Glen shook his head in remembrance. “Sure enough, the receptionist came rushing in just then, apologizing all over herself, and trying to physically drag Gillian out of my office. But there was something about her - not just her looks, though that alone would have been more than enough to get anyone’s attention. I knew somehow that whatever she had written was going to be special, that she was special. So I told her to stay, took the manuscript, and began to read.”
He went on to describe his amazement that someone as young as Gillian - she’d only been twenty-one at the time - had been able to craft such a brilliant and poignant story. She had been reluctant to admit that the main character of Chelsea was actually herself, and that the heartbreaking story of neglect, abuse, and poverty was Gillian’s own life. He’d discovered that she was down to her last fifty dollars, didn’t know a single person in New York, and was all alone in the world.
Glen described what happened next as temporary insanity, but he’d been so captivated with this odd, beautiful, and fascinating girl that he had found himself inviting her to crash at his flat in Brooklyn for a few days. He had told himself that it would just be for a little while, until he could get her an advance for the book that he just knew would get published, and help her find a more permanent place to live.
But Gillian had remained in his flat for nearly three months. And during that initial stay, it hadn’t taken Glen very long to realize that the beautiful, brilliant girl he’d taken under his wing was also a deeply troubled one. She would be happy and full of vitality and a veritable dynamo for several days, dazzling him with her zest for life and her seemingly boundless energy. But then, without much warning, she’d crash and burn - sleeping for three days straight, not eating or bothering to shower or dress, withdrawing into herself. He’d done a bit of research, asked a friend who was a psychologist, and figured out that Gillian was most likely bipolar.
He’d alternately bullied and pleaded with her to see a doctor, offering to pay the fees, but she’d demurred, insisting that there was nothing wrong with her, that she just pushed herself too hard at times and got run down as a result. And it was right after he’d ignored her half-baked explanations and made a doctor’s appointment for her that she left town for the first time, just packing up her things and taking off while he was at work without a word.
It was a pattern that was to repeat itself time and time again over the next few years. After her first unannounced disappearance, Gillian stayed away for almost six months, during which time Glen had no idea where she’d taken herself off to, hadn’t received so much as a phone call or a letter. When she finally re-surfaced, it was with a brand new, completed manuscript in hand, but no explanation for where she’d been all this time. She remained in New York for a few months, and this time she’d consented to finally seeing a doctor. Glen had kept after her on a daily basis to take her medications, and Gillian had complied - for a time. And then, without any apparent reason, she stopped taking her meds one day and the vicious cycle of ups and downs, mania and depression, began all over again.
“Apparently it’s a rather common occurrence for those who are bipolar to stop taking their medications,” explained Glen. “The drugs are largely mood altering, and oftentimes the patients miss their manic episodes, miss the way they feel during those times. There are plenty of other side effects, too, and Gillian couldn’t cope with all of them. Once the mood cycles started again, I set my foot down, told her she needed to get back on the meds or go find another place to stay. She was gone before sunrise.”
Glen readily admitted that he should have cut ties with the unstable, unreliable Gillian right then and there. He had no business, after all, being involved with a woman more than twenty years his junior, who was only a few years older than his own teenaged children. But he’d been lonely, long divorced from his first wife who’d remarried and moved to Connecticut with their kids, and he didn’t seen his son or daughter all that often. Plus, he had felt a responsibility towards Gillian, not just as her editor but with a mingled-up mess of emotions that were part fatherly, part brotherly, and more than a little romantic.
“I was - pure and simple - infatuated with her,” he acknowledged ruefully. “When she was manic, she had this fire, this passion, that was impossible not to get swept up in. And her talent as a writer was astounding, especially for someone who’d never been to college. Gillian’s writing came from the heart, from the hard life she’d lived. I used to try and convince myself that was the only reason I helped her, the only reason I kept taking her back in. But it was much more than that, of course.”
His tale continued, recounting how soon after completing the third novel Gillian left again, this time for an entire year. He knew she always went south during the winter months, that she hated the snow and cold weather with a passion. During her other absences, she’d wound up in Miami, Charleston, New Orleans, and he assumed she had fled to one of those locations during this particularly long time away.
But when Gillian eventually showed up again, he’d learned she had spent most of her time away in Savannah, Georgia, and that the reason for her long absence had been the two-month old infant she’d been carrying in her arms. And once again, Gillian had been broke, homeless, and desperate.
“And once again I took her in,” sighed Glen. “I mean, how could I have refused? Especially with a baby in tow. So you and your mother stayed with me for almost six months, Tessa. And it was during that time she wrote the fourth book, the one you’ve been clutching in your hands like it was a gold bar.”
Tessa couldn’t help but notice the sad, hurt expression in Glen’s eyes when he’d recounted his shock at discovering Gillian had been pregnant. “That must have been one of the more difficult times for you,” she told him somberly. “You loved her, took care of her, was the only person who looked out for her. And how did she repay all that kindness? By running away when things didn’t go her way, hooking up with some random man, and having a baby. Only to run back to you for support once again.”
Glen’s smile was equally sad. “It was far more than just one random man, Tessa. I don’t mean to shock you but, well, your mother tended to be quite promiscuous during her manic phases. She never once brought a man to my place in Brooklyn, knew that I wouldn’t tolerate it. But there were many times when she’d arrive back in the middle of the night - or even the middle of the day - and I knew right away she’d been with a man she had picked up somewhere. She’d reek of booze or weed or, well, sex. The episodes she detailed in her third book were unfortunately also based on real events.”
He went on to describe his amazement that someone as young as Gillian - she’d only been twenty-one at the time - had been able to craft such a brilliant and poignant story. She had been reluctant to admit that the main character of Chelsea was actually herself, and that the heartbreaking story of neglect, abuse, and poverty was Gillian’s own life. He’d discovered that she was down to her last fifty dollars, didn’t know a single person in New York, and was all alone in the world.
Glen described what happened next as temporary insanity, but he’d been so captivated with this odd, beautiful, and fascinating girl that he had found himself inviting her to crash at his flat in Brooklyn for a few days. He had told himself that it would just be for a little while, until he could get her an advance for the book that he just knew would get published, and help her find a more permanent place to live.
But Gillian had remained in his flat for nearly three months. And during that initial stay, it hadn’t taken Glen very long to realize that the beautiful, brilliant girl he’d taken under his wing was also a deeply troubled one. She would be happy and full of vitality and a veritable dynamo for several days, dazzling him with her zest for life and her seemingly boundless energy. But then, without much warning, she’d crash and burn - sleeping for three days straight, not eating or bothering to shower or dress, withdrawing into herself. He’d done a bit of research, asked a friend who was a psychologist, and figured out that Gillian was most likely bipolar.
He’d alternately bullied and pleaded with her to see a doctor, offering to pay the fees, but she’d demurred, insisting that there was nothing wrong with her, that she just pushed herself too hard at times and got run down as a result. And it was right after he’d ignored her half-baked explanations and made a doctor’s appointment for her that she left town for the first time, just packing up her things and taking off while he was at work without a word.
It was a pattern that was to repeat itself time and time again over the next few years. After her first unannounced disappearance, Gillian stayed away for almost six months, during which time Glen had no idea where she’d taken herself off to, hadn’t received so much as a phone call or a letter. When she finally re-surfaced, it was with a brand new, completed manuscript in hand, but no explanation for where she’d been all this time. She remained in New York for a few months, and this time she’d consented to finally seeing a doctor. Glen had kept after her on a daily basis to take her medications, and Gillian had complied - for a time. And then, without any apparent reason, she stopped taking her meds one day and the vicious cycle of ups and downs, mania and depression, began all over again.
“Apparently it’s a rather common occurrence for those who are bipolar to stop taking their medications,” explained Glen. “The drugs are largely mood altering, and oftentimes the patients miss their manic episodes, miss the way they feel during those times. There are plenty of other side effects, too, and Gillian couldn’t cope with all of them. Once the mood cycles started again, I set my foot down, told her she needed to get back on the meds or go find another place to stay. She was gone before sunrise.”
Glen readily admitted that he should have cut ties with the unstable, unreliable Gillian right then and there. He had no business, after all, being involved with a woman more than twenty years his junior, who was only a few years older than his own teenaged children. But he’d been lonely, long divorced from his first wife who’d remarried and moved to Connecticut with their kids, and he didn’t seen his son or daughter all that often. Plus, he had felt a responsibility towards Gillian, not just as her editor but with a mingled-up mess of emotions that were part fatherly, part brotherly, and more than a little romantic.
“I was - pure and simple - infatuated with her,” he acknowledged ruefully. “When she was manic, she had this fire, this passion, that was impossible not to get swept up in. And her talent as a writer was astounding, especially for someone who’d never been to college. Gillian’s writing came from the heart, from the hard life she’d lived. I used to try and convince myself that was the only reason I helped her, the only reason I kept taking her back in. But it was much more than that, of course.”
His tale continued, recounting how soon after completing the third novel Gillian left again, this time for an entire year. He knew she always went south during the winter months, that she hated the snow and cold weather with a passion. During her other absences, she’d wound up in Miami, Charleston, New Orleans, and he assumed she had fled to one of those locations during this particularly long time away.
But when Gillian eventually showed up again, he’d learned she had spent most of her time away in Savannah, Georgia, and that the reason for her long absence had been the two-month old infant she’d been carrying in her arms. And once again, Gillian had been broke, homeless, and desperate.
“And once again I took her in,” sighed Glen. “I mean, how could I have refused? Especially with a baby in tow. So you and your mother stayed with me for almost six months, Tessa. And it was during that time she wrote the fourth book, the one you’ve been clutching in your hands like it was a gold bar.”
Tessa couldn’t help but notice the sad, hurt expression in Glen’s eyes when he’d recounted his shock at discovering Gillian had been pregnant. “That must have been one of the more difficult times for you,” she told him somberly. “You loved her, took care of her, was the only person who looked out for her. And how did she repay all that kindness? By running away when things didn’t go her way, hooking up with some random man, and having a baby. Only to run back to you for support once again.”
Glen’s smile was equally sad. “It was far more than just one random man, Tessa. I don’t mean to shock you but, well, your mother tended to be quite promiscuous during her manic phases. She never once brought a man to my place in Brooklyn, knew that I wouldn’t tolerate it. But there were many times when she’d arrive back in the middle of the night - or even the middle of the day - and I knew right away she’d been with a man she had picked up somewhere. She’d reek of booze or weed or, well, sex. The episodes she detailed in her third book were unfortunately also based on real events.”
