Later came and went, and Drake didn’t show. Gary waited out the day, going to appointments and working. He was…he didn’t know what, but as the hours ticked by, he grew concerned, annoyed, edgy. Tense, he snapped when such anger was unwarranted, had to apologise too many times, and finally admitted he was worried.
As he headed home, he tried Drake’s number again. The call went to voicemail, just as it had all day. For the first time that day, he left a message. After he hung up, he couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said—something similar to, “Are we still doing this s**t?”
When he got in, he called his agent. His agent said he’d ring the editor of the paper and get back to him, which, fifty minutes later, the man did.
“His editor’s bursting a blood vessel. Best I could get out of him,
