cell.”
“I just spoke to him this morning.”
“Yep, me, too. But he left for Las Vegas last night.”
“Las Vegas? Another book convention?”
“No, the next one’s not for another month. I think he’s talking to retailers. You know they have to pay us in advance to get this one, right?”
“No … What do you mean?”
“If retailers want to have the sequel to Jack Clayton’s best-selling book in their stores on release day, they have to cough up 50 percent up front.”
“Before they even get the book?”
“That’s right. It’s never done that I’m aware of, but chains are lining up to pay. It’s a pretty big deal, Jack. If they don’t get in on the initial order, stores have to wait another ten days to get the book in stock. Arthur’s been selling this strategy to retailers since July.”
No wonder he’d been so unrelenting about my writing the book. He’d already collected payments.
“Do you think Shirley can track down Art?”
“She should be able to. Do you want me to transfer you to her when we’re done?”
“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea.”
Judith and I talked for another minute, and then she put me through to Arthur’s assistant.
“Arthur Reed Publishing. Shirley Dawson.”
“Hi, Shirley, it’s Jack.”
“Well, hello there, stranger. When are you coming up to see us again? It’s been forever.”
“I’d love to come up, but Arthur’s got me chained to a desk here. Until he comes back to change my food and water, I’m afraid I’m stuck.”
She laughed. Shirley always laughs at my jokes.
“I hear Arthur’s in Vegas. Could you transfer me to his cell number?”
“I don’t think he’s picking up anymore.”
“Is he in meetings?”
“Probably. He flew into Las Vegas last night, but he’s flying to the East Coast later today.”
“East Coast?”
“Uh-huh. New Jersey, I think.”
“Didn’t you create his itinerary?”
“Not this time. When he has to leave quickly, he usually makes his own arrangements. He checks in later to tell me where he is and when he’s coming back.”
“Do you know any other way to get in touch with him?”
“I should hear from him later this evening or tomorrow, Jack. Do you want me to have him call you?”
“Yes, please ask him to contact me ASAP.”
“I will, Jack. And oh, by the way … congratulations on being Time ’s Person of the Year. We’re all just thrilled!”
I thanked Shirley and pushed the Off button on the portable phone. Arthur Reed had been selling my book for five months—and taking 50 percent of the proceeds from retailers even before I’d agreed to write it. Arthur could be aggressive, certainly ambitious, but this seemed out of character. Dark secrets on the other side of the writing world?
The bedroom TV was tuned to CNN, but with the sound muted. I meant to turn it off before I dozed but never got the chance. I fell asleep in minutes.
~ S IX ~
My heart is old, it holds my memories
My body burns a gem like flame.
—Mr. Mister
“Kyrie”
Mitchell and I talked in a frenzy for the first two hours of the trip, but as we settled into the rhythm of the road, we chose music over talking, the W ELCOME TO P ROVIDENCE sign still hours away.
Mitchell and I had become best friends on a middle-school playground fighting over a green and blue stocking cap that eleven fifth-grade boys were chasing. He got a bloody nose that day, and I got a friend for life. His parents were well-read Republicans who valued public education above everything except University of Iowa football.
The McDaniels’ home was like a natural-history museum. An old stuffed fox perched on the fireplace mantle in a basement that smelled like cherry-balsam pipe smoke, an aroma that wafted in from his father Hank’s workshop. Mitch’s room featured a working model of the human nervous system that lit up inside a translucent man. On summer nights Mitchell’s dad would set up the Celestron telescope, and the three of us would
“I just spoke to him this morning.”
“Yep, me, too. But he left for Las Vegas last night.”
“Las Vegas? Another book convention?”
“No, the next one’s not for another month. I think he’s talking to retailers. You know they have to pay us in advance to get this one, right?”
“No … What do you mean?”
“If retailers want to have the sequel to Jack Clayton’s best-selling book in their stores on release day, they have to cough up 50 percent up front.”
“Before they even get the book?”
“That’s right. It’s never done that I’m aware of, but chains are lining up to pay. It’s a pretty big deal, Jack. If they don’t get in on the initial order, stores have to wait another ten days to get the book in stock. Arthur’s been selling this strategy to retailers since July.”
No wonder he’d been so unrelenting about my writing the book. He’d already collected payments.
“Do you think Shirley can track down Art?”
“She should be able to. Do you want me to transfer you to her when we’re done?”
“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea.”
Judith and I talked for another minute, and then she put me through to Arthur’s assistant.
“Arthur Reed Publishing. Shirley Dawson.”
“Hi, Shirley, it’s Jack.”
“Well, hello there, stranger. When are you coming up to see us again? It’s been forever.”
“I’d love to come up, but Arthur’s got me chained to a desk here. Until he comes back to change my food and water, I’m afraid I’m stuck.”
She laughed. Shirley always laughs at my jokes.
“I hear Arthur’s in Vegas. Could you transfer me to his cell number?”
“I don’t think he’s picking up anymore.”
“Is he in meetings?”
“Probably. He flew into Las Vegas last night, but he’s flying to the East Coast later today.”
“East Coast?”
“Uh-huh. New Jersey, I think.”
“Didn’t you create his itinerary?”
“Not this time. When he has to leave quickly, he usually makes his own arrangements. He checks in later to tell me where he is and when he’s coming back.”
“Do you know any other way to get in touch with him?”
“I should hear from him later this evening or tomorrow, Jack. Do you want me to have him call you?”
“Yes, please ask him to contact me ASAP.”
“I will, Jack. And oh, by the way … congratulations on being Time ’s Person of the Year. We’re all just thrilled!”
I thanked Shirley and pushed the Off button on the portable phone. Arthur Reed had been selling my book for five months—and taking 50 percent of the proceeds from retailers even before I’d agreed to write it. Arthur could be aggressive, certainly ambitious, but this seemed out of character. Dark secrets on the other side of the writing world?
The bedroom TV was tuned to CNN, but with the sound muted. I meant to turn it off before I dozed but never got the chance. I fell asleep in minutes.
~ S IX ~
My heart is old, it holds my memories
My body burns a gem like flame.
—Mr. Mister
“Kyrie”
Mitchell and I talked in a frenzy for the first two hours of the trip, but as we settled into the rhythm of the road, we chose music over talking, the W ELCOME TO P ROVIDENCE sign still hours away.
Mitchell and I had become best friends on a middle-school playground fighting over a green and blue stocking cap that eleven fifth-grade boys were chasing. He got a bloody nose that day, and I got a friend for life. His parents were well-read Republicans who valued public education above everything except University of Iowa football.
The McDaniels’ home was like a natural-history museum. An old stuffed fox perched on the fireplace mantle in a basement that smelled like cherry-balsam pipe smoke, an aroma that wafted in from his father Hank’s workshop. Mitch’s room featured a working model of the human nervous system that lit up inside a translucent man. On summer nights Mitchell’s dad would set up the Celestron telescope, and the three of us would
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