The Accidental Bestseller (41 page)

Jane Jensen’s hands clutched the arms of her chair; her entire body appeared clenched.

At the head of the table the publisher and associate publisher had their heads together. Most everyone else was looking at Jane Jensen.

“The heads of marketing, sales, art, and publicity have all read the manuscript, and the consensus is that this is a book we need to get behind.” Hannah smiled again, putting all of her lovely white teeth to use.

Lacy was certain Hannah Sutcliff wouldn’t have taken these steps if she hadn’t believed in the book, but there was no denying how much the editor was enjoying putting Jane Jensen in a corner. “I am recommending that we make this a hardcover release and put it out as quickly as possible; we have a slot that’s opened up in April and although it will require a huge rush for both production and promotion, I’d like to put
Sticks and Stones
in its place.

“Cash has already had several key members of his staff read it and they have some very positive feedback from Barnes & Noble and two other of our largest accounts. Marketing and publicity have prepared plans that they’re going to present to you today. The art department has designed a new cover, which is included in the packet that will be passed out to you now.”

Her smile grew broader. “Lacy Samuels, Jane’s assistant, has been instrumental in seeing this book through to this point. I’m sure she has a long and distinguished career ahead of her here at Scarsdale. Lacy?”

Jane gasped. Apparently following Hannah’s gaze, which had come to rest on Lacy, she swiveled around in her chair so quickly she crashed into Cash’s.

Without speaking, Lacy stood and walked unsteadily to the conference table, giving Jane Jensen a wide berth. She didn’t know whether Hannah’s attempt to protect her would prevent Jane from firing her immediately, but it was much too late to worry about that now.

With shaking hands, she passed out the packet of materials she had prepared, Simon Rothwell’s fabulous new cover rendered in color as its cover. When she came to Cash she gave him two packets and let him pass one to Jane, who was now glaring at her with an intensity that would have had Lacy running for her life had they not been in a room full of potential witnesses.

Lacy took her seat and kept her eyes on her own packet as one department head after another stood and offered support of
Sticks and Stones
and gave specifics of what they and their departments would do to help drive initial orders and then, once the book was on the shelves, to help build sales quickly enough to get the book on the all-important bestseller lists.

Excitement built in the room, everyone clearly thrilled that they had somehow come up with an unexpected winner. It was then that Lacy began to believe this might actually happen, that her fumbling attempt to do the right thing for Kendall Aims’s book had taken on a momentum that not even Jane Jensen could stop.

With all the reports done, gazes came to rest on Jane Jensen, who had remained silent throughout Hannah Sutcliff’s presentation. Those not in on the coup were obviously aware of the unorthodox manner in which
Sticks and Stones
had been presented by an editor who should by all rights have had nothing to do with another editor’s book.

Jane was going to have to speak; it was inconceivable that they could move on to the next presentations without hearing from her. Brenda Tinsley stood and looked over at her former college roommate. “Jane?”

It was breathtakingly quiet as Jane Jensen pushed back her chair and stood. In fact Lacy held her breath as she waited for her boss to speak. She didn’t see how Jane could fly in the face of Hannah’s carefully scripted presentation, but Jane Jensen was not always rational. Then again she hadn’t gotten where she’d gotten without being able to adapt when necessary.

Lacy’s view was of Jane’s back and other than its rigidity there was not a lot of information to be gleaned from it. But when she began to speak, her voice gave no hint of the anger Lacy knew had to be bubbling inside her. Nor did she give any indication that everything that had just happened had occurred without her knowledge and certainly without her permission. “I have to thank Hannah for presenting
Sticks and Stones
so . . . diligently. As if it were her own.”

Her gaze swept the rest of the table. “As to everyone else who’s spoken up today, I’ll never forget what any of you have done on behalf of this book. Not ever.”

Hannah, whom Lacy could see across the table, nodded calmly, unperturbed. But others shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Those who were in the know knew a threat when they heard one.

“So now all that’s left is to give
Sticks and Stones
and its author their due. And believe me I’m going to do that.”

If Lacy hadn’t known how pissed off Jane Jensen had to be, nothing in her words or actions would have alerted her. Nor would she have guessed that the woman had never read the manuscript or that she had so little regard for its author. Jane Jensen’s ability to act calm and rational was even more frightening than her inability to do so.

The meeting moved on. Other books were discussed, their merits hyped. Lacy felt an odd mixture of elation and fear. She had no idea whether Hannah’s recognition of her efforts would prevent Jane from firing her. Or whether if she was allowed to stay, she’d ever lay a finger on Kendall Aims’s manuscript. But she didn’t want to find out any of that today. For today it was enough that she’d accomplished what she’d set out to. Even if she found herself out on her ear and out of publishing forever, she’d have that satisfaction.

About thirty minutes before they were scheduled to break for lunch, Lacy got up and practically tiptoed out of the conference room. No one commented on her leaving, but as she closed the door she could feel Jane Jensen’s gaze on her back. As if measuring it for the knife she planned to stick there.

33

—ANDRÉ JUTE

 

 

 

Two days before Christmas Kendall sat alone in the living room of the mountain house staring into the fire. It had begun to snow early that morning and she hadn’t left the house all day. She kept telling herself that this was fine, that she should be celebrating the opportunity to spend the day reading in front of her cozy fire, but what she felt was pitiful and alone.

Melissa and Jeffrey had called from Park City earlier to check on her and so she’d been obligated to pinch her nostrils together to achieve a nasal sound and throw in the occasional cough. They told her how much they wished she was there and how it wasn’t Christmas without her, but they sounded happy. The conversation was brief because they were about to head out to the slopes. She should have felt good that her plan was working; this was, after all, what she had hoped for. But the fact that she’d orchestrated it didn’t make her feel any less abandoned.

The Christmas tree she’d set up in the corner of the living room was scrawny, picked up at the last minute from the undesirable unchosens in the lot at the grocery store. She hadn’t had the strength or interest to go up into the attic to find the few ornaments that might have been stored there. Instead she’d purchased boxes of candy canes and a couple of rolls of red velvet ribbon from Walmart, which she’d hung and tied to the branches of the tree. She suspected a fully decorated tree for one would have made her feel worse; she’d seen the articles encouraging singles to treat themselves to gourmet meals served on fine china, but had always thought the idea both pathetic and wasteful. She preferred to think of her tree decorations as “minimalist.” And they had the added advantage of being partially edible.

Now she lay on the couch wrapped in an afghan with her head propped up on a throw pillow, a book splayed across her chest. She’d tried for more than an hour to lose herself in the story, but had been unable to concentrate.

From the kitchen the click of an incoming e-mail echoed through the silent house. E-mail had been sparse in these last days before the holiday; presumably the rest of the world was too busy getting ready for the holiday to communicate. Except, of course, for those touting penile implants and enlargements, who should have been too busy having really great sex to find the time to send e-mails.

After much internal debate, Kendall got up and headed to the kitchen by way of the tree, where she plucked a candy cane from a branch and peeled off its protective cellophane. Holding the crook of it in one hand, she slid the cane into her mouth and sucked on its sharp sweetness as she plopped down into the kitchen chair.

The sight of Jane Jensen’s name in her in-box caused Kendall’s fingers to freeze over the mouse. The subject line read, “Revision letter: STICKS AND STONES.” If she’d had anything else to do, Kendall would have gotten up now to do it. Instead she sat and stared at the line of type on her computer for a good five minutes before she finally opened it.

The e-mail was brief but professional and revealed none of the enthusiasm for her manuscript that Lacy Samuels had conveyed. It specified January 2, which was barely ten days from now, as the deadline for the return of the revised manuscript. This was a fairly quick, but certainly not unheard-of, turnaround. Except, of course, for the fact that it would require Kendall to work through the Christmas break. No apology was offered for the intrusion into her holiday, and if Kendall had had anything at all to do for the next ten days, she would have been on the phone to Sylvia complaining about Jane’s lack of respect for Kendall’s private life.

But what would she gain from complaining now? Jane Jensen was not excited about this book, but she was at least editing it rather than sloughing it off on her assistant.

Perhaps Kendall should feel honored.

Oh, grow up, she mumbled to herself as she downloaded and opened the attached revision letter. This signaled the end of her relationship with Scarsdale Publishing and Jane Jensen. She would revise as directed and deliver those revisions on time. Once the revisions were accepted, the part of her advance due upon acceptance of the manuscript would be released and she would be free.

As she printed out the attachment, Kendall read it through on screen. Grudgingly she acknowledged that the suggested changes had come from an experienced professional. The direction was clear and well thought out and there had been no attempt to efface the author’s voice or intent, which sometimes happened when an editor tried to impose her own style. Despite her personal dislike for Jane Jensen, Kendall was impressed. The editorial suggestions were first rate and would make
Sticks and Stones
even better.

With Jane’s notes in front of her, Kendall began to read through the manuscript. In the margins she made notes about where and how she could strengthen the scenes that led to Kennedy’s flight to the mountains as well as build the backstory and rapport between the four writers. Especially challenging would be capturing the point-of-view character’s reactions and internal dialogue when her book took off. This was something with which Kendall had no personal experience and would have to rely on imagination. She made a note to herself to talk to Mallory about this. Then she pulled out a legal pad and started a list of page numbers on which she could drop in paragraphs and scenes to accomplish the changes. Then she began to make note of scenes she might revise or take out.

For the next eight days Kendall worked almost nonstop. She broke for a couple of hours on Christmas morning to cook and eat a breakfast of bacon and eggs topped off by a candy cane and a talk with the twins.

In the late afternoons when she had to get out of the house, she’d pull a coat on over her sweats and tromp a ways down the road and back. Or she’d go out for a drive. Or to the grocery store to pick up a few things.

But mostly she kept her head in the story, using the breaks she took to think through the areas that gave her the most trouble, and then hurrying back to the house once she’d figured them out.

On New Year’s Day she e-mailed the revised manuscript to Jane Jensen and sent a copy to her agent. Then she slept for almost twenty-four hours, waking up just in time to straighten the house before the twins arrived.

Melissa and Jeffrey stayed with her for the last three days of their winter break.

They were in great spirits, happy with their holiday vacation and looking forward to their return to school. Calvin had, it seemed, come through in ways that had surprised the twins during their ski vacation and they couldn’t wait to share the details with their mother.

“You should have seen him, Mom,” Jeff said the evening he and his sister arrived at the mountain house. “He only checked phone and e-mail messages once a day. He hung with us practically the whole time. It was really cool.” Jeffrey had always worshipped Calvin, but sometimes that worship had had to come from afar.