Nearingâs a great lead character, and Skate is your best villain ever.â
I said nothing.
âDebra raised the possibility of making Helenâs Promise the opener of a three-book contract. A very lucrative three-book contract. All without any prompting from me. Three is one more than any publisher has wanted to commit to âtil now. I mentioned nine million dollars, three million per book, in other words, expecting her to laugh . . . but anagent has to start somewhere, and I always choose the highest ground I can find. I think I must have Roman military officers somewhere back in my family tree.â
Ethiopian rug-merchants, more like it, I thought, but didnât say. I felt the way you do when the dentist has gone a little heavy on the Novocain and flooded your lips and tongue as well as your bad tooth and the patch of gum surrounding it. If I tried to talk, Iâd probably only flap and spread spit. Harold was almost purring. A three-book contract for the new, mature Michael Noonan. Tall tickets, baby.
This time I didnât feel like laughing. This time I felt like screaming. Harold went on, happy and oblivious. Harold didnât know the bookberry tree had died. Harold didnât know the new Mike Noonan had cataclysmic shortness of breath and projectile-vomiting fits every time he tried to write.
âYou want to hear how she came back to me, Michael?â
âLay it on me.â
âShe said, âWell, nineâs obviously high, but itâs as good a place to start as any. We feel this new book is a big step forward for him.â This is extraordinary. Extraordinary. Now, I havenât given anything away, wanted to talk to you first, of course, but I think weâre looking at seven-point-five, minimum. In factââ
âNo.â
He paused a moment. Long enough for me to realize I was gripping the phone so hard it hurt my hand. I had to make a conscious effort to relax my grip. âMike, if youâll just hear me outââ
âI donât need to hear you out. I donât want to talk about a new contract.â
âPardon me for disagreeing, but thereâll never be a better time. Think about it, for Christâs sake. Weâre talking top dollar here. If you wait until after Helenâs Promise is published, I canât guarantee that the same offerââ
âI know you canât,â I said. âI donât want guarantees, I donât want offers, I donât want to talk contract. â
âYou donât need to shout, Mike, I can hear you.â
Had I been shouting? Yes, I suppose I had been.
âAre you dissatisfied with Putnam? I think Debra would be very distressed to hear that. I also think Phyllis Grann would do damned near anything to address any concerns you might have.â
Are you sleeping with Debra, Harold? I thought, and all at once it seemed like the most logical idea in the worldâthat dumpy, fiftyish, balding little Harold Oblowski was making it with my blonde, aristocratic, Smith-educated editor. Are you sleeping with her, do you talk about my future while youâre lying in bed together in a room at the Plaza? Are the pair of you trying to figure how many golden eggs you can get out of this tired old goose before you finally wring its neck and turn it into pâté? Is that what youâre up to?
âHarold, I canât talk about this now, and I wonât talk about this now.â
âWhatâs wrong? Why are you so upset? I thought youâd be pleased. Hell, I thought youâd be over the fucking moon.â
âThereâs nothing wrong. Itâs just a bad time for me to talk long-term contract. Youâll have to pardon me, Harold. I have something coming out of the oven.â
âCan we at least discuss this next wââ
â No, â I said, and hung up. I think it was the first time in my adult life that Iâd hung up on