game.”
“His name is Victor. Me and two other ladies from my women’s group take him meals.”
“Well, we’d be Victor’s neighbor, complete with his ‘n her cardboard bedrooms.”
“Are you saying you want me to get a full-time job?”
My fragile male ego took her offer as an insult. “No, of course not. You want to balance part-time work and volunteering at
the church, and you should stay with it.” I tried to change the subject. “Ya know, I was just thinking that you and I haven’t
slow-danced in the kitchen in a long while.”
Great timing, Ned.
Angie sat back and folded her arms around her knees. “What I’d really like is to talk to Larry in person about his story.”
I stood and forced myself not to overreact. “But you were about to set flame to it.”
“Oh, Ned, I knew you had other copies. You always have other copies. I just didn’t want this in my house. Can you imagine
what our friends at church will think if you agent this? If you attach our good name to ‘believers kidnap pagans’? Not to
mention my coworkers at the journal.”
I glanced at my watch and tucked the papers under my arm. “Honey, um, I have to meet a client in a bit, and you know how traffic
is…. I’d better scoot.”
I leaned down and kissed her cheek—which was all she offered.
My meeting was actually a day’s worth of phone calls. I just said what I did on instinct, to bow out gracefully and avoid
argument. Truth was, not only had I sent two copies to L.A., I’d received an inquiry from a studio exec. Perhaps this would
amount to nothing; he certainly was nowhere near the point of discussing numbers. Inmy business, “numbers” were all that mattered. When someone said they were going to send numbers, it meant that an offer was
forthcoming, that their initial interest in a project was about to be, well,
monetized.
In our bedroom I exchanged my bathrobe for a white button-down, an orange Tennessee tie, and pleated khakis—my usual summer
garb.
I left the house in a hurry and backed my Saab into the street. At the first stoplight I caught myself thinking like an amateur
agent. My mind would not stop sifting through possible deal amounts. Five figures? Did I dare dream of
six?
Then I began calculating fifteen percent of various sums and comparing them to our debt.
Debt be gone?
Possibilities swarmed in my head, and I hardly remembered pulling into the second deck of the parking garage. It was there,
while my car idled and the AC blew, that I called Larry.
He didn’t even answer with a greeting. “The shoes fit now, Ned. Turns out I had swollen feet, due to all my pacing in the
park, wondering about my future and hoping you were going to sell this thing.”
I reclined my seat and said, “Things look… interesting.”
“Whaddaya mean, ‘interesting’?” He sounded like he was eating.
“What are ya munching on, Larry?”
“Bagels… from Atwanta Bwead Company.”
“Plain, right?” Larry was even more anti-butter than he was anti-prude.
“Wight. Now what about ‘interesting’?”
“I mean there’s a possibility of interested parties.”
A short pause. “You’re serious?”
“Well, it’s still very early.”
“Ned, I really hope this works out. For both of us. And I hope I spelled all the words correctly. You know what a perfectionist
I am.”
What I said next was only to temper his enthusiasm. “Angie tried to burn your manuscript this morning. She doesn’t think our
Baptist roots jive with the content of your story.”
Larry sighed into the phone. “I wish people would cut me some slack. This story may not be what she thinks.”
“I’ll give you slack. It’s Angie I’m worried about.” I glanced down at my tie and smoothed out a wrinkle. “Your story has
got my wife in a tizzy, plus… I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
This time the pause was longer, as if he was now leery of me. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Are you still
“His name is Victor. Me and two other ladies from my women’s group take him meals.”
“Well, we’d be Victor’s neighbor, complete with his ‘n her cardboard bedrooms.”
“Are you saying you want me to get a full-time job?”
My fragile male ego took her offer as an insult. “No, of course not. You want to balance part-time work and volunteering at
the church, and you should stay with it.” I tried to change the subject. “Ya know, I was just thinking that you and I haven’t
slow-danced in the kitchen in a long while.”
Great timing, Ned.
Angie sat back and folded her arms around her knees. “What I’d really like is to talk to Larry in person about his story.”
I stood and forced myself not to overreact. “But you were about to set flame to it.”
“Oh, Ned, I knew you had other copies. You always have other copies. I just didn’t want this in my house. Can you imagine
what our friends at church will think if you agent this? If you attach our good name to ‘believers kidnap pagans’? Not to
mention my coworkers at the journal.”
I glanced at my watch and tucked the papers under my arm. “Honey, um, I have to meet a client in a bit, and you know how traffic
is…. I’d better scoot.”
I leaned down and kissed her cheek—which was all she offered.
My meeting was actually a day’s worth of phone calls. I just said what I did on instinct, to bow out gracefully and avoid
argument. Truth was, not only had I sent two copies to L.A., I’d received an inquiry from a studio exec. Perhaps this would
amount to nothing; he certainly was nowhere near the point of discussing numbers. Inmy business, “numbers” were all that mattered. When someone said they were going to send numbers, it meant that an offer was
forthcoming, that their initial interest in a project was about to be, well,
monetized.
In our bedroom I exchanged my bathrobe for a white button-down, an orange Tennessee tie, and pleated khakis—my usual summer
garb.
I left the house in a hurry and backed my Saab into the street. At the first stoplight I caught myself thinking like an amateur
agent. My mind would not stop sifting through possible deal amounts. Five figures? Did I dare dream of
six?
Then I began calculating fifteen percent of various sums and comparing them to our debt.
Debt be gone?
Possibilities swarmed in my head, and I hardly remembered pulling into the second deck of the parking garage. It was there,
while my car idled and the AC blew, that I called Larry.
He didn’t even answer with a greeting. “The shoes fit now, Ned. Turns out I had swollen feet, due to all my pacing in the
park, wondering about my future and hoping you were going to sell this thing.”
I reclined my seat and said, “Things look… interesting.”
“Whaddaya mean, ‘interesting’?” He sounded like he was eating.
“What are ya munching on, Larry?”
“Bagels… from Atwanta Bwead Company.”
“Plain, right?” Larry was even more anti-butter than he was anti-prude.
“Wight. Now what about ‘interesting’?”
“I mean there’s a possibility of interested parties.”
A short pause. “You’re serious?”
“Well, it’s still very early.”
“Ned, I really hope this works out. For both of us. And I hope I spelled all the words correctly. You know what a perfectionist
I am.”
What I said next was only to temper his enthusiasm. “Angie tried to burn your manuscript this morning. She doesn’t think our
Baptist roots jive with the content of your story.”
Larry sighed into the phone. “I wish people would cut me some slack. This story may not be what she thinks.”
“I’ll give you slack. It’s Angie I’m worried about.” I glanced down at my tie and smoothed out a wrinkle. “Your story has
got my wife in a tizzy, plus… I need to ask you a couple of questions.”
This time the pause was longer, as if he was now leery of me. “Sure, go ahead.”
“Are you still
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