Blind Submission

by Debra Ginsberg

  “That’s right,” he said, his tone growing more forceful, “and I’ll tell you something else, baby…” He paused, drawing and puffing himself up, honing in. “You need me.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve been carrying you since I met you, Angel.”

  “Carrying me?”

  “Seriously, do you think you’d be where you are now without me? If I hadn’t pushed you, you’d probably be out on your ass without a job, let alone a career. And then where would you be? With me, that’s where. It’s not like you have anyone else to support you.”

  “I don’t remember you supporting me, Malcolm. I’ve been supporting myself just fine for years.”

  “I’m talking about emotional support, Angel. It’s been only me since I’ve known you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “I’m just saying…for the last couple of years, you’ve had nobody but me in your corner and you haven’t even looked for anyone else. And I think…You depend on me. That’s all I’m saying.”

  That was all he was saying, all right. Not one word about love.

  “Thanks for clearing that up, Malcolm,” I said. “Maybe it’s time for all of that to change.” My voice was shaking.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, a slight catch of doubt puncturing his self-righteousness.

  “I think we should…” My whole body felt unbearably cold, encased in ice, but my heart was racing. I could hardly believe the step I was about to take, and I faltered on the edge of the gangplank.

  “You think we should break up?” Malcolm was incredulous. “Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s what I’m saying.” I’d started trembling. The two of us stood frozen in the chill of my words for a moment and then Malcolm took a step closer to me, leaning down so that I had no choice but to look into his angry eyes.

  “I don’t think you know what you’re saying, Angel, but I’ll tell you something: When you wake up and think about this for a second, you’re going to realize what a huge mistake you’ve just made.”

  “I think you’d better leave now, Malcolm.” I had to get him out of my apartment before I could change my mind and take everything back. I could feel myself on the edge of it as it was. It wouldn’t take much to send me over.

  “There’s one thing you should know, Angel.”

  “Just go,” I said, praying that he would before the ice melted and I dissolved in tears.

  Malcolm shrugged and turned to leave. “I’m not your guy,” he said as he made his exit. “You should look somewhere else.”

  I didn’t know whether he was referring to our relationship or to Blind Submission, but he was long gone by the time I thought to ask him.

  TEN DAYS TO GO until Lucy and I left for New York. As I made my way to the office in the dawn’s early light, I anticipated that every one of those days would be jammed with appointments made, canceled, and remade; memos and e-mails to various editors, assistants, and heads of houses; and endless flight and hotel reservations, again made and remade until they arrived back at their original formula. From the moment Lucy had announced her New York trip and the fact that she was taking me with her, these booking details had become all-consuming. As we counted down to liftoff, Lucy became more and more obsessive and micromanaging about her schedule, the travel, and anything else related to the trip. Three days earlier, I had been instructed to give her a twice-daily weather report from New York (“And make sure it’s the city of New York, Angel, I don’t need to know skiing conditions in the Adirondacks”) in addition to any late-breaking TSA reports about what one could or could not bring onto airplanes.

  Of course, none of this work was supposed to interfere with my usual load, namely finishing my edit of Shelly Franklin’s novel so that it would be ready for Lucy to sell (for a small fortune) in New York and the now-almost-impossible task of working on Blind Submission. The sheer magnitude of my workload did have one advantage: It kept me from thinking too much about what a shambles my personal life had become.

  CRAIG’S CAR was the only one in the driveway when I pulled up to the office. I’d hoped I would be the first to arrive so I could get a jump on Lucy’s endless list in relative quiet, but Craig had also been putting in crazy hours since we’d started planning our trip to New York, so I wasn’t exactly surprised that he’d beaten me to work.

  I steeled myself for the day ahead, gathering my bag, the endless pile of manuscripts, and my still-steaming coffee, and got out of my car backside first in order to gather everything I needed to carry in.

  When I straightened up and turned around, Damiano was standing in front of me, a sudden mirage holding a vase full of calla lilies, and I jumped, a muffled yelp of shock coming from my throat, dropping my coffee and a good portion of the manuscripts I was holding.

  “Damiano! You scared the life out of me!” My heart was pounding and skipping and my knees felt unsteady.

  “I’m so sorry, Angel, I thought you heard me come up. Here, let me help you.” He leaned over to pick up my papers at the same time I did, and the two of us bumped heads, fumbling through a scene that could have been in any number of date movies. “Sorry, sorry,” he said again, and started to laugh. Our faces were very close, and when I raised my eyes to his, I was pulled in again by the sheer force of my attraction. A wave of heat rushed up my neck and into my face. I could feel myself starting to sweat. I lost my balance and started to tip over. Damiano reached out to steady me, and when his hand touched my arm, it felt like an electric shock. I had to stand up, pull myself out of this narrowing orbit of desire before I lost it completely.

  “Do you have an appointment with Lucy?” I asked him when we were both standing with a comfortable distance between us and I could trust my voice again. It was a stupid question because if Damiano had an appointment with Lucy, I’d have been the one to arrange it, but it was the best I could come up with.

  “No, not exactly,” he said. “I have the contracts to sign and I thought to bring them in with these.” He gestured to the vase of lilies, which he’d picked up again. He was wearing a white sweatshirt and blue jeans and looked as if he’d just finished shooting a Levi’s print ad. I could hardly stand to look at him. It was so much easier when I talked to him on the phone and didn’t have to deal with this rush of blood in my veins.

  “You could have sent the contracts in,” I said. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

  “È vero,” he said, and the look on his face grew clouded. “But I wanted to bring the flowers, too. I wanted to say thanks for dinner.” One corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile and he looked at me questioningly, as if there was some subtext I should understand. But it was all too dangerous and I was too exposed, and we were both within the gravitational pull of planet Lucy.

  “Right, dinner,” I said, trying to make my voice light and flip. “That was quite a party. I can see why you’d want to thank her for that.”

  Damiano knit his eyebrows in confusion and the smile faded from his face. He couldn’t understand the bitter tone that had crept into my words and I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t explain it myself.

  “Well, I guess you’d better come in, then,” I said. “No point standing out here.”

  “Angel,” Damiano started, “did I do something to offend you? At the party…I’m sorry if I—”

  “No, no, Dami, not at all. I didn’t mean—”

  “Because I didn’t know you had a—”

  “Boyfriend. I don’t. I mean, I did, but I don’t. Anymore.”

  I turned my eyes away from him, desperate to extricate myself from the tangled threads of the conversation.

  “Okay,” Damiano said finally. “Should we go in?”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling as if I was answering more than one question.

  Craig looked up sharply as we entered, his expression changing from annoyed when he saw me, to surprised when he saw Damiano, to d
isapproving when he realized we’d come in together.

  “Good morning,” Craig said. “Good to see you, Damiano. Angel, Lucy’s been waiting for you. She needs—”

  “I know,” I said, and made my way over to my desk. There was a note waiting on my chair, Lucy’s favorite location for memos she didn’t want me to miss. GORDON HART!!!! it screamed. WHEN AM I SEEING HIM?!?!? PLEASE FINALIZE TODAY!!!!

  “Fine,” Craig said. “Damiano, can I help you with something?”

  Damiano looked from Craig to me and back to Craig again. He wore the same bemused expression I’d seen on his face the last time he’d been in the office. There was absolutely nothing about this little pig’s house of bricks that intimidated Damiano in the slightest.

  “I would like to see Luciana,” Damiano said. “I come bearing contracts and flowers.”

  “Contracts, terrific!” Craig said with false brightness. “I can take those for you.”

  “Bene,” Damiano said, and shot me a sidelong glance full of amusement, “but I prefer to give the flowers to Luciana if that’s okay.”

  I saw Craig’s face redden. “Right. I’ll take you in,” he said, and stood so abruptly he knocked into his orderly desk, disrupting a few of his piles.

  “Grazie,” Damiano said, and followed Craig to Lucy’s door. I could hear the rise of Lucy’s voice as they both entered, but couldn’t make out what she was saying as Craig shut her door immediately afterward. As soon as Damiano disappeared into Lucy’s igloo, I could feel some of the tension leaving my body. What had possessed me to blurt out that I’d broken up with Malcolm? My head was swimming and my intercom was already screeching.

  “Oh Damiano, ha-ha, you’re just a riot! Angel?”

  “Lucy?”

  “Gordon Hart?”

  “Right now, Lucy.”

  “Please!” and she clicked off, still warbling over Damiano.

  I fished the aspirin from my purse and picked up the phone, dry-swallowing three tablets as I dialed Gordon Hart’s phone number. He wouldn’t be there. He was never there unless he was the one calling, especially if Lucy Fiamma was on the line for him.

  “Gordon Hart.”

  I was so shocked to hear his voice, I just stammered, “Uhh, uh…he…hello,” into the phone.

  “Ah,” he said. “Angel Robinson, I presume?” I could hear the smile in his voice again—the same smile I’d heard the first time we spoke.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m just surprised that you answered your phone.”

  Gordon Hart laughed. “Yes, we do that sometimes,” he said. “Just to spice things up. What can I do for you, Ms. Robinson? Does she need to speak with me?”

  “Um, actually, no,” I said. “I’m just trying to finalize her schedule for New York. She’ll…actually, we will be there the week after next, and I wanted to make sure we had a date and time settled for when the two of you will meet.”

  “I’d love to help you, Angel, I really would, but I have no idea when I’m meeting with her. Sarah, my assistant, takes care of these things for me. She’s the keeper of my time. Frankly, I don’t know how she does it.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Sure.” I was loath to let him off the phone. I had no idea when I’d be able to get him again.

  “Tell you what, though,” he said. “I am capable of writing a note, and I promise I will give Sarah one as soon as she returns. I’m expecting her back within the hour, and I’ll be sure to have her call you and set the whole thing up, all right?”

  “That would be great,” I said. “Lucy’s anxious—”

  “I’m sure,” he said, clipping his words. “Tell me, Angel, will we be seeing you as well when you come to New York?”

  “Um…I don’t know,” I said, surprised by the question.

  “Well, I hope you’ll have the chance to come by,” he said. “It would be nice to meet you.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “That would be terrific.”

  “Take care,” he said, and hung up.

  I replaced the phone in its cradle. Gordon Hart wanted to meet me. One of the most important men in publishing. I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face.

  To: angel.robinson@fiammalit.com

  From: ganovelist@heya.com

  Subject: Re: BS/edits

  Dear Ms. Robinson,

  As always, your editorial suggestions were very good; clear and to the point. I am in complete agreement with you with one exception. I don’t believe that the sex scene between Vaughn Blue and Alice is, as you say, “overly graphic and cliché-ridden at the same time.” You may be correct that there are one or two overly familiar tropes in my description of Alice’s feelings (perhaps I’m not as adept at describing a woman’s sexual response as I thought!), but I have to take issue with your assessment that it is too graphic. Alice is a voracious character—a consumer. It makes sense that she would “devour” Vaughn Blue. Alice doesn’t even know exactly how Vaughn can help her, she only knows that he is a means to an end. She may fall in love with him, complicating her goal, in which case she might become slightly more tender. What are your thoughts about that? Every novel needs a good love story, doesn’t it? At any rate, I will “tidy” the sex scene, but won’t “clean” it, and then I’ll send it back to you.

  For now, I am enclosing more text for you. You’ll see that I’ve heeded your advice to “speed things up” and now everything is starting to move much faster.

  I will look forward to your comments as always,

  G.

  Alice was on her way into the daily staff meeting when Ricardo called her over to talk to him. Alice had big plans for this staff meeting and was mentally preparing how she was going to present “her” novel to Carol Moore for representation. This was the one Carol was going to take; the first of many moments for Alice to shine.

  Alice hated having her thoughts interrupted and was annoyed to be sidetracked by Ricardo, but she kept her composure. It was very important to Alice that everyone in the office see her as calm and placid as a summer sea. Despite the fact that Ricardo would ultimately be as disposable as a kitchen sponge, Alice had to give him her attention.

  “Yes, Ricky?” Alice said. Ricardo hated being called Ricky and Alice knew it. It was a game they played regularly now. Ricardo would correct Alice and Alice, affecting a Scarlett O’Hara attitude, would claim to have forgotten. Alice waited for Ricardo to play his part in the game, but this time he didn’t. He looked disturbed, Alice thought. His smooth, caramel-colored skin was covered by a light sheen of perspiration and his shirt was rumpled. Normally, Ricardo was extremely careful about the way he looked and dressed.

  “Alice…” Ricardo trailed off, looking very uncomfortable.

  “Well, what is it?” Alice asked, with an impatient tone that reflected how she really felt.

  “I know that Carol was very impressed after your interview for this job. Even though you didn’t really have any experience, she liked you enough to hire you,” Ricardo said.

  Alice knit her brows together, a gesture that Vaughn had described, just this morning, as “charming.” She had no idea where Ricardo was going with all of this, but his nervousness indicated it was somewhere that she wasn’t going to like at all.

  “Yes?” Alice said, and cursed herself for not sounding more solicitous. “I mean, of course I was thrilled when Carol hired me. But I do have experience, Ricardo.”

  “Do you think Carol Moore got to where she is today because she’s a stupid woman?” Ricardo asked. He was now perspiring quite heavily.

  “Of course not.”

  “So didn’t you think she would check your references and your experience?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “And didn’t you think that she would discover that almost all of it was made up?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alice said. Her fingertips were starting to feel cold and an icy sensation was starting to spread through her body like slowly melting snow.

  “Of course you know wha
t I’m talking about,” Ricardo said. “The point is that Carol liked you so much that she decided to hire you even after she discovered that you’d lied at your interview.” He paused and Alice waited for what was coming next, showing no expression. Her usual plan for a situation like this was to start showing some leg, some breast, or whatever part of her luscious body might appeal to a man. But Alice knew that this wouldn’t sway Ricardo because there was only one woman who appealed to him, and that was Carol Moore.

  “Carol told me that you reminded her of herself when she was your age,” Ricardo continued. “She likes your ambition and she likes that you’re motivated enough to change your circumstances in life.”

  Alice was growing very impatient with Ricardo’s little sermon. “What are you getting at, Ricky?” she said.

  Ricardo lowered his voice. “She trusts you, Alice. Carol Moore has been very good to me and I don’t want to see her get hurt in any way.”

  “So who’s hurting her? What are you talking about?”

  “I know what you’re up to, Alice. I’ve seen you looking through her private files. I’ve seen you gathering information. I’ve heard you talking to her authors.”

  “I’m not up to anything,” Alice hissed, “except work. I’m doing my job.” Ricardo couldn’t know about the novel. Alice had been very, very careful about that. Unless…

  “Is what you’re doing with Vaughn Blue part of your job?”

  Alice recoiled as if she had been slapped. She hadn’t expected this. She had underestimated Ricardo and his powers of observation. This was a regrettable, but not fatal, error in judgment. He didn’t know about what else Alice had been up to. Vaughn was a very small part of a much greater plan.

  “Carol needs to know about this,” Ricardo said. “But I’m giving you the opportunity to tell her yourself. If you come clean about it, I’m sure that she would still be willing to give you a good reference. A real reference.”

  “You’re crazy,” Alice said, and laughed. “I’m not going to do any such thing. And neither are you.”