The Living Room (29 page)

“I missed that in the summary.”

“It will be there,” Amy replied, shifting in her chair.

The women continued to eat; however, for Amy the salad had lost some of its appeal. The disapproval from the other two women about the direction of the new novel hung heavy in the air.

“Tell me what you really think,” she blurted out. “Now is the time before I invest a year of my life writing this book. I’ve never shared my ideas so early in the process. After today, I’m going to be second-guessing myself every time I turn on the computer.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Natalie replied immediately. “And I trust you enough to know that you’ll use the gift God has given you in the best way possible. Don’t let me discourage you; I’d never do that.”

Amy bit her lower lip. “But it’s so easy for me to feel insecure,
especially when I consider doing something different from what I’ve done before.”

“I agree with Natalie that you’re sincere and talented,” Ms. Burris said calmly. “However, my question is whether the verse from Ephesians is the basis for a new novel or preparation for what you’re going to face in your own life.”

Amy felt like she’d been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. She didn’t breathe for a few seconds.

“Are you sure about that?” she managed.

“No,” Ms. Burris said. “But you asked us what we really thought, and I felt that I should mention it. Would either of you like something else to drink?”

“Water, please,” Amy mumbled.

Ms. Burris left for the kitchen. Amy immediately turned to Natalie.

“Is she right? My agent and Jeff didn’t have a problem with the concept. And I know I wouldn’t write something that dishonored the Lord.”

“Please, Amy. You can’t expect me to be the Holy Spirit for you.”

Even though Natalie was right, Amy felt put off. Ms. Burris returned with Amy’s water and then asked Natalie a question that took the conversation in another direction. Amy didn’t participate. She silently followed the other women as Ms. Burris gave Natalie a tour of the house. When it was time to leave, Amy didn’t ask Ms. Burris to pray.

“Are you okay?” Natalie asked as they walked toward their cars.

“How could I be?”

nineteen

A
much less confident Amy returned to the office and tried to focus on her work. Late in the afternoon her cell phone vibrated. Usually she didn’t answer during the day unless it was Jeff or one of the kids, but Bernie’s picture appeared. Hoping for an emotional lift, Amy quickly closed the door between her work area and Mr. Phillips’s office.

“You answered,” Bernie said with surprise. “Is your boss playing golf this afternoon?”

“No, but he should be back shortly. He had lunch with a client, then went directly into a full-fledged meeting.”

“So the client buys lunch and gets billed for the time.”

“Yes.”

“Pretty soon you may be able to afford filet mignon for both of us,” Bernie replied.

“What do you mean?”

“The synopsis you sent me for the new novel was dynamic. I shot it out of the cannon to acquisitions editors at four of the big six and hit bull’s-eyes with two of them.”

The publishing industry was dominated by six companies with global distribution capabilities.

“If we play this right, we may be looking at an auction for your services.”

“An auction?”

“We set up a conference call and parade you around the paddock like a prize broodmare. The bidders weigh in with competing offers. When the bidding stops, we decide which stable will have the benefit of your services.”

Amy didn’t like the analogy.

“What about Dave Coley? Did you talk to him?”

“Not yet, but he wouldn’t be able to pay the entrance fee for this kind of sweepstakes.”

“I still want to let Dave and Cecilia read the synopsis for the book. I trust her instincts, and they took a chance on me when no one else would.”

“And you’ve rewarded them with two novels that are better than most of the titles they bring to market. This is the way it works, and they know it.”

Amy didn’t doubt Bernie’s knowledge about the publishing industry, but that didn’t make it feel right.

“Don’t fret. I’m going to send it over to Dave eventually,” Bernie continued. “But I wanted to see if I could get a nibble from New York before defaulting to plan B. And I got a lot more than a nibble. One of the editors bought a copy of
A
Great
and
Precious
Promise
and read it before calling me back.”

“You’re kidding. What did she think about it?”

“That it was an excellent first effort but only showcased a hint of your potential.”

“And she understands I’m a Christian.”

“As plain as if you stuck a Bible verse beneath your face on a billboard. Look, these editors know the kind of writers who get contracts from Christian publishing companies. It’s self-evident. The issue is whether a person has enough storytelling chops and writing ability to produce a book that can stand on its own outside the Christian ghetto. Most can’t and won’t ever get the chance to try. You’re about to become part of a small minority. This could be a big deal in every way. Think about reaching an audience beyond white-haired ladies who think coffee with caffeine is a strong drink.”

“It’s tempting,” Amy said, then quickly added, “That’s not the word I wanted to use. I mean, it’s an opportunity I need to pray about.”

“Pray quick, because we have to strike while there’s an open door. If sales of
The
Everlasting
Arms
go into the toilet, this door will close and there won’t be a keyhole on our side. Right now, the acquisitions editors in New York can spin up sales projections to present to a publication committee without having to back them up with facts. Once the second book is released, there will be hard numbers that can’t be manipulated as easily.”

“How quick are you talking about?”

“A week or two. That will give me time to run the new novel past Dave Coley even though I know what his reaction will be. Also, do you think you can churn out a few chapters to show that you’ve got the ability to write with the big boys and girls?”

The reaction from Ms. Burris and Natalie at lunch was like a ball and chain wrapped around Amy’s creativity. If she was going to produce anything, it would take a mammoth effort.

“Maybe I could send you two chapters in two weeks,” she said tentatively. “It goes slower at the beginning because I’m just getting to know the characters.”

“Take the characters out to dinner and make it three chapters so it’s a nice round number. The prospects of a fatter contract, a bigger advance, and a broader stage should motivate you.”

“How large could the advance be?”

“It depends on whether we can generate healthy competition. Two or more publishers bidding for your services could push it to around one hundred thousand dollars per book on a three-book deal.”

“Are you serious?” Amy’s mouth dropped open.

“Yes. Advances aren’t what they used to be, but fresh voices with concepts that have curb appeal are always hot. The editor I talked with is already thinking about how to market you.”

“What did she say?”

“We didn’t get into specifics, but it’s healthy that she’s looking ahead.”

The call ended, leaving Amy to process what Bernie told her. There had been something different in the agent’s voice. He’d never treated her in such a professional manner.

The interest by the acquisitions editors in New York didn’t erase the reservations about the new novel expressed by Natalie and Ms. Burris at lunch, but it sure helped. Amy decided she would consider what they’d said, but until she received a clear signal from the Lord that she was on the wrong track, she would continue in the same direction.

Ian was at Bobby’s house and Megan was with Alecia. Amy stood in front of the open refrigerator door wishing that Jeff would call and tell her they were going out for supper. Friday night was the time she most wanted to avoid the kitchen. Dining at a restaurant, even if it was only a step above fast food, felt like a reward for making it through another week. She stepped back and let the refrigerator door slowly swing shut, then took out her cell phone and stared at it. The phone vibrated. It was Jeff.

“That is weird,” she said. “I had my phone in my hand hoping you’d call.”

“I can sense your desires within a twenty-five-mile radius of the house. Also, I know how much you like to eat out on Friday night because you’ve told me at least two hundred times during our marriage.”

“Don’t say too much. You’ll lose your brownie points. How far away are you?”

“About ten minutes. I told the kids to leave you notes so you’d know where they were.”

“They did.”

“Where would you like to go? We can swing by and pick up Megan and Ian on the way. How about Mexican? I thought we could go to Los Reyes.”

Amy would agree to any suggestion, so long as someone else cooked the food and brought it to the table.

The Mexican restaurant was a casual place. Amy changed from her work clothes into blue jeans and a sweater she knew Jeff liked. As she buttoned her jeans it seemed she’d lost a couple of pounds since returning to the law office. Even though she’d always been a healthy eater, working kept her from snacking during the day. She sent Megan a text about the plans for supper and called Bobby’s mother to relay the message to Ian. Jeff arrived covered with Sheetrock dust and took a quick shower. As soon as they were in the car, Amy took advantage of the few moments they would have alone.

“I need to tell you about my lunch with Natalie and Ms. Burris.”

When she mentioned Natalie’s desire to publish children’s books, Jeff interrupted.

“Do you think she has a chance?”

“She’s a good artist, and illustrations are the key with children’s books. A decent story with great illustrations has a better shot than a good story with lousy pictures. And if I can get a publishing contract, then she could, too. But that’s not the main thing. I told Natalie and Ms. Burris about my new novel, and they didn’t like it.”

“Why?”

Amy explained as best she could the women’s concerns.

“It really shook my confidence,” she said.

“Yeah, but you’re the writer, and you should do what you think is best.”

“I also got a call from Bernie. He sent the synopsis for
Deeds
of
Darkness
to some acquisitions editors with publishers in New York and received encouraging feedback, especially from one woman.”

As Amy repeated the rest of the conversation, she saw Jeff’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. She hesitated before mentioning the possibility of a six-figure advance but felt that it wouldn’t be right to hold back important information. Jeff didn’t try to hide his shock.

“Amy,” he said, then shut his mouth.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, “but I can’t let money dictate what I do.”

“Bernie isn’t talking about money dictating what you do.” Jeff shook his head. “If that’s how much a publisher would pay, I’d rather you make a hundred thousand dollars than another writer. I can’t imagine that much money landing in our bank account. What would we do with it?”

Amy hadn’t thought that far ahead, either. They turned into the driveway at the Pickenses’ house. Ian and Bobby were throwing a football in the front yard. Ian ran over to the car and opened the door.

“Let Bobby’s mother know that you’re leaving,” Amy said.

Ian yelled at Bobby, “Tell your mom that my parents picked me up, and I wasn’t kidnapped by Mexican drug dealers.”

“What are you talking about?” Amy asked when Ian was inside the car.

“You told Mrs. Pickens that we were going to eat Mexican food for supper,” Ian answered.

“And why did that make you think about being kidnapped by Mexican drug dealers?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Amy said.

Ian didn’t respond. He was making a face at Bobby through the car window. Amy thought about her new novel. When Ian became the object of a fictitious plot to kidnap him and drag him across the border, Amy disliked the idea more than Natalie and Ms. Burris.