Just Her Type (15 page)

“This is our first pass together,” Kendra said. “I
like to do
at
least
three or four passes with the writer, focusing on the
developmental part and then there’s some fine-tuning, before I go out with a
manuscript. It increases the odds of not only getting published, but also
getting published
well
. You do want
the best deal and publishing partner possible, right?”

 
“I
need a minute,” said as if Corinne mulling over Kendra’s words.

“Are you okay?”
 
Kendra took a chance and reached out to
touch Corinne’s arm anyway.

“Yes. I understand what you’re saying. I do want a
great book deal, but—”

“Good. And you’d better believe I
will
fight to get that for you.”
 
Kendra wasn’t a writer, but she
understood the disillusionment on Corinne’s face. Listening to or reading the
cool deconstruction of one’s hard work could be demoralizing. No matter how
many positive reviews a particular work had received, negative reviews could
leave a writer nauseated, despondent, and creatively blocked for weeks, which
was the reason she’d advised the more sensitive types to avoid them altogether,
especially certain snarky blogs and that
BookDish
social networking site where animation and mocking GIF images laced the most
brutal reviews.

Kendra had experienced similar frustration after
Lizzy’s
The Single Girl’s Guide to Cute
Coupledom
went unsold after making the rounds of numerous editors:

Not enough
depth. Not enough solid research or case studies. Not strong enough to compete
with similar books in the oversaturated self-help market.

 
Cute Coupledom? Title can be changed of
course, but the premise and execution is too, well, cute. I’m just not in love
with it.

The author
goes by Lizzy?
Auto-reject without the benefit of a request for a synopsis
or a partial after one pitch email.

Not dynamic.
Too niche. Topic should be condensed to a bulleted brochure for an online
dating site.

Has a
certain appeal. Breezily written, but I’ve decided not to pursue.

And there was not only the old sloppy seconds to
battle, but also the thorny thirds, the filthy fourths and so on. Word tended
to get around. If A Certain Editor didn’t go for it, how good could it be?
Kendra took great care deciding to whom she granted early reads of projects
especially close to her heart. Because she understood the politics and the
subjective nature of the business she tried not to dwell on such rejections for
long—particularly when the comments contradicted others.
 

Besides, she had also rejected the occasional good
manuscript in a genre she represented for purely nonsensical reasons. She’d
either chalk up those passes to her gut or a raging bout of PMS. And she was
grateful none of those rejected manuscripts, as far as she knew, had gone on to
become blockbusters.

With Lizzy’s manuscript she’d kept hustling,
working the numbers; it only took one acquisitions editor to see its potential.
Eventually she’d found that person. The book and subsequent companion releases
became solid hits after publication.

“So I’m assuming you’ll need some time to think.
You tell me how much.” Kendra wanted to see how Corinne handled the editorial
letter
and
Momster Ostertag, who
would surely get a detailed account of this meeting and Kendra’s comments.

“Yes. I don’t mean to be a prima donna. Of course,
I can take constructive criticism.”

“Was this novel workshopped in your MFA program?”

“No, not this one. A published faculty member,
whose work I’d long admired, looked over an early draft. But it’s changed a lot
since then. Only Mother read it before I sought representation.
 
I wonder if I’m capable of making the
adjustments to your satisfaction. You note what I need to change, but you don’t
give me much detail on
how
to change
it.”

“You’re the writer.”

“But I thought I’d delivered my best.”

“I understand, but remember, you’re close to the
work. Sometimes someone with a little distance can tell you what to tweak to
take good to great. I’m that person, and I believe you’re capable. After you’ve
had a chance to read and digest the entire letter you’ll feel better about it.
I’ve included a list of questions at the back to guide you. And I’ve made
copious notes in the margins of a hard copy I’m going to mail back to you.”

Corinne flipped to the back page of the revision
letter.

“You’ve written a beautiful, engrossing book,
Corinne, so let me add, these are not demands,” Kendra continued. “I’d like to
think of them as
suggestions
.”
 
She tried injecting more warmth in what
had started to feel like an oft-repeated stump speech. “And it’s your work.
You
have to be happy with it. You’re
free to disagree. All I ask is that you take your time to reflect on the notes
and not dismiss them outright.”

“Sounds fair,” Corinne said, brightening
considerably. “I’ve read every author, well, um, almost every author, I mean,
every
literary
author on your roster.
Sorry, but books with a lot of explicit sex make me uncomfortable.”

“No need to apologize.”
 

“I prefer love scenes that leave more to the
imagination,” Corinne said.

“Different strokes…” Perhaps this was Corinne’s
way of letting Kendra know she had no intention of steaming up
Four Simple Wishes
. There was no such
request in the revision letter.

 
“Chick
lit is not my bailiwick, either,” Corinne went on. “But I realize you can learn
to improve craft from everything so I do try to read high and low.”

“Low?”

“You know, genre or popular fiction,” Corinne said
as if referring to the text on a box of Fruity Pebbles. “I get that there’s a
type of comfort in simple, formulaic reads. You don’t have to tax the brain as
much. More complex narratives obviously require more work. I’ll take in an
occasional cozy mystery, a thriller, and some science fiction. Oh, and I read
one of those Amish romances once.”

“Is that right?” Kendra replied without rancor.
She’d grown used to condescending attitudes about most of the books on her
list. Winking all the way to the bank tended to put pejorative comments in
perspective.

“And because I can use all the help I can get in
the man-hunting department, I read that ‘cute coupledom’ self-help guide by
Lizzy what’s-her-name, and I actually liked it. I respect your opinion.
Dunston’s
Pass
was superb and
The
Orchid Keeper’s Secret
was a tour de force!”

“Thank you.”

“I like your vibe, Ms. Porter.”

“I’m glad. Remember, call me Kendra. Now, if you
don’t have to rush off, I’d love to buy you lunch.”

“You’re on,” Corinne said with a smile. While
waiting for their food, the pair chatted and compared smartphone snapshots from
their hike and zip-line adventure.

Chapter 22

As promised, Dominic had
left Kendra’s room a little before five a.m. to prepare for his two-hour panel
discussion.

Elnora Ostertag had planted herself in the front
row.
 
With a flurry of questions and
long-winded commentary, she’d managed to hijack the Q & A portion of the
presentation.

She accosted Dominic soon after.

“Did you get a chance to read the first few
pages?” Mrs. Ostertag struggled to keep up with Dominic’s brisk, long-legged
strides toward the elevator.
 

“Mrs. Ostertag,” Dominic replied. “Again, the
process would go much more efficiently if you’d simply follow the submission
guidelines on the agency’s website.
This
…What
you’re doing here,” he shook his head and resisted calling it what it
was—being a pain in the ass— “is not necessary, ma’am.”
 
She reminded him of his Aunt Aubrelia
and even wore the same thick powdery fragrance.
 
Though she was practically begging him
to tell her to take a hike in a few choice words, he would not out of respect
for an elder. “It can work against your daughter.”

Mrs. Ostertag stopped in her tracks. A shadow of
remorse settled on her face and her lips quivered.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Dominic assumed this
was an attempt to manipulate him, but he stopped anyway.

“I know I’m coming on too strong.”
 
Mrs. Ostertag’s eyes misted.

The heavy flow of conference attendees hurrying to
their next destination jostled the pair so Dominic led Mrs. Ostertag to an
alcove housing vending machines and an ATM.

“I believe my daughter has created a truly
remarkable work. I want to do everything in my power to make sure it gets the
attention it deserves.” The woman’s tears flowed in earnest.

“Please don’t cry, ma’am.”
 
Tears always got to Dominic so he
lightly placed his hand on her shoulders. “All right, I’ll hear you out.”

“See, my daughter always had it so hard growing
up. First, she was a change-of-life baby. My dear husband and I had given up on
having kids, and then when I thought we’d missed the window of opportunity,
because I’d stopped having a monthly visitor, wham! We were blessed with our
precious Corinne. So as her parents we were older than the rest of her peers’
parents. Other children picked on her because she became, well, um, curvy at a
young age. I developed quickly, too. Men mistaking me for at least twenty-one
when I was just eleven. Bra and Barbie shopping at the same time.”

Dominic resisted the urge to scurry away in
horror.
 
After his sleep-over date
with Kendra he felt he owed the universe something.

 
“She
never felt good enough. I know I turned into what they call a helicopter mom
because she came to us so late in life, after I’d given up on having children
of my own. Do you have children, Mr. Tobias?”

“Not yet.”

“Married?”

“No yet.”

“Well, when you have children, perhaps you will
understand to what lengths you’re willing to go for another person.”

“I admire persistence, but again, you’re making it
more difficult than it has to be, Mrs. Ostertag.”

Dominic removed his wallet and took out a business
card. “Have your daughter email a synopsis and the first five manuscript
pages
. No, I’ll make another exception
here. Have her send five sample
chapters
directly to me. Do you have a pen?”

When she passed him one from her purse, he moved
to the ATM to write on the back of his card. “I don’t usually give out my
personal email address for submissions, but here it is.”

“But I don’t understand. Why can’t you read a few
pages of what you already have? Do you still have the printed copy of the
manuscript?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the extra time in Maui.
And I don’t have the luggage space for transporting long documents. Now, I
promise you I will take a look at it first thing when I get back home.” With an
expression that said take it or leave it, he passed her the business card.

Mrs. Ostertag accepted it with a sigh of
resignation.

***

Dominic returned to his
room and handled two hours’ worth of agency business. He took a break from that
to add several pages to his work in progress.

After making his novel’s word count for the day,
he sent more business emails, which included calling in favors to secure
pre-publication blurbs from best-selling author-friends for two of his newest
clients. He also needed to tactfully request changes for a client who’d been
screwed with dull flap copy and a bad mock-up cover featuring a stock photo of
an impossibly attractive smiling couple dressed in white while strolling along
the beach, hair whipping in the breeze. Everyone had seen “Impossibly
Attractive Smiling Couple in White” because “Impossibly Attractive Smiling
Couple in White” was every-damn-where.
 
Slapped on a dozen other book covers, a life insurance website, and bus
billboards for a national chain of varicose vein removal centers.

Next on Dominic’s agenda, attending a client’s
panel discussion to offer his moral support.
 
But first, he needed to phone Kendra to
ask her out for that evening.
 
She
didn’t strike him as the sort who’d have a problem roughing it a little. Would
she enjoy camping to watch the sunrise at Haleakala’s summit? He dialed her
room, but hung up after not getting an answer on the fifth ring. With the
conference in full swing, she was more difficult to contact. He made a mental
note to ask for her cell phone number and then the box on the luggage carrier
caught his attention.
 
A big waste
of paper and ink, when the Ostertag woman could’ve submitted the electronic
version he preferred. He moved to dump the box in the trash, but curiosity got
the better of him. He’d ignored enough tall, teetering dust-covered slush piles
over the years to last a lifetime, but after he had a manuscript in his hands
he found it impossible not to read the opening line and maybe that’s what Mrs.
Ostertag had counted on. She was exasperating as hell, but her ploy had worked.

Dominic could usually tell if a book worked for
him in five pages. “Okay, Mrs. Ostertag,” he scanned the cover page, “let’s see
what your girl’s got.”
 
Not
expecting much, he stood over the trash can as he read the first line.

 
Five
pages later, he’d moved to sit with the manuscript.

After three hours and several chapters, Dominic
had moved from the bed to the desk, making his way through one of the most
absorbing novels he’d read in a long while and taking notes. He hadn’t finished
the book yet, but he could tell it was indeed as special as Mrs. Ostertag had
promised. This one smelled like hot auction bait. But maybe he’d only need to
go to Tucker Rosedale at Lassiter & Crane with this one.
 
L & C so revered Tucker, it named
one of the house’s most prestigious imprints after him.

 
Before
leaving New York, Dominic had met Tucker for lunch and the esteemed editor had
spent half the time detailing the type of book he wanted. It was as if the book
gods had overheard that conversation and placed the perfect manuscript for
Tucker in Dominic’s hands. Surely, he’d pay big for it and thwart a potential
auction. When Dominic dialed the phone number listed on the cover page he
wasn’t surprised it was the elder Ostertag’s voice in his ear.

“I knew you’d call if you read the first few
pages,” Mrs. Ostertag said in a sprightly voice.

“You were right,” Dominic replied, “It is an
excellent
book. Deeply resonant.
Compelling.
 
Beautifully written.”

“I told you so. Now we can get right down to
business. You want to represent the novel, am I right?”

“Yes, but I’ll need to make my pitch to your
daughter.”

“You can discuss it with me first.”

“I’ll speak to the two of you at the same time.
Corinne is in Maui, correct?”

“Yes. You didn’t meet her? She told me you were on
that zip-lining tour.”

“I was, but I don’t recall meeting her.”

Mrs. Ostertag made a grumbling noise in the phone.
“Figures. She told me she saw you. Do you remember the extra curvy girl,
Rubenesque? In a hat and jacket busy with daisies?
 
Anyway, I’m sure she hung back. We spent
all that money on her MFA, and she didn’t approach one visiting agent the
entire time. She didn’t workshop this particular novel in class because of her
timidity and anxieties. You see, criticism or critiques, even well-meaning
ones, can be somewhat of a challenge for her.”

“Is that right?” Dominic tapped a pen against the
desk.
 
Would Corinne survive the
bloody gauntlet also known as the revision-and-review process?

 
“I
have to push her,” Mrs. Ostertag clucked. “A meeting with both of us can be
arranged. And you’d better bring your A game. Another outstanding agent has
expressed strong interest. And because we’re all for girl power, she has an
edge over you.”

Dominic arched a brow. “Mind revealing this agent
expressing strong interest?”

“I’d rather not. We need to keep some things close
to the vest, Mr. Tobias. May I call you Dominic?”

 
“I
prefer it. I have a feeling this is the beginning of a mutually advantageous
relationship.”

“We shall see,
after
I hear your pitch.”

The woman’s you’re-the-
only
-agent-for-this-book pleas had obviously been part of her
strategy to stroke Dominic’s ego.
 
Teary-eyed Mom had been replaced with Wheeler-dealer Mom. He had to
admit he admired her chutzpah and craftiness. They used the next few minutes to
choose a time and meeting place that worked for all parties.

Soon after he ended his conversation with Mrs.
Ostertag, Dominic’s cell rang.

“I need to meet with you,” Brody said.

Dominic put Brody on speaker mode as he scrolled
through his schedule. “Let’s see, how about four or five today?”

“That’ll work,” Brody said, sounding distracted.

“Is everything okay?”

Silence followed by an unconvincing, “Yeah.”

“Is this about your new deadline?”

“Not really.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to get into it on the phone. I owe
you a face-to-face meeting.”

Owe me
?
Dominic tried decoding Brody’s comment. He would not spend the next few hours
puzzling over this. “C’mon, man, out with it.”

Brody paused before heaving a heavy sigh.

“It’s me. Dominic. You can tell me anything.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, um. I think it’s time
for me to seek new representation.”

 
“You’re joking, right?” Dominic replied
with a dry laugh, though Brody had lobbed what felt like a flash grenade.

“No, I’m afraid I’m not.”

“You’re firing me?”

“Look, I appreciate all the work you’ve done on my
behalf, but my gut is telling me it’s time to move on.”

“Move on?” Dominic’s voice stayed even, but his grip
on the cell phone tightened. “To what? To whom? Is this about the initial
disagreement over your deadline?”

“No.”

“Remember, you got what you wanted. More time. So
what’s the problem?”

“I can’t shake the feeling I need something
different right now.”

“You want to change what you’re writing? Your
genre?”

“No.”

“You’ve enjoyed the kind of success most writers
would kill for.”

“And you deserve some of the credit for that.
You’ve done a great job. But it’s not about the money or hitting the
best-seller lists anymore. It’s me.
 
I need a change. ”

“And you’ve thought about this?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure this isn’t about the book-a-year
schedule I negotiated with your publisher?” Dominic couldn’t resist adding,
“The one
you
initially
agreed
you
could handle?”

There had to be more to Brody’s sudden need for
“change,” but he obviously wasn’t going to share it with Dominic, who couldn’t
believe he was on the receiving end of the “it’s-me-not-you” speech. He’d heard
it enough in his personal life, but when it came to business, he’d only had
writers slowly fade off the scene after their publishers failed to renew their
contracts due to poor sales. He’d had disillusioned writers quit the business
because they no longer had the stomach for the unpredictability and the fact
that so much of the process of traditional publishing was out of their control.
He’d passed a few clients (with their approval) to other Impact agents that
were stronger in the clients’ respective genres. He’d had a few go full-out
indie. In those cases the agency negotiated foreign and other rights for
them.
 
He’d even had two writers die
on him, but, as far as he knew, none had out-and-out left him for new
representation
at another agency
.
 
What
the freakin’ hell!

“And there’s nothing I can say or do to change
your mind? Maybe we need to have a nice, long, no-holds-barred talk. I’m open
to that. There must be something—”

“No, there’s nothing you can do.”

“Maybe another agent at Impact—”

 
“No.
I’ve made up my mind. So, do I need to send a letter? Or will you accept this
conversation as my thirty-day notice? I’ll send something anyway. I believe the
contract states that it should be a registered or certified letter. You’re aces
with me, but a paper trail will make things neat and official.”

Neat and
official
. Dominic’s pride goaded him to tell Brody their agreement was
terminated as of right now, damn the 30-day notice. Or better still, he could
tell Brody to make himself a copy of that notice, then
neatly
and
officially
shove it up his ass.