“Bailey. With Argent Literistic.”
He had the same concerned look he had earlier. “How do you think she’s doing?”
“I think she’s doing all right. She got me a book deal, didn’t she?”
“I’ll give her that. Of course with a book like yours my grandmother could have gotten a book deal for you.”
“She’s the only one who did. I received more than twenty rejection letters.”
“You never sent me a copy of your book.”
“No. I didn’t.”
Darren took a drink of his wine. “How long is your contract with her?”
“Actually we don’t have one. She doesn’t believe in them.”
He nodded casually, though I could tell this information pleased him.
“Did she consult with you before she threw away the motion picture rights?”
“I wouldn’t say she threw them away.”
He raised a hand. “Please, don’t get me wrong. It’s a huge accomplishment for a first-time writer to get anything produced. But to be candid, A Perfect Day was written for the big screen not the little one. I don’t know how long your agent has been in this field, but it’s really a rookie mistake. She should have held out. I would have sold the feature rights. No question. And you would have had A-list stars playing the roles, maybe Newman as the father, Julia Roberts or that hot newcomer Naomi Watts as the young Allyson.” He took a drink of wine. You easily lost a million dollars going with television. But more important than that, you might have jeopardized your career.”
Just then the waiter returned with our salads. After he left, I asked, “How did I jeopardize my career?”
“By losing the prestige that comes from making the big screen. Think of all the big-name authors. What was it that pushed them to the next level? They signed movie deals. ”
“You think she made a mistake?”
“To put it mildly. But it happens. I’m sure this Bagley is a nice lady, but at the end of the day a million bucks is still a million bucks. Eventually it adds up to some real money.”
“You don’t think she’s qualified?”
“I didn’t say that. To get you started, I think she was fine. Some people make great bird dogs. But now I think she’s out of her league. You’re a rocket right now. Rockets have several stages. The first stage gets you out of the atmosphere; then it falls off and the next booster ignites.”
“And you’re the next booster?”
“I can get you to the stars.” His face was filled with confidence. “It would be a shame to see your career fizzle due to someone else’s lack of experience. You’ve worked too hard to get to where you are.”
I picked at my salad. “I don’t think I could leave her.”
“I thought you said you didn’t have a contract with her.”
“I don’t. But she’s a friend.”
“Since when do friends cost you a million dollars?”
I looked down at my food.
“Listen, change is part of this industry. It’s not a matter of friendship; it’s a matter of smart business. That’s why they call it the publishing business. Let me put it this way: if you stopped selling books, do you think this Bagley would still be out there pounding doors for you?”
“I don’t know.” I looked up. “But you’ve heard the saying Dance with who brung you to the dance.”
Darren chuckled. “Of course. And if you believe that, you’re going to waste a lot of time dancing with ugly women.” He took a bite of his salad and chewed it slowly. When he’d finished, he said, “I’ve been in this business a long time, Rob. I’ve seen hundreds of authors come and go. There are those who flash by like a falling star and are gone. Then there are those who stick. They become the stars that society uses to chart their journey. You’re big right now, Rob, huge. I think you’re bigger than anyone realizes. Including you. You have the potential to change millions of lives for the better. What a gift. How many people can actually say they changed the world? The difference between the flashes and the stars is that the stars know when to cut ties and they have the courage to do it. Things change. I know. I’ve the ex-wives to prove it.”
“How many times have you been married?”
“Too many.” He laughed. “Of course there’s an argument that once is too many.”
“I’m happily married,” I said.
He nodded. “I thought I was happily married.”
“What happened?”
“It started with the little resentments: the time away, the lack of attention, the female colleagues. Pretty soon she’s treating you like the furniture. Actually, worse. At least the furniture gets polished once a week. Make no mistake, you’ll get all the blame for it. But at the heart of it all is her jealousy. It ends in court with a stack of papers marked mine and yours.” He shook his head. “You’re a lucky man if it’s all smooth sailing.”
“Actually things are a little rocky right now.”
Darren frowned. “I’m sorry. And people think fame and fortune is the Holy Grail. Listen, Robert, no one can tell you what to do because it’s your decision. But what you need to decide is how big you want to be. And how much of an impact you want to have on the world. Because the world is yours if you have the courage to take it.” He leaned back in his chair. “Or in this case maybe you need to decide what you don’t want to happen. Because you could always end up back in Utah digging ditches for sprinklers.” He poured his glass full with wine. “I’ve seen worse happen.”
After a minute I said, “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 36
When I got back to the Wilshire, my phone’s message light was flashing. Allyson had left a voice message. Her voice was strained and I could tell that she had been crying, but all she said was to call as soon as possible. I frantically dialed home.
“Ally?”
“This is Nancy. Is that you, Rob?”
“Yes. What’s the matter?”
“You better speak with Allyson. She’s right here.” Allyson took the phone. “Rob?”
“What’s wrong, honey?”
“Aunt Denise died last night.”
Her words stunned me. “When did you find out?”
“This afternoon.” Allyson started to cry. “She was like a mother to me.”
I felt sick with guilt. Even though she didn’t say it, we both knew that had I not gone straight to California, Allyson would have been at her aunt’s side—she would have had one last chance to say everything she needed to. “When is the funeral?” I asked.
“Friday. When can you be there?”
“I don’t know.” I looked down at my watch. “It’s one o’clock in New York. I’ll call Heather in the morning and have her check on flights.”
We talked a few more minutes but my words were weak. I groaned as I hung up. Guilt continued to cascade over me. It wasn’t my fault, I told myself. How could I have known she was going to die? But my excuses rang hollow. Whether it was deliberate or not, I had stolen another precious part of Allyson’s life.
At six the next morning I called Heather to tell her of my plight. Aunt Denise’s funeral would be during my largest speaking event to date—a prestigious televised event with nearly four thousand book buyers in attendance. We both knew that it was the wrong event to miss, but Heather said nothing of it. She said she’d check flights to Portland and talk to the people at my speaking event then get back to me. The phone rang a half hour later.
“What did you find out?” I asked.
“Flights are no problem. One leaves from LAX to Portland every three hours and there’s availability on all of them. The problem is with your event.”
“What did they say?”
“Straight up, they freaked. They say they’ve spent thousands of dollars promoting you and your book and people are flying in from all over the country to hear you speak. They say if you pull out, you will, and I quote, cause irreparable damage to their conference and their credibility, costing them hundreds
of thousands of dollars. They hinted that they will seek financial compensation.”
“You mean they’ll sue me.”
“Precisely. They also threatened to blackball you with their subscribers. Like I said, they freaked.”
“This day just keeps getting better.”
“They’re a pretty influential group, Rob. Their newsletter reaches more than one hundred thousand book buyers.”
“Is there someone else who could take my place?”
“I asked them. They said absolutely not. They said that the people coming to this event overwhelmingly signed up to hear you.”
“What am I going to do?”
“I don’t know. But the association wants to know within a half hour if you’re going to be there. They only have a few days to try to fill your spot.”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
“Not a good one.”
I hung up the phone; then I called Allyson. From her voice it was clear that she was deeply hurting. “Are you okay, honey?”
“I’m not doing too well. I fly out at three. What time will you be there?”
My stomach knotted. “I can’t come, Ally. I have to be in Sacramento for my speaking event.”
She didn’t say anything.
“Honey, they say that they’ll sue us if I don’t show up for their event. They’ll also blackball me with their subscribers.” I waited for a response, but she said nothing. It was excruciating. “I know you need me right now. I’m so sorry, honey.”
“Me too,” she said softly. Then she said, “I’ve got to go, Carson’s late for school.”
“Will you call me when you get there?” I asked.
“Sure.” She hung up. The distance between us now seemed insurmountable. My life had become a Rubik’s Cube, and twist it as I might, I had no idea how to make it work.
Chapter 37
While Allyson flew to Oregon, I flew in to Sacramento for my speaking event. In spite of the circumstances, the event went well. The audience gave me a two-minute-long standing ovation. Afterward I signed what felt like a thousand books. It was surreal. The hosts of the event were cordial and acted as if nothing had happened. I guess I did the same. I had returned to my hotel room when Camille called. “How did your speaking event go?”
“It went well.”
“Good. I heard about your dilemma. I’m glad it wasn’t my choice.”
“The whole thing was really awful. Still is.”
“Life hands us all kinds of pop quizzes, doesn’t it?” Her voice was oddly estranged. I wondered if she was upset at the choice I had made. “Listen,” she said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about your dinner with Darren Scott?”
I was stunned. “How did you know about that?”
“The book world is a small, small world, Rob.”
I tried to downplay it. “Scott’s an interesting man.”
“He is an interesting man. So is Saddam Hussein. So how does Mr. Scott rate my performance?”
“Truthfully?”
“Of course.”
“He thinks that I lost at least a million dollars by selling the television rights.”
Camille seemed nonplussed. “He might be right. But anyone can say that after a book has hit the list. The TV deal helped get the bookstores and the press interested in the first place. If we hadn’t done the deal, you might not have ever hit the list.”
“You don’t think the book would have succeeded on its own merits?”
“I don’t know. And neither do you. Do you think I lost you a million dollars?”
“Like you said, who knows?” We were both quiet for a long time. Then I said, “Listen, Camille, I’ve decided to give Darren a try.”
There was a long pause. “You’re leaving me?” “Don’t make this personal, Camille.”
“I made it personal the day I decided to take a chance on you.”
“And you’ve been paid well for taking that chance.”
“It’s not about the money, Rob.”
“Come on, let’s be honest here. You’re an agent. It’s always about the money.”
“I can’t believe you’re talking like this. Tell me, did he wow you with his client list then tell you that he only works with the big names?”
“Yes.”
“Did you stop to consider that maybe it’s because he drops them at the first sign of trouble?”
“It’s the way the business works. Survival of the fittest. If I stopped selling books, how long would you be around?”
“Actually, Rob, I have a dozen authors who don’t sell. But I care about their writing so I keep going to bat for them.” She exhaled in exasperation. “Why am I having this conversation? I hope you get what you deserve.” She dropped the receiver.
I laid the phone back into its cradle. I felt bad for hurting her, but Darren Scott was still right. I mean, how would I feel about her when I was back installing sprinklers?
Chapter 38
The United flight touched down in Salt Lake City on time Sunday afternoon. I walked out into the terminal wondering what kind of reunion Allyson and I would have. I had only spoken with her for a few minutes since the funeral. Just long enough to let her know when I’d be landing. Maybe it was a blessing that I would only be in Utah two days before I left again for New York. Honestly I was surprised that she had even agreed to pick me up.
She was waiting for me in the terminal. Alone. She looked worn and tired, her eyes red as if stained from days of crying. We hugged each other, but it was without feeling.
“How are you?” I asked.
She looked at me dully. “I’ve had better weeks.”
“How was the funeral?”
“Why? Want to write a book about it?”
I felt like I had just been slugged.
“I’m sorry, Ally, I . . .”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
We walked out to baggage claim without another word. We had driven several miles when Allyson said, “Camille called to share her condolences.”
“I bet you had an interesting talk.”
“So you really did fire her?”
“If that’s what she wants to call it.”
“She’s been really good to us.”
“We’ve been good to her.”
Allyson looked out the window and said nothing until I pulled off I-15 onto the Twenty-First South off-ramp. “Where are we going?”
“We have an appointment.”
“With whom?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Twenty minutes later we snaked up the tree-lined streets of the east bench until we reached the large, wrought-iron gate of the Stringham mansion. Chris, the real estate agent, was parked out front waiting for us. He climbed out of his car. He was very tall, blond, and even though it was late afternoon he wore Ray-Ban Aviator sunglasses, which he removed as he walked over to our car. I rolled down the window. “Mr. Harlan, it’s a pleasure, sir.” He looked past me. “Mrs. Harlan.”
Allyson just looked at me. “What’s going on?”
“This is the house I’m thinking of buying.”
Allyson looked out at the place. “You want something this big for the three of us?”
“Yeah.” I climbed out.
Chris sensed the tension between us and walked away. He pressed a code into a keypad, and the intricate wrought-iron gate opened. As we walked in, Allyson walked up behind me. “Do we really have to do this now?”
“I made an appointment. We’ll be here a half hour then we’ll go,” I said curtly.
The house was even more spectacular than its pictures. The foyer was tiled in rose-streaked marble. A beautiful crystal chandelier hung above. The walls were covered in fabric or stained wood and there was beveled and leaded stained glass in various windows throughout the house.
Chris did his best to point out the features he thought Allyson would be most interested in. She listened and responded politely but remained deep within herself. After we
finished the tour, I thanked Chris and told him I’d get back to him in a few days. He handed me his card; then Allyson and I climbed back in our car and headed home.
We drove for a while before I said, “That was pleasant.”
“You really want to live there?” she asked incredulously.
I didn’t answer her. Twenty minutes later I pulled the car into the garage and hopped out, leaving my luggage in the back.
Inside the house there were stacks of books piled high on the counters and kitchen table. “What’s with this?” I asked.
“People just bring them over for you to sign them. Every time I leave, there’s a new stack of books on the front porch when I get back. I don’t even know most of these people.”
“Another argument for moving,” I said. I walked around them, lifting the morning’s paper that lay on the counter.
“Don’t forget your mail,” Allyson said.
I looked up. “What mail?”
Allyson pointed to six large cardboard boxes lined up against the wall. “Your publisher sent them.”
I walked over to the boxes. I crouched down and began lifting envelopes. “I didn’t know people really wrote to authors,” I said. “Have you ever written to an author?”
“You.”
For the next few minutes I rummaged through the letters while Allyson made dinner. The letters I read were mostly letters of gratitude from readers, sharing their own feelings about my book and their own fathers. One woman wrote that my book had changed her life. After she read it she decided to forgive her father and visit him. They were happily together again. She thanked me for the miracle. One woman wrote that her sister had recently died and her last request was to have my book read to her as she lay dying.
Allyson broke my reverie. “Were you going to ask where your daughter is?”
I looked up suddenly, drawn back into the moment. “I’m sorry. Is she home?”
“She’s with Nancy. She’s spending the night. Nancy thought we might need some time alone together.”
I looked at her. “Do we?”
She didn’t answer. She just looked at me with the dark, dull eyes of a complete stranger. I say dull, but the truth is her glare was sharp and it cut deeply. Deeper than I could understand. Suddenly I felt completely displaced. I didn’t belong here. The distance that had grown between us was a complicated maze of hurt and bickering. It was more than I could stand. Without another word I walked out to my car and drove away.