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Wednesday, July 30

Today was the day that we would meet Jonathan O’Keeffe, General Manager at Kerrigan & Moore, to introduce and discuss my book. To reflect the importance of the meeting for my personal future, I wore my black Armani suit, white shirt, and red power tie.

Even though I had sworn to myself not to take any chances, I had somehow missed to intensify my research on O’Keeffe, to learn more about the man and especially the human in him. Some personal information or knowledge of his political affiliation, I thought, might be helpful. My plan had been to wait for opportunities to throw some very innocent comments into our conversation that I knew would please him, like pretending we went to the same university, shared the same view on gays in the military, voted for the same President, and such.

Not having done my homework, I started to worry, hoping the lack of research would not bite me in the end, but I encouraged myself by emphasizing I had a brain and the ability to maintain a fruitful conversation at almost any level.

I walked up the stairs to Janice’s office, and as soon as I walked down the hallway, I could hear her voice. Apparently she was on the phone.

She looked at me when I entered through the wide open door.

“Hi Stuart,” she called out to me from behind the stacks of paperwork. “Man, you look dashing today! Would you mind waiting outside for a few moments? I am on the phone with San Francisco.”

I just nodded and went back into the hallway, taking the extra time to study the hideous oil paintings on the wall. Why Nancy asked me to stay outside, I don’t know. She didn’t do anything to keep her voice down. She sounded aggravated, and I could overhear her conversation from more than thirty feet away. It didn’t seem that things with San Francisco went well, but I didn’t say anything when she was finished and stepped out of her office with a stack of paper under one arm, and her large purse strapped over the other shoulder.

“There should be a taxi waiting outside,” she said, still looking a bit distressed. “I had called them and gave specific instructions to be here by 10:15.”

She didn’t look at me while she stumbled her way down the stairs on her high-heeled designer shoes that were in stark contrast to the otherwise plain dark dress she wore.

“I prefer to be early when we get there,” she said, a little bit out breath when we reached the outside. “Being in his position, a man like Jonathan O’Keeffe can easily forget about appointments, even with electronic day planner plus secretary. The sooner we remind him of our meeting, the better.”

The ride took about fifteen minutes, and according to Janice’s wishes we were way early. The publishing company of Kerrigan & Moore was located on the thirty-fifth floor of the Empire State Building, and, according to the floor plan, they owned the entire floor. After going through security, we had to wait a few minutes for the next elevator, and another few minutes later we stood in front of a gigantic glass wall with the name Kerrigan & Moore engraved in large letters.

To my surprise Janice held me back when I stepped forward to open the door. She nodded at the group of people behind us, all of who seemed to be employees of Kerrigan & Moore, to let them in before us.

Then she looked at me, sternly. “There is one thing,” she said. “I know you are married, but I have seen it too many times before. When we get to Jonathan’s office, please be prepared for Sandie.”

“Why?”

“She…,” Janice thought for a moment. “How do I phrase this?”

She put down the papers and stuck them between her ankles. Then she put out both her hands in front of her chest.

“She has some very large blue eyes,” she winked. “If you know what I mean.”

I nodded cautiously.

“Sorry, Stuart,” she continued while picked up her papers from the floor. “What I’m saying is, please don’t embarrass me by staring at her assets, and please, no comments whatsoever! Think of them as lifeless silicone implants, because that’s exactly what they are.”

She looked sternly at me.

“Are you with me?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, Janice,” I assured her. “I think I can manage keeping my pants up.”

She grinned, winked, and I stepped forward to open the door for her.

The interior design of Kerrigan & Moore was as impressive as the massive glass wall had promised. The floors in the reception area were mostly marble flooded with the light of hundreds of small halogen lights hanging from the ceiling. The seating areas were filled with – as far as I could tell – very expensive pieces of modern art, and the walls were full of paintings in the same style. All furniture was mahogany, and the seats were all in dark red leather.

“This is the general reception area,” Vanice whispered to me. “We sign in here, and Sandie will pick us up and escort us to Jonathan’s office area.”

She giggled. “You should feel a slight tremble of the floors right before she arrives.”

I mocked disapproval of her comments.

“Sorry,” she grinned. “I’m allowed to say that. I’m a woman.”

Other than the trembling of the floor, things took place as Janice had told me. She was also right about Sandie’s assets. Sandie was a very beautiful woman, and the additional silicone was, by any means, not necessary. With Janice’s warning in mind I managed to hold my breath.

Sandie didn’t say much other than a brief “Hi”, and a “Follow me, please.”

A minute later we arrived at another, very large reception area that was dominated by a monstrous mahogany desk that was apparently Sandie’s domain. Janice pointed O’Keeffe’s office out to me. It was located at the very end of the reception area. Sandie seated us in a seating area not too far away from her desk, but still far enough from O’Keeffe’s office.

“Mr. O’Keeffe will be with you very soon,” she said without a smile or any hint of sympathy. I waited to be offered a coffee or a cold drink, but nothing like that happened. Vanice and I sat in our very comfortable leather seats, and we didn’t speak for a few moments.

“Considering the complaints you hear lately from the publishing industry, they can’t be doing too badly,” I whispered to Janice, pointing at the luxurious surroundings.

“Well, actually, they’re not doing as well as they used to,” she whispered back, cautiously looking at Sandie who was busy working on her computer. “This is all about keeping up appearances.”

It made sense. After all, you don’t sell your furniture or move your operation to a more modest office space when the business is not doing well. The standard solutions, when the stockholders’ dividend or the top management’s bonuses are in jeopardy, are lay-offs.

“While we have the time, let me explain a few things to you,” Janice interrupted my socialist thoughts. She felt comfortable enough now to speak with a normal voice.

“When we get a book deal, either with Kerrigan & Moore or any other publisher —“

She looked briefly at Sandie who didn’t seem to pay attention to us.

“— there is a certain chain of events that will take place. Well, it’s not really a set procedure, because it varies slightly from publisher to publisher, and you, the author, are expected to cooperate – not advice, mind you – in any way you can.

As a first step, your book will be edited.”

“But,” I interrupted her, “I already had it edited!”

“Regardless,” she repeated. “First, your book will be edited. That’s just the way it is. That is part of their quality assurance process. It will make your book only better, if you think about it.

Secondly, they will work on the cover, and you may comment on it, but you won’t have a lot of say in that process. There are some independent publishers, though, who insist you provide the cover design for them, but, honestly, I gave up working with them. I prefer to work only with real professionals.”

She paused for a brief moment, and the she continued, “The next steps won’t involve you very much, either, but it is nevertheless important for you to understand what’s going on here. After all, the entire process can take up to two years, and some authors tend to grow impatient and start complaining. That doesn’t make my life any easier, and I can’t act as a babysitter all the time.”

“Two years?” I burst out. “I have to wait two years before my book finally comes out? What’s taking them so long?”

“Well,” she responded, not phased in the least by my outburst. Apparently she had seen it many times before.

“It could be less than two years. But now you may understand why traditional publishers are so cautious about accepting new authors. After all, this is a very time-consuming and expensive process, and traditional publishers take great pride in providing top quality in any aspect. Add to this that the majority of new authors only start to be profitable with the release of their fifth novel.”

I was stunned for a moment, but I understood and nodded.

“So, after the cover design,” she continued, “or even during, the responsible editors will have numerous meetings with the sales force to discuss market acceptance, marketing strategies, and so on. You won’t believe how important, for instance, a well-drafted synopsis can be for the success of your novel. Another mandatory aspect is to define your readership. It is so much easier to promote a novel when you know your audience and know where to place advertisements.”

She looked at me. “You remember your query letter, right? There is a reason why I asked you for a synopsis and to explain the potential readership. Jonathan will ask exactly the same questions, and we need to give him the right answers. And that’s why it is so important you are aware of the publishing process. The more you know about it, the more he will be confident that you cooperate rather than interfere in the publishing process.”

I nodded again. There was no need for words on my part. She was the professional, and she knew what she was talking about. I made another mental note to engage into more research of the publishing process.

Janice looked like she was about to continue with her lecture, but was interrupted by the ringing of the phone on Sandie’s desk.

“Yes, Mr. O’Keeffe,” Sandie answered, and I noticed how Janice straightened up in her seat, apparently trying to catch more of the phone conversation.

“Yes, Mr. O’Keeffe,” Sandie said again, after she had listened to her boss for a minute, then she looked at us and hung up the phone.

My heartbeat raced a little bit when she got up and walked toward us.

Finally, I thought, we will finally meet the man.

Then she stood in front of us, still without a trace of sympathy, while we got up from our seats.

“I am sorry,” she finally said, “but Mr. O’Keeffe has just been called due to an emergency. Mr. Kerrigan, who is currently visiting our Los Angeles office, requested his immediate presence there. Mr. O’Keeffe asks you to contact him again as soon as he returns.”

Janice kept her composure, but the disappointment was clearly written in her face, and I assumed I didn’t look much better at that moment.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” she smiled at Sandie. “Any idea when he might be back?”

Sandie shrugged her shoulders. “You’ll never know with Mr. Kerrigan, and Mr. O’Keeffe usually likes to stay for golfing over the weekend. I’d say if you call next week I might be able to fit you in.”

“Thank you very much,” Janice oozed at her, and Sandie, without a word, turned around and went back to her desk.

“Listen, Stuart,” Janice turned to me. “Since I am in the neighborhood and have some unexpected extra time, I would like to take the opportunity and visit some more contacts in the neighborhood. Would you mind taking your ride home without me?”

“No problem,” I answered somewhat absent-minded. In my mind I was already breaking my head about what went wrong and how to proceed from here. For a brief moment I considered firing Janice on the spot, but realized that this wouldn’t do me any good. I wasn’t ready yet to act on my own. I still depended on her knowledge and her connections.

“I will call you next week,” she said, and I nodded.

“Is there a bathroom around here?” I asked her.

She pointed to the far right corner. “Just around the corner, and then on the left side. I’ll take off then. Have a nice day.”

Yes, I thought, what a nice day this is.

“Have a good one,” I said.

Janice picked up her belongings and rushed back to the main reception area.

After I was done in the bathroom, I stopped in the hallway to check the messages on my iPhone. I was half-hidden by a tall plant and watched Sandie for a second while I listened to messages from Sophie and Steve. I saw a door open on the other side of the hallway, and a man, who looked vaguely familiar to me, walked over to Sandie’s desk. He was a tall, dark-haired man with broad shoulders and a huge chest. He wore plain black pants, and a simple white shirt, all held together with red suspenders. His most striking feature was his horseshoe moustache, and I realized immediately who he was. Quickly I cut the voice-mail and shut off the phone.

“Hello, Mr. O’Keeffe,” Sandie called out to him.

“Hey, Sandie,” Jonathan O’Keeffe, who was officially sitting in a comfortable leather seat of a corporate jet on its way to Los Angeles smoking a cigar and drinking whiskey, greeted her.

“Is she gone?” he asked, scanning the reception area suspiciously. I stepped a little further behind the plant.

“Ms. Vandenberg?” Sandie asked. “Yes, she left a few minutes ago.”

“Sorry, you had to lie for me,” he explained. “I can’t stand that woman!”

Sandie nodded, but didn’t say anything. O’Keeffe, obviously relieved, turned around and went back toward his office. He nodded at me, said “Hi”, and quickly closed the door behind him. I stood there, struck with yet another disappointment and breaking my head what to do now in view of the new development. I surprised myself with how quickly I came up with a solution, and I spent another minute programming my iPhone.

When I was done I calmly walked over to Sandie’s desk, and she looked at me, first surprised, then blushing with embarrassment.

I grinned at her. “Don’t feel bad,” I said. “I understand. I can’t stand her, either. Starting tomorrow I will look for another agent.”

“I’m sorry,” she said sheepishly, almost pouting.

“Don’t worry,” I assured her. “It’s not like I need the money.”

I turned to leave, but looked back at her.

“By the way, you have the most striking eyes I have ever seen on a woman.”

That remark, I was sure, would make her day, and I was assured she would remember me now anytime and anywhere. It seemed she wanted to say thank you, but at the same time my phone rang. The iPhone has the most amazing features. You can even schedule a call to yourself.

I stopped, quickly pulled the phone out of my pocket like I was waiting for a very important call and answered. Through the corner of my eyes I assured that Sandie still paid attention.

“Hello?”

A step further to the door, but then I stopped again.

“Hi, Dad! Who? No, no, I don’t need to talk to him!”

I hesitated yet again. “Okay, put him on.”

I opened the door.

“Hello, Mr. Spielberg.”

From the corner of my eyes I noticed Sandie’s immediate reaction.

Another step out of the open door.

“Okay. Steve.”

I was almost outside now, but kept the door open.

“I do love your work, Steve. My Dad had told me he wanted you to direct his next movie.”

The door was now closed, and I tucked the phone into my pocket.

So, you think my acting was a little thick? Think again. That little performance was only the very first step.

That day I swore to myself, I would take care of Sandie and especially Jonathan O’Keeffe without Janice’s help. That same day, after enduring yet another disappointment, I had made another step toward my transformation into a ruthless bastard.

Next: Chapter 9