary."

"Shit," I said. "I haven't kept a diary since I was