Blind Submission by Debra Ginsberg Page A

I…just one moment, please.” I brushed some more papers out of my way. “Say, Nora, could you maybe help me find the phone number for—”
    â€œI’m really busy,” Nora said, sighing. “But you might want to try turning on your computer. All the phone numbers are listed in the database.”
    I gave her a look of disbelief. I hadn’t even seen the computer behind the reams of paper. Surely she had the number in one of the Rolodexes she was so intent on searching. I couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t give it to me.
    â€œAngel!” Lucy’s voice shouted through my intercom once more. “I can’t talk to Gordon Hart now. If you’ve got him on the line, tell him I’ll get back to him.”
    As she finished this pronouncement, the phone started ringing again.
    â€œYou should get that,” Nora said. “Lucy wants
you
to answer the phone.”
    â€œI know,” I snapped. “Thanks for your help.”
    â€œHuh!” Nora favored me with a look of pure indignation and reached below her desk for something unseen. For a moment, I was sure she was going to pull out some sort of weapon, but instead it was a box of Slender-Aid diet protein powder, which she opened and proceeded to eat dry, with a spoon. I picked up the phone.
    â€œGood morning, Lucy Fiamma Literary Agency.”
    There was a long pause on the other end of the line, punctuated by what sounded like heavy breathing. I tried again. “Lucy Fiamma Literary Agency. Hello?”
    â€œYes,” a man’s voice (and a smoker by the sound of it) finally spoke. “Lucy Fiamma, please.”
    â€œI’m sorry, she’s on another line at the moment, can I help you?”
    â€œShe’s reviewing my work,” he said, “and I’d like to know when we’ll be able to discuss it.”
    â€œCertainly,” I said. “May I have your name, please?”
    â€œPeter Johnson,” he said. Proudly, I thought.
    â€œPlease hold,” I said, and put him in limbo. “Nora?” I couldn’t help myself, I needed her. “Peter Johnson’s on the line. Should I—”
    â€œHe calls every day,” Nora said, sniffing over her protein powder. “We keep rejecting him but he never goes away. His manuscripts stink of cigarettes. Ugh. He should really quit.” Two other lines began ringing simultaneously. “You’d better get those,” Nora said. “Lucy wants you—”
    I punched Line 2. “Lucy Fiamma Literary Ag—”
    â€œThis is Lorraine. I need to talk to her now, please. Don’t tell me she’s on another line.” Lorraine sounded as if she were weeping.
    â€œOkay, please hold, Lorraine.”
    I punched Line 3. “Lucy Fiamma Agency.”
    â€œYes, this is Fabio and I’m calling to confirm Ms. Fiamma’s dinner reservations for this evening at Baciare Ristorante?”
    â€œPlease hold.”
    I stared at the three blinking lines in total dismay. The obvious choice was to put Lorraine (whom I assumed was the same Lorraine Lucy had been instructing to write through anesthesia) through to Lucy, but I was rapidly learning that the obvious choice wasn’t necessarily the right one in this office. Occam’s razor was turned on its ear here. I took a chance anyway and buzzed Lucy.
    â€œYes?” she said.
    â€œHi, Lucy, I’ve got Lorraine on Line 2 and Fabio from Baciare on Line 3?”
    â€œFabio!” she exclaimed. “Put him through.”
    Right. Fabio went to Lucy and I punched Line 2, dreading the conversation I was about to have with the weepy Lorraine.
    â€œHi? Lorraine? This is Angel Robinson, Lucy’s new assistant. I’m really sorry, but Lucy’s on a ca—conference call at the moment and she really can’t get off. But she asked me to tell you that she’ll call you back the minute she finishes.” I didn’t know where