Blind Submission (21 page)

Actual humor. Score one for Anna, I thought.

If he heard, Craig gave no indication. “Angel, can I see you for a moment, please?” His tone was now much more solicitous. I prepared myself for another bait-and-switch. This was turning out to be the day for them. Craig didn't bother pulling out the filing cabinets as I approached. “You can sit, Angel,” he said, and as I positioned myself across from him, Jackson reappeared at the door, staggering under the weight of a full mail tub.

Craig looked over at Jackson for a second and then back to face me. “I've got some good news for you, Angel.”

I gave Craig a big, if forced, smile. He seemed strung tight enough to be on the verge of a breakdown. I decided it would be wise to be as careful as possible with him. “Good news is always good,” I said, wondering if Anna was listening.

As if on cue, the phones began ringing. Jackson and Anna went for separate lines and began talking. The office had come alive again.

“Your official probation period isn't up yet,” Craig began, “but Lucy's decided to jump the gun a bit here and give you a raise.” He looked up at me, waiting for a response. My intuition told me that it had better be an effusive one.

“Really? That's great!”

“Yes, well, you don't even know how great yet.” Craig cleared his throat. “Lucy's been very impressed with how quickly you've assimilated in the office and with your reading. Guess that bookstore experience really paid off for you. Anyway, as you know, Lucy believes in rewarding good work, so she's made the decision to substantially increase your salary.” He scribbled a figure on a piece of paper and slid it over to me. I stared at the numbers, utterly confused.

“But Craig, that's what I'm making now, isn't it?”

“No, Angel, that's not your new salary. That's the amount of your raise.”

I could feel my eyes widen. The room seemed very bright. Craig was looking at me impassively, a slight twist in the corner of his mouth. This clearly hadn't been his idea, and I was sure that he had even lobbied against it.

“But…but that's double what I'm making now. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Craig said. “I take it you're pleased?” I could only nod. My throat was dry and I didn't trust myself to speak. I could move into a place with an actual bedroom. Hell, I could probably even move out of Petaluma and closer to the city—maybe Berkeley. I could buy shoes and still have enough left over for dinner. And I could actually start making some inroads on my student-loan debt. That bill had been hanging over my head like the sword of Damocles since the day I'd graduated. I'd never allowed myself to get so excited about money. I was like a kid who'd just been told she could eat the cake, the ice cream,
and
the candy bar. It was a little overwhelming.

“There's one condition, though,” Craig said.

Of course there was. This was Lucy Fiamma country, after all.

“Oh?”

“Like any intelligent businesswoman, Lucy would like to protect her investment. And this is a rather large investment, I think you'd agree.” I nodded again. “So, bearing that in mind, the condition is that you commit to your employment here for a period of two years from this date. Should you leave
voluntarily
at any point before that time, Lucy would expect you to return the difference in salary that she is offering you today.”

It was as if she were offering me a book contract, I thought. If the book wasn't written and delivered within two years, she'd expect the advance to be returned. Only, in this case, I was the book. I didn't know if it was legal, but it was certainly interesting, and all that money was almost irresistible.

“Wow,” I said after my heart rate slowed. “That's really amazing.”

“I'll have the contract written up by the end of the day,” Craig said. “You can sign and Lucy can countersign. I'm also a notary public—I don't know if I mentioned that before—so we won't have to take it out anywhere. You'll get a copy, of course, for your records. I take it you accept the terms?”

I stared into Craig's eyes, searching for a glimmer of the fire I'd seen there earlier, but there was nothing but the bleached effect of driftwood. “Can I sleep on it tonight? Just because, you know, it's a good idea to think things through.”

“Lucy will need an answer today,” Craig said. “Really, Angel, what's to think about? She's being absurdly generous here. And it's almost like a guarantee of employment. You know what the job market is like these days.
Especially
in publishing.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, wanting to let Craig's rumbling Barry White voice wash over me. Looking at him simply ruined the effect.

“Okay,” I said. “You're right, of course. I'm…I couldn't be happier.”

“Good. And there's just one more thing.”

“Yes?” I said. Craig leaned forward, grimacing, and for a moment I thought he was going to tell me that the whole thing was a joke, ha-ha.

“Lucy would like to give you the first year's raise in a lump sum.”

“So—”

“Yes, all at once. Also, although this is a raise, Lucy will pay it to you as if it were a bonus, so we won't be taking any taxes out of it. Again, you'll be responsible for those. I can have a check ready for you by the end of the week. And, of course, the same terms apply. Should you leave before—”

“I think I understand, Craig. I'd owe it all back. Got it.” I was actually counting it in my head, visualizing piles and piles of green dollars laid out on my bed.

“I'll write it up, then?” Craig said.

“Yes, thank you. Thanks so much.”

“Don't thank me,” he said. “It's all her.”

There was an instant message and an e-mail waiting for me when I returned to my desk. The instant message, from Anna, read:
Congratulations.

I didn't stop to think about her bionic hearing or what were the implications of her knowing about my huge pay increase, because the e-mail message demanded my immediate attention.

 

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: BLIND SUBMISSION

Dear Ms. Robinson,

I am indeed pleased that Ms. Fiamma would like to offer me representation. I assure you that when the time is right, I will happily sign on with her. Rest assured that I will not be submitting elsewhere. You have my word. I thank you for getting in touch and look forward to our correspondence.

I will be sending you more text shortly. I am, just now, putting a few finishing touches on a key scene.

With best wishes,
G.

 

The e-mail struck me as both pompous and cheesy, a dreadful combination. I found I was really beginning to dislike this author, which didn't bode well for the manuscript. I mean, really, “ganovelist”?
G
reat
A
merican
Novelist
? There was also something about the language of the e-mail that struck me as very familiar, but I couldn't place it. The whole thing—the manuscript, the e-mails, and the secret identity—was really starting to grate on me. It occurred to me that I should have rejected the manuscript when I'd had the chance, before Lucy even saw it. But then I had the unnerving thought that even if I
had
rejected it, the author would have found a way to get back in. It had become very clear that this particular author knew a little too much about the way things worked at our agency.

“Peeuwww!” Jackson was going through the day's mail. He held an envelope away from his face with one hand and made fanning motions with the other. “This one stinks!”

“What is it?” Anna asked.

“This manuscript smells terrible,” Jackson said. “It reeks.”

“Smokers,” Anna said, and I nodded in agreement. “Their work smells so bad you don't even want to open it, let alone read it. You'd think they'd know that and open a window or something before they print it out.”

“Yes, but if they knew…” It was right there, edging into my mental field of vision. I reached for it—

“Knew what?” Jackson asked.

—and grabbed it. “Peter Johnson!” I exclaimed out loud.

“Smokers knew Peter Johnson?” Anna asked. “What are you talking about?”

“When's the last time we heard from him?” I asked Anna.

“Who's Peter Johnson?” Jackson asked.

“Yeah, it's been awhile, huh?” Anna said. “He used to call every day, didn't he? Did you finally chase him off, Angel? I haven't seen one of his manuscripts for a long time. What was the last one? Wait, I remember, it was that awful one about the Russian spy who…”

I tuned her out as she went on. I knew exactly the last time we'd heard from Peter Johnson—it was the morning I'd given Lucy Malcolm's novel and started that whole mess in motion. He'd hung up on me, but not before giving me his usual speech, which sounded exactly like the words I'd just read in that e-mail. The mystery author had Peter Johnson's literary DNA all over him. And hadn't he said, in that last conversation I'd had with him, that he was giving
us
another chance? It had to be him.

“Hey, Jackson, can you do me a favor?” I said when Anna's breath ran out.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“Can you see if you can find an address or phone number for Peter Johnson in the submissions log? He's submitted so many times, we must have a record of it somewhere. He practically has a log all to himself.”

“Why do you want to contact Peter Johnson?” Anna asked. But before I could answer her, my intercom vibrated with the sound of Lucy's voice.

“Angel? Can we talk?” She sounded like a bad imitation of Joan Rivers. She knew Craig had talked to me about her “absurdly generous” raise and she was waiting for a response. I knew what she wanted. I punched the button on my intercom.

“On my way,” I said, and prepared to go fawn and grovel.

 

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Re: Edit notes

Dear Ms. Robinson,

Thank you for your speedy response to my work. I have already made some of the corrections you suggested in the opening chapters. Let me also say that I am pleased to be working with you, but I'd just like to make sure that Ms. Fiamma is, in fact, the person who will be representing this novel? Before I send you the next installment, I'd like to go over some of your notes for my own clarification. To wit, you say that there should be “more intrigue right up front.” Is it not intriguing enough to place a frustrated writer in a literary agency where she can only hope to usher in the works of other writers? Perhaps not. Perhaps you are suggesting that there needs to be a dead body? I need to kill someone off, as it were? If so, I can arrange that, but I may need a few more chapters to do it. Is this the direction you'd see as best for this novel?

You also say Alice needs more dimension and asked me to define what it is that Alice wants. The answer is: everything. At this point, her goal is to attain as much power as possible and she will be ruthless about obtaining it. She's also a frustrated writer in search of the perfect novel. She wants a bestseller and she doesn't care what she has to do to get one. Perhaps that aspect is not coming across as clearly as it should. (By the way, I appreciate your compliment about how I've gotten the details right where it comes to describing a literary agency. My research has paid off!)

As far as the Carol Moore character, I will try to “flesh her out,” as you say. She is a very powerful character. Indeed, she holds the power that Alice is looking for, and that should come across for the reader. In your notes, you didn't mention whether or not you felt that Carol Moore was sympathetic or not. You did mention that it's important to have the protagonist be somewhat likable, which takes care of Alice (I assume she's not likable enough?), but I'm curious as to your take on Carol, the agent, since she's a very important character as well.

I will look forward to your reply, Ms. Robinson. You can expect my next installment shortly, along with corrections on what I've already sent.

With best wishes,
G.

 

Blind Submission, p. 68

Carol Moore held a staff meeting every morning. In addition to conducting the business of the day, she also liked to get caught up on the manuscripts that her staff was reading and allowed everyone the time to discuss whatever they thought was important. “Fresh ideas are crucial,” Carol said. “And I have hired all of you because you all have excellent ideas on how we can better serve our clients.” To make everyone feel comfortable and to encourage casual dialogue, Carol ordered muffins and coffee for every staff meeting. Alice noticed that Jewel ate at least three muffins every morning. It was starting to show, Alice thought. Those thighs of Jewel's weren't getting any slimmer.

Carol seemed especially excited for today's staff meeting. “It's easy to keep believing that this is just a business like any other,” Carol was saying, “but the truth is that this is art. What our authors do is incredibly important and influential. It means something and their books make a difference in the world. It's so important for us to get them out there—to do what they can't do themselves.”

Alice found herself drifting off as Carol spoke. Carol was right, of course, books were important, but it was too painful for Alice to listen to Carol's adulation of other authors.

“Can you stay here for a moment please, Alice?”

Alice came to attention in time to notice that the meeting was breaking up.

“Of course, Carol,” Alice said, shutting the door behind Jewel and Ricardo.

“Vaughn Blue is very happy with the work you've been doing for him,” Carol said once Alice was sitting down again. Alice's heart started beating a little faster and she searched Carol's face for an indication that Carol might know the real nature of Alice's “work” with Vaughn Blue. But Carol looked very happy and there was no sign that anything was amiss.