Missing Marlene (18 page)

When Jane arrived at the office the following morning, Daniel hadn’t come in yet, an unusual occurrence. She hung up her coat, opened the blinds to the grim gray day, and watered the philodendron that trailed down from the top of the bookcase in the outer office. Then she went to her desk and called Holly Griffin at Corsair.

“Well, hi, Jane. I was beginning to think you didn’t want to sell me this book.”

Jane had never liked Holly much, and Holly’s passive-aggressive sarcasm was one of the reasons why.

“No, Holly, that’s not it,” Jane said, aware that her fatigue was evident in her voice. “It’s been real busy here.”

“Well, that’s good to hear! Selling lots of books? Nothing I haven’t seen, I hope.”

Jane decided not to answer that. “I’m so pleased you’re as excited about Carol Freund as I am.”

“Carol, yes. She’s very interesting.”

“Interesting? Daniel told me you said you loved her work.”

“I do like it, yes.”

Jane rolled her eyes. This kind of feigned nonchalance was typical at this juncture. She had no patience for it today.

“Holly, why don’t you cut it out and just admit you love the book? If you’re worried it’ll make me hold you up for more money, stop worrying—I intend to hold you up for a lot of money anyway.”

“Now, wait a minute, Jane. I haven’t said I want to buy the book.”

“Oh. Then what are we talking about? Send it back.”

Holly laughed, not a pleasant sound. “Oh, Jane, come on. Why are we playing games?”

“I don’t know, Holly. Why are we?”

“I’m
not. I do like Carol Freund’s novel very much, and yes, I do want to talk to you about the possibility of our publishing it, but as for your holding us up for a lot of money, I’m afraid that’s just out of the question.”

“Send it back.”

“Jane, wait a minute! Let’s talk here. What are you looking for?”

“A hundred.”

“You catch on fast. And that’s for North American rights only. The book is already on submission with my subagents in Europe. Big buzz,” she lied.

“Jane, have you lost your mind? This is a quiet first novel. If we’re lucky we’ll sell ten thousand copies.”

“Send it back. You’re definitely not the right house for it.”

“Ja-a-a-ane, come on now. What are you doing?” Holly’s tone was conciliatory.

Jane took a deep breath. “I told you, Holly, cut it out. I just don’t have time. The book is fantastic and you know it as well as I do. I want a hundred thousand dollars for it, and that’s hard/soft,” she said, referring to a deal in which the publisher bought both hardcover and paperback rights at the same time. “That’s a bargain.”

“I can offer you fifty.”

“Send it back.”

“Sixty.”

“I’m hanging up, Holly.”

“All right! I can go to a hundred.” There was a long pause. “Can I have two books for a hundred each?”

“No. You can have the first book for a hundred and the second book for two hundred.”

“You’re out of your mind!”

“Then one book it is. We can talk about the price of the second book later—assuming you get it.”

“What do you mean, assuming I get it? It’ll be my option book.”

“Option, floption. Treat her right, publish her right, she’s yours. Make a mistake, and we’ll get out of the option and you know it.”

“Jane, I’ve never heard you talk like this. Is something wrong? Are you angry about something?”

“Yes, something is wrong, and I am angry about something, but it’s got nothing to do with you, Holly.”

“Oh, good. Now where were we?”

“One book or two?”

“I’ll have to ask Jack,” Holly said, referring to her editor in chief. “He only authorized me to go to a hundred on the one book.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you just offer it to me instead of playing these stupid games?”

“You know why, Jane. If I could have had it for fifty, I’d have done so.”

“‘I’d have done so,’ ” Jane mimicked her quietly.

From the outer office came the sounds of Daniel coming in the back door. He passed Jane’s doorway and gave a tentative little wave.

“So do we have a deal?” Holly asked.

“I don’t know. I have to run it past my client.”

“Oh, right. Okay, speak with her and get back to me. By the way, where does she live? You said in your letter that she’s a former schoolteacher, but you don’t say where she lives.”

“Northampton, Mass. A very nice woman.”
Who doesn’t deserve an editor like you.
“I’ll call her and get back to you. Oh, and Holly—?”

“Yes?”

“If
you get this book, when you speak to Carol, try to sound a little more excited about it than you have with me.”

“Jane, I told you—”

“Bye, Holly.” Jane hung up. “Jerk.” Then she jumped up and began dancing in place beside her chair. “Yes! Yes!”

This was the biggest deal she’d made in a long time—not since making Roger’s last deal, in fact. And this was a first novel—an amazing debut. Holly was excited, Jane could tell. This book was going to be big. She couldn’t wait to call Carol.

She remembered that Daniel had come in. “Good morning,” she called cheerily.

“‘Morning,” he replied. He sounded different than usual, subdued.

She went out to see him. He was at his desk, sorting through some papers. When he looked up, his expression was glum.

She sat down in the chair facing his desk. “You and Laura stay out too late last night?” she joked.

“No.” He didn’t even smile.

Something must be wrong between them. Perhaps they’d had an argument last night, or even broken up. Jane realized she had better tread carefully. “Anything I can help with?”

Abruptly he put down his papers and met her gaze. “Jane, I’m leaving.”

She stared at him, befuddled. “Leaving? Leaving where?”

“Here. This agency.”

Comprehension hit her like a fist. She felt dizzy. She had never imagined that Daniel would leave the agency. They were friends. Like family. She had such plans for him. She would teach him all she could, as Kenneth had taught her, and when he was ready she would make him her partner.... But it was too soon; he hadn’t given her a chance. She felt her world coming down around her.

“Why?” she breathed.

“Jane, I didn’t tell you—I couldn’t tell you—I was approached by Silver and Payne—”

“Silver and Payne!” she screamed. “You’re going to Silver and Payne—that horrible place that treated Kenneth and me like dirt, that place that screwed Kenneth out of thousands and thousands of dollars in commissions? That place where that monster Beryl Patrice sneaks flasks of vodka into a stall in the ladies’ room and comes out like Ms. Hyde?”

He just looked at her. “Well ... yes.”

“Oh boy.” She looked away, studied the carpet. “This is too much. Why? How? When?”

“Beryl called me. She’d heard about me. They’d lost an agent, and she wanted me to fill the spot.”

She looked at him shrewdly.
“How
did she hear about you?”

He hesitated, then said, “It must have been from Roger.”

“Roger? What’s he got to do with this?”

“He’s signed with them. With Beryl.”

She glared at him in horror. “Beryl Patrice—Silver and Payne—took
Roger?”

He nodded.

“I can’t believe it,” she said. “I just can’t believe it. It’s surreal. And you’re going there to be an agent.”

He said nothing.

“Have you already accepted?”

“Yes. Jane, please try to understand. This was an offer I just couldn’t turn down. It’s—well, it’s a lot more than I make here. Not that I’ve resented what you’ve paid me, but Laura and I, well, we want to get married and we’d like to buy a house someday soon, and to get a down payment . . .”

She put up her hand. “Say no more. I understand.” She forced her mouth into a smile. “You’re very dear to me, and I want what’s best for you. You don’t have to explain.”

“That’s what Laura said you’d say.”

“But you could have told me,” she reproached him.

“I’m sorry.”

“So you knew Roger had signed with them, and you didn’t tell me.”

He looked down, ashamed.

“When are you leaving?”

“I thought two weeks would be fair.”

“Fine. Fine.” She knew she shouldn’t say what she was thinking, but she couldn’t help it. “Your timing is frigging perfect.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just sold Carol Freund for a hundred, maybe even three hundred thousand dollars, so maybe things aren’t as slow here as you think.”

“Jane!” he protested. “I never said I thought things were slow here. I love it here. This has nothing to do with you or this agency. I—it wasn’t me—”

“It was Laura. I understand. And she’s right. You and I will still be friends. At least, I hope we will. And I do want what’s best for you. It’s just that this isn’t it.”

“The money . . .”

“Money is nice, Daniel, if you don’t have to pay too high a price for it.”

He sat thoughtfully for a moment. “What you said about timing. Is there anything else? Something wrong?”

“Oh, no,” she said lightly, “other than that I still haven’t found Marlene, and that last night a man attacked me.”

“Attacked you! Who?”

“Gil Dapero. I was on my way home from Ernie and Louise’s. He must have followed me earlier, known my car.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Terrified me, mostly.” She laughed, remembering. “I guess I was the one who attacked him. And I got away, obviously.”

“What did the police say?”

“Didn’t call ’em.”

“Why not?”

“Because the reason he came after me in the first place was that he thought I’d sent the police to make his life a misery. That man is out of control. I can call the police and go to court and get restraining orders, but he’ll ignore all that and come after me or Nick or Florence. No”—she shook her head vehemently—“no police.”

She rose.

“Jane—” he said, clearly wanting to talk more, make things right between them. But she ignored him, walked into her office, and closed the door.

She sat at her desk and gazed down at the notes she’d made while talking to Holly. She picked up her pen and circled the numbers, doodled triangles and stars around them. She should call Carol Freund, but she couldn’t yet, not now. Carol deserved an excited delivery of Jane’s news.

In two weeks she’d be alone here. More alone than she’d been since Kenneth’s death. She could hire a real secretary, someone without ambitions to be an agent. Or she could hire another Daniel, a brilliant, warm, funny, wonderful young man with the best judgment in books of anyone she knew. Sure, that was it. She’d place an ad and wait for the line to start forming.

“Damn it!” she said, throwing down her pen, and gazed out the window into the darkness of the woods behind the building. She shifted her gaze to one of the photos on her credenza. It was of her and Kenneth with four-year-old Nick between them, taken in Cape May. They’d rented a sailboat and Jane had worried about Nick, but Kenneth had insisted he’d be all right and bundled the poor little thing in an enormous orange life jacket. They were all wearing them in the picture, and they were smiling, laughing really, and Kenneth had his hand on Jane’s shoulder—she could almost feel it there now—and Jane had her arm tight around Nick’s middle.

So happy then. “Oh, Kenneth,” she murmured, and her shoulders slumped. “How would you handle it?” And she burst into tears.

At twelve-thirty Daniel had appeared in Jane’s doorway and asked if she’d like to join him for lunch. She knew he wanted to talk more about his leaving, wanted to smooth things over between them, but she couldn’t yet, it was too raw.

Now she gazed down at the dense print of a book contract, unable to concentrate. After twenty minutes she gave up and shoved the contract aside. Idly she embellished the doodles she’d made on her Holly Griffin notes.

She heard the front door open. Good, Daniel was back. She’d put him out of his misery, see if he wanted to talk now.

“Daniel,” she said, emerging into the outer office, and stopped short.

Roger stood in the middle of the room, dapper in a navy overcoat. For a moment they just stared at each other.

He broke the silence. “Hello, Jane.” His tone was formal.

“Roger,” she greeted him, equally cool.

“I’ve come to say good-bye. I’m leaving Shady Hills. I’ve given up the bungalow, in case you know anyone who might like it.”

“Oh, good, I’ll get out my list.”

He made a pained expression. “Please, Jane, let’s be civil.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Oh, I can do you one better than that. What do you say we just don’t talk to each other at all? But then you wouldn’t be able to say whatever it is you came to say, because you sure as hell didn’t come here to say good-bye.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “No, you’re right, Jane. That isn’t the only reason I’m here. I wanted to talk to you about Marlene.”

“Marlene!”

“Yes. Have you heard from her?”

She shook her head, watching him closely.

“That’s a shame,” he said, “because I’ve been giving what happened between me and Marlene a lot of thought. Specifically, the money I lent her. And I’ve come to the realization that if Marlene is unwilling to pay it back, you’re liable. She was, after all, in your employ—your responsibility, as you yourself put it.”

Jane gaped at him, the way one might regard a creature from another planet. Then, before she herself was even aware of it, she was laughing hysterically.

Roger looked alarmed. “I fail to see the humor in this.”

“Do you? I—” she said, the laughter rocking her. “I think it’s marvelously funny. Why don’t you go to the police, see if they can help you out?”

His mouth set firmly in annoyance. “I couldn’t do that, Jane, and you know it.”

“Why not consider it Marlene’s payment for services rendered?”

“I’m serious, Jane. As Marlene’s employer, you owe me that money.”

“Sue me for it.”

“You know I couldn’t—wouldn’t do that, either. I want you to just think about what I’ve said. I want to work this out amicably between us. But I want that money.”

Abruptly she grew serious, the laughter vanishing. “Listen, you pompous old fool. The only person who owes you that money is Marlene, whose location is a mystery to me. If you find her, you can take it up with her.” She put her hands back on her hips, defying him to argue further.

He regarded her for a moment, sizing her up. Then he turned to leave. As he did, the door opened and Daniel entered.

Roger’s face brightened. “Ah, the young prodigy. I understand you’ve accepted a job—”

But he couldn’t finish because Daniel, his face the very picture of loathing, drew back his fist and drove it straight into Roger’s nose.

“Ah! Ah!” Roger cried, his hands covering his face. Blood seeped out from between his fingers.

“Daniel!” Jane cried, horrified.

Daniel gave no response, continuing to watch Roger with contempt.

“What the hell did you do that for, you crazy fool!” Roger cried. “You’ve broken my nose! After all I did for you! Well, we’ll see about that.” Moaning, he stumbled out of the office, leaving in his wake a trail of red droplets on the carpet.

Daniel went behind his desk. He looked more agitated than Jane had ever seen him. Methodically he began sorting through some files, clearly trying to compose himself.

“I’m sorry, Jane,” he said at last, without looking up. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She smiled, though not understanding. “Anybody who punches Roger Haines in the nose is a friend of mine—just on general principles. But why did you do that, Daniel?”

“He ... he told Beryl Patrice some not-very-nice things about you.”

“Oh, really? For instance? Never mind,” she added quickly. “I don’t want to know ... do I?”

“No,” he said, looking at her soberly, “you don’t.”

She felt a warm rush of affection for him. She went to him and kissed him on the cheek. “My hero.”

He looked away, busily shuffling and sorting.

Jane, smiling, quietly returned to her office.