L.J.K. OLIVA

JESPER MACMILLIAN CHARACTER INTERVIEW

Answered after A World Apart: Shades Below, #1

Originally posted on the blog of Author Karen Swart (April 7, 2015).  Questions created by Karen Swart.

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“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

I sit back and study the man in front of me.  I’m not sure how to answer his question, because I honestly have no idea.  I decide to treat it as rhetorical, instead glance around the tiny coffee shop where he instructed me to meet him.

LJKO:  So, how are things with the family?

MacMillian shrugs.

JMM: Things went fine.

LJKO: ‘Went’?  It’s all settled, then?

MacMillian shrugs again.

JMM: As settled as they ever are.

He flags down the waitress behind the lunch counter.  She takes in his broad shoulders, the dark scruff coating his jaw, and approaches warily.  Then her eye falls to the hooked black cane propped next to him.  She visibly relaxes.  Her forehead wrinkles in an unmistakable expression of pity.

Waitress: What can I get you, sugar?

MacMillian forces a smile.  It comes off vaguely sinister.

JMM: Coffee, black.  Two of them.

I debate telling him I’m trying to cut back, but then he turns that sinister smile on me.  I shut my mouth.

The waitress nods, and leaves without touching the notepad in her apron pocket.  The instant she’s out of earshot, MacMillian blows out an irritated breath.  He motions to the slip of paper on the formica table between us.

JMM: Those the questions?  Let’s get this over with.

I nod.  No problem there.  This diner is making me itch.

LJKO: First off, we should thank Karen Swart for having us on her blog today.

JMM: Thanks, Karen.

LJKO: Now, first question.  Describe yourself.

MacMillian gives me a strange look.

JMM: What, like, physically?

There’s plenty to describe there, but I shake my head.

LJKO: No, like, what are your best and worst qualities?

MacMillian presses his lips together.  I groan out loud.

LJKO: Jesus, you and Darius both.  It’s like drawing blood from a stone with you two.

JMM: There’s this thing called “privacy”…

LJKO: It’s the Age of the Internet.  Privacy is dead.  Now are we going to do this, or not?

JMM: Fine.  Best quality, my doglike tenacity.  And my smile.

I roll my eyes.  He politely ignores me.

JMM: Worst quality…maybe I’m a little defensive sometimes.

LJKO: About your leg, you mean?

MacMillian scowls.

JMM: Yes.  About my leg.  Ask another question.

LJKO: What’s the one thing you wish others knew about you?

MacMillian’s face hardens.

JMM: I’m not a cripple.  Just because I walk with a cane, doesn’t mean I need people to baby me.

The waitress chooses that moment to return with our coffees.  I keep my eyes on MacMillian as she sets the mugs down, and wait until she leaves before continuing our conversation.

LJKO: Or pity you?

JMM: Especially pity me.

LJKO: Next question.  What is your biggest secret?  As in secret secret.  Something no one else knows about.

JMM: Nice try.  Next question.

I debate pressing the matter, but I already know it wouldn’t do any good.  I move on.

LJKO: What are you most afraid of?

JMM: Next—

LJKO: Uh-uh.  No way.  You get one pass, and you already used it.  Answer the question, buster.

MacMillian arches an eyebrow.

JMM: Buster?

I lean back and cross my arms.

JMM: Fine.  Jesus, you’re pushy.

He thinks for a moment.  A strange look crosses his face.

JMM: Nothing.

LJKO: Goddamnit, MacMillian…

JMM: No, seriously.  I can’t think of anything.  –He looks unnerved by the revelation.–  Kind of makes sense though, doesn’t it?  I mean, no reason to be scared if you don’t have anything to lose.

It’s an unexpectedly astute observation, one that makes my chest ache a little.  I clear my throat and quickly move on.

LJKO: What do you want more than anything?

MacMillian stomps his prosthetic foot.  His leg rattles under the table.

JMM: Two meat feet would be nice.  And a Lambo, I guess, as long as we’re talking wishes.

I shake my head.

LJKO: You are such a punk.

JMM: Said the pot to the kettle.

I give him that.

LJKO: Okay, here’s a fun one.  What is your relationship status?

JMM: Single, as you well know.  Remind me how this is fun?

LJKO: Oh, please.  Do I have to spell it out for you?  That whole thing with Lena at the end of your book—

JMM: Stop.  Seriously, stop.  It was…that was…nothing.  Nothing happened.

LJKO: You are so full of shit.

JMM: We worked together once, and it was weird as fuck.  I’ll probably never see her again.

LJKO: Never say never, Don Juan.

He blushes.  Actually blushes.  It’s delightful.

JMM: What’s the next question?

LJKO: Fine, you big chicken.  How would you describe your sense of fashion?

JMM: What the hell kind of…?  I don’t have a sense of fashion.

I purse my lips and study him.  Button-down shirt, belted military-sort-of jacket, dark slacks, heavy boots.  He definitely has something, but I don’t know that I would call it “fashion”.

LJKO: A grievous oversight on my part, but I’m sure I can fix it.  Maybe I’ll give you an ascot in your next book.

JMM: Don’t you dare.

The look he gives me is pure murder.  I cough.

LJKO: Right, which leads us to our next question.  How much of a rebel are you?

JMM: You know me.  Che-fucking-Guevara.

LJKO: You kind of are, aren’t you?  A lone wolf?  I mean, how long were you on your own?  Away from your family, your traditions, the kumpania…?

JMM: Five years.  And it wasn’t exactly my choice.

LJKO: Maybe not at first, but you could have gone back.  What made you stay away?

MacMillian blows out a breath.

JMM: You’re not going to let this go, are you?

It’s my turn to shrug.

JMM: Of course you’re not.  -He pauses.-  I guess I just…shit.  I couldn’t go back.  After the accident, I was this pariah.  The One Who Survived.  And I shouldn’t have.  I mean, I was the one driving that night.

He looks away, and I resist the urge to reach out to him.  He would only interpret it as pity.

LJKO: You didn’t cause the accident.

JMM: No, but I’ve been paying for it anyway.  You know my mother still won’t look me in the eye?  How am I supposed to go back to that?

I don’t have an answer.  In light of the sudden turn the conversation’s taken, my next question seems in painfully poor taste.

LJKO: What is your idea of happiness?

JMM: Why?  You buying?

LJKO: If I can.

He looks me square in the eyes.

JMM: One night to have a few drinks and shoot the shit with my brother.

My stomach wrenches.  I wish I could give him that.  We both know I can’t.  I pick up the paper off the table.

LJKO: We still have a lot of questions to get through.

It feels like the fight has gone out of both of us.  MacMillian leans back with a sigh.

JMM: Shoot.

I read them rapidfire.

LJKO: What would you consider your greatest achievement?

JMM: Walking again.

LJKO: What is your current state of mind?

JMM: Invidious.

LJKO: What is your most treasured possession?

JMM: My Fury.

I raise my eyebrows.  He clarifies.

JMM: As in Plymouth Fury.  My car.

LJKO: Right.  What is your most marked characteristic?

JMM: If I had to guess, I’d say probably the metal leg.

LJKO: What is it that you most dislike?

JMM: Personal questions.

I ignore the jab.

LJKO: Which living person do you most despise?

JMM: Detective Mark Durbin.

LJKO: That wouldn’t have anything to do with his getting to Lena first, would it?

JMM: That’s low.

He’s right.  I change the subject.

LJKO: What is your greatest regret?

JMM: Pass.

He’s already used his pass, but I don’t have it in me to fight him over it.

LJKO: What is the quality you most like in a man?

MacMillian blinks.

JMM: Excuse me?

LJKO: Not sexually.

He gives me an exasperated look.

JMM: I know that.

LJKO: Great.  So…?

JMM: Same things I like in everybody, I guess.  Perseverance.  Honesty.  Resilience.

LJKO: How about in a woman?

MacMillian doesn’t answer right away.  He taps his finger against the tabletop.  It’s remarkably distracting.  When he does speak again, I jump.

JMM: Confidence.  Kindness.  The ability to see beneath the surface of things.  I like a woman who can look life right in its ugly face and still find something beautiful.

He stares past me.  I clear my throat.

LJKO: You realize who you just described?

MacMillian doesn’t say anything.  Abruptly, he swings his legs out from under the table, grips his cane and pushes to his feet.  He reaches into his pocket for his wallet, pulls out a few bills and tosses them next to his still-full mug.

JMM: Time’s up.

I start to tell him I still have questions left, but it’s no use.

He’s already on his way out the door.