“Where are Leah and Priscilla?”
Sara blinked a few times, trying to clear her blurred vision. “What do you mean, where are Leah and Priscilla? How should I know? I haven’t seen anyone until just now when you showed up.”
“I could throttle her. I dropped them off fifteen minutes ago and told them to meet you here while I parked the car. They’re probably shopping.” Geri snorted. “Do you know what I’ve been through today?”
Sara shook her head, too upset to speak.
“At six-thirty, when we were supposed to be here, she plops herself down in a chair at the make-up department in Bloomingdales and says to the girl at the counter, I want a makeover. I remind her for the umpteenth time that we have a six-thirty dinner reservation and she says; I’ll just get a mini-makeover. Can you believe it? I have been her personal shopper all day long and if I have to listen to her go on about…” Geri stopped in mid-rant. She pointed to the other entrance. “There they are. C’mon.” She grabbed Sara by the arm and dragged her back inside the restaurant. “Did you manage to hold our table?”
Sara nodded. Embarrassed by the obvious quiver in her voice, she informed the hostess her party had arrived. She and Geri followed the hostess to their table while Leah and Priscilla disappeared again.
“They went to the bathroom,” Geri said in a loud whisper.
“Who’s Priscilla?” asked Sara.
“Oh, someone from this conference Leah’s attending tomorrow. I think she’s wants to be a writer, but I don’t think she’s written anything. I had to listen to her giggle all day.” Geri got the waiter’s attention and ordered a glass of Chardonnay. “And keep ‘em coming.” She turned to Sara. “Do you want anything?”
Sara shook her head. When she put it all together, the oysters, the sparkling wine and standing in one place for nearly an hour and a half, she realized wasn’t feeling very well.
Leah, with Priscilla giggling in her wake, appeared at the table. Without a word or even a glance, she scooted onto the bench next to Sara. Priscilla sat across from Sara, a perpetual grin sewn on her face.
“So what’s good here?” Leah asked no one in particular. Sara watched her fiddle with the menu, but she noticed Leah didn’t look at it.
“Leah,” interrupted Geri, “this is Sara Wise, the author I told you about.”
Sara extended a hand towards Leah, but it was ignored as the waiter approached. “So what’s good here?” Leah repeated. “Oh, and I’d like an ice tea right away.”
At the sound of Priscilla’s chortle, Sara withdrew her hand and shoved it in her pocket. She was grateful for the dim lighting. My face must be beet red.
“Everything’s good here,” Geri said. “They have the best…”
Leah didn’t wait for Geri to finish. She spoke to the waiter. “I’ll have some chicken stir fry.”
The waiter appeared dumbstruck for a few moments. “Madam,” he said at last, “we don’t offer chicken stir fry. We are not a Chinese restaurant; we are a Thai restaurant and we’re known all over the Bay area for our wonderful Thai cuisine.”
As Sara watched, open-mouthed, Leah waved a hand in the waiter’s face. Surprised, the man backed up a step. “You have chicken, don’t you? And you have vegetables, don’t you? Throw them together, stir fry them and that will be adequate. I don’t really care.”
Priscilla found that hilarious; their server less so.
But Leah, you’re the one who specifically asked for a reservation at this restaurant.
Feeling very ill at ease, Sara was grateful when Geri ordered for the two of them, while Priscilla ordered an ice tea like Leah’s. Sara couldn’t make out a thing else anyone said over the intermittent giggling and the ambient noise in the crowded restaurant.
At last the waiter completed their orders, and with thinly veiled contempt, stalked off toward the kitchen. To ask for chicken stir fry. Leah had better hope some disgruntled sous chef doesn’t spit in her food. The notion improved Sara’s mood a little.
“So.”
Sara jumped at the voice in her ear. She turned in Leah’s direction.
“Aren’t you gonna pitch to me?”
Sara was taken aback. “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”
Leah adjusted the purple pashmina about her shoulders, folded her arms across her chest, and leaned back into the upholstered seat.
“I said, aren’t you gonna pitch to me. Where’s your three-line pitch? Let’s hear it.”
Cheeks burning, Sara turned towards her. “I’m sorry. I haven’t prepared one.”
“Why not? Isn’t that why I’m here? Isn’t that why you wanted to meet with me?”
“Why I wanted…?” Sara chose her words with care, making certain Leah could hear her over Priscilla’s loud giggles. “Actually, I was under the impression we were having dinner together. I assumed we’d spend some time in conversation. You’d tell me what you do, talk about your trip out here, discuss the sort of genres you’re looking for, the authors you work with; and if you have some interest, I’ll be happy to describe what I’m writing.”
“You see? You see?” Leah pointed an accusing finger at Geri. “This is the problem. I don’t have time for conversation. The three-line pitch is everything.” She turned back to Sara. “If you can’t deliver a three-line pitch on cue, you won’t get anywhere in this business.”
Sara clenched her fists. Now she understood why Geri had said she’d wanted to throttle Leah Rosen. Making every effort to keep her voice even, Sara asked, “Don’t you get sick of people trying to sell something all the time? This is a wonderful restaurant. Wouldn’t you prefer to enjoy your dinner and some conversation?”
Leah’s eyes opened wide. She seemed to see Sara for the first time, looking her over from head to toe, or at least from head to waist. Sara hoped this meant a light would go on in Leah’s eyes. No such luck.
“No. I’m not much for food and you’re here to sell me on yourself, nothing more. So do you plan to give me a pitch or what?” Leah turned away from Sara as the waiter set down her glass of ice tea. “Bring me the entire carafe,” she said. She didn’t seem to notice his snort of disgust.
Jesus H. Christ, what have I gotten myself into?
Leah turned back to her. “I’m waiting.”
Sara sighed. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a three-line pitch prepared, but I did bring along three manuscripts and…”
“Nope. Nevermind.” She dismissed Sara with a wave. “I don’t look at manuscripts unless they come from my own authors.”
Sara felt the press of the leather satchel against the backs of her legs. Gritting her teeth, she ordered herself not to smack Leah Rosen upside the head with it.
“You need to attend a Bucher Seminar. That’s what I’m in the Bay Area for. That’s how you get ahead in this business.”
Sara tried and failed to muster some interest, but for the sake of politeness, she asked, “What’s a Bucher Seminar?”
“Oh.” Leah’s voice became animated. “This will be my fourth. He teaches you how to get past all your blockades, you know, how to unblock your energy.” Leah swiveled on the bench again, until her knee pressed against Sara’s thigh. “If you’d attended a Bucher Seminar, you wouldn’t have any problem coming up with a three-line pitch like that.” She snapped her fingers in Sara’s face.
“I’m attending too,” said Priscilla, a smug look on her face.
Sara glanced at Geri, but failed to catch her eye. Her friend was busy signaling the waiter for another glass of wine.
All right, swallow your pride, and ask. Sara put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand. She focused all her attention on Leah. “Oh? How does he unblock your energy?”
Leah’s smile was as smug as Priscilla’s. “He helps you confront your mother issues. I mean, c’mon, we all have mother issues. Take my mother, for instance. When she visits me, she cleans my house and does my laundry.”
Sara was confused. “What’s wrong with that? Isn’t she just b
eing helpful?”
Leah’s enthusiasm increased. “It would seem that way, wouldn’t it, but no, she’s not being helpful. It’s a veiled criticism of me and my housekeeping. It’s her way of pushing my hot buttons. Oh, the fights we’ve had. You can’t imagine.”
Man, this conversation is climbing near the top of my weird stuff-o-meter and I talk to ghosts. Sara cleared her throat. “I’m sure the situation is very difficult for you.” Sara saw Geri roll her eyes and take a big sip of her wine. “So how does the Bucher Seminar help you deal with your mother?”
“Oh, well, he teaches you to just let it go, let it all go. Now when my mother comes, we’re like two ships passing in the night. If she wants to clean, that’s her problem, not mine. Now you…” Leah pointed that omnipresent index finger at Sara, “must suffer from a boatload of mother issues. That’s why you don’t have a three-line pitch prepared. He could help you, you know.”
Yeah, right. You’ve got me pegged. I suffer from a boatload of mother issues and they inhibit my three-line pitch presentations.
Geri snorted, but it seemed to Sara she was the only one who noticed.
Leah continued. “All those issues are getting in the way of your career. You can’t even deliver a three-line pitch when asked.”
Thank you, Dr. Freud. How much do I owe you?
The appetizers arrived, served by the bus boy. Apparently their waiter had had enough of them.
“I need my carafe of ice tea,” Leah said, shaking the ice in her glass. “And some soy sauce.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He vanished and returned within seconds with the items requested.
He placed a platter of fresh spring rolls in the center of the table. “Thank you,” Sara said. The young man gave her a shy nod.
“These are the best in the city,” Geri said. “You really ought to try one.”
Leah looked them over. She shrugged. “Not interested.” She waved at a passing waiter. “Can you bring my chicken stir fry now? I don’t need to wait until after the appetizers.”
“I’ll get your server, madam.” His voice was cool, but polite.
Oh my God, I can never show my face in this restaurant again. She is the proverbial customer from hell. Sara wanted to hide beneath a paper bag. Their server appeared with a plate of something brown and chunky. “Your chicken stir fry.” He set the platter down, and without another word, spun on his heels and disappeared.
Leah offered the platter around. “Help yourselves.” Only Priscilla took a spoonful. Sara wrinkled her nose, her nausea returning at the sight of the unidentifiable mixture of ingredients.
Sara set a spring role on her plate so she could pick at it and pretend to eat. On any other day, she’d dig in with relish. These spring rolls were to die for. But today was not any other day. Spring rolls she had aplenty; it was an appetite she lacked. She offered the platter to Priscilla, who snatched up two without hesitation.
Leah and Geri were discussing something, but Sara zoned out. Just get through dinner. If you finish early enough, there’s a nine-thirty bus back to the Vallejo Ferry Building. If it’s late, catch the ten-thirty bus, the last bus. And when you get home, Nathan will be waiting. She couldn’t help it, she smiled despite everything.
“Yeah, I thought that was funny too.”
Sara nearly jumped out of her skin. Priscilla leaned over the table.
“What? I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“That story, Leah’s story about her author’s new series. Weren’t you listening? It’s about wolf shifters. They do it in wolf form. That’s hot.”
“You’re kidding?”
Priscilla shot her a frown. “No, I’m not kidding. Don’t you think it’ll be, well, you know, kind of arousing to read about characters doing it in wolf form?”
Sara looked directly into the woman’s face. “No, I don’t find that arousing. If I want to watch dogs doing it, I can go to the local dog park. Dogs humping each other isn’t my idea of arousing.”
“Oh really?” Leah spoke up. “What makes you an expert on arousal?”
For Christ’s sake. She turned to Leah. “I’m not an expert. I’m simply saying dog sex doesn’t turn me on.”
“Well I think our readers would disagree. Besides, I’m talking about shifter sex in wolf form, not dog sex.”
“Same difference,” Sara mumbled.
“All right then.” Leah’s voice held a great deal of contempt. “Tell me what your stories are about.”
When Sara didn’t answer immediately, Geri spoke up. “She writes lovely contemporaries. Her newest is a paranormal.” She tipped her glass of wine in Sara’s direction.
Dear, dear Geri. She really is a nice person. Grateful, Sara flashed her friend a smile.
“What’s the paranormal about?”
Crap. I’m cornered. Sara pushed her plate away. “The heroine is a reluctant seer who…”
Leah dismissed the idea out of hand. “A seer? You mean like a psychic or a mind-reader? Psychics and mind-readers don’t sell.”
Before she could stop herself, Sara blurted out, “Seems to me there’s a very popular series about a mind-reader that’s ended up on HBO.” Ignoring Priscilla’s nervous giggle, Sara returned Leah’s glare.
“What kind of paranormal creature is your hero? I assume he’s a vampire or a demon, since you don’t find shifters a turn on.” Leah challenged her.
Uncomfortable, realizing she’d be describing Nathan, Sara said, “No, in the beginning he’s incorporeal, but…”
“You can’t have an incorporeal hero,” Leah interrupted. “Where’s the HEA? You can’t have an HEA with an incorporeal hero; you can’t even have sex with an incorporeal hero. No HEA, no readers. It’ll never sell. Nobody’s going to bite. Nobody’s even going to nibble. Deus ex machina.” Leah smiled as she added that last jab.
“Vampires are dead. They don’t have blood flowing through their veins, yet they seem to achieve physiologically impossible erections. Frequent, long-lasting erections from what I’ve read. Deus ex machina.” Sara rose from her seat. “When you ask someone a question, the polite thing to do is listen for the answer. Excuse me. I need some fresh air.” Sara did her best not to trip over her bag and lose whatever dignity she had left.
“What a bitch.” Priscilla made no effort to keep her voice down. Despite the noise and the crowd, Sara had no problem hearing the words as she walked away. She swallowed around the big, fat lump in her throat.
What on earth made you think you had anything to offer a publisher, especially a publisher like Leah Rosen? You are so far beneath her notice; it’s just, well… You think you’re deluded when it comes to incorporeal beings? You’re deluded about fitting into the publishing world.
I’ll take incorporeal beings over Leah Rosen and her giggling sidekick any day.
Sara wandered outside the restaurant and leaned on the railing above the water, trying to regain her composure. The fog had lifted and she could see Treasure Island clear as a bell. If the island hadn’t been in the way, she could have seen the pretty lights strung across the East Bay hills too. Sara forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. The smell of the breeze off the water reminded her of the flavor of the Kusshi oysters.
You know, they weren’t bad. I wouldn’t mind trying them again. The scent, sight and sound of the water soothed her. Despite the company waiting for her back in the restaurant, Sara had to admit the night was lovely; it was one of those rare clear and mild Bay Area nights.
Maybe I can learn to shuck oysters so Nathan can enjoy them with me. I bet I can find a shucking knife in the kitchen store here…
“I used to live there.”
“Huh?” Sara started.
“Over there.” Geri pointed east. “Of course you can’t see it, but I used to live there. It was a long time ago and it was only for a few months.”
“Were you in school?”
Geri shook her head. “Living with a guy.”
For several minutes, the two women
stood in silence, staring out over the water.
“Sara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she would be, well, I thought she actually wanted to meet you, that she was paying attention when Mark Katov spoke to her about your work. I feel so stupid. I deluded myself into believing she actually listened to me today. I guess she just wanted a free chauffeur and a couple meals.”
Sara shrugged. What was there to say?
Geri laughed. “You know what I think is really funny?”
“Hmmm?”
“I think tomorrow morning she’ll wake up and she won’t remember your name, or my name for that matter, let alone this dinner. Did you try that chicken stir fry? Talk about lousy.”
Again, Sara didn’t respond. There really is nothing I can say to make this better.
Geri put an arm around Sara’s shoulders. “Let’s go in and pay up so we can get the hell out of here. I still have to drive the both of them to Saratoga.”
“Are you going back home tonight?”
Geri shook her head. “Not sure yet. I might stay down there for this seminar. Maybe it’ll get my manuscripts read by somebody.” She laughed. “And God knows I could use some help with my mother.”
The two women returned to the restaurant, arm in arm. As they approached their table, Geri caught the waiter’s eye. “I think we’re ready for the check.”
Without a word, Sara squeezed back in beside Leah. Priscilla made an obvious effort to ignore her, but Leah turned towards her.
“Let me give you some free advice because this may be your only opportunity to speak with an actual publisher,” she said. “If you want anyone to take an interest in you, not only must you learn to deliver a three-line pitch on cue, you must become branded.”
Sara blinked at her, wondering if Leah expected a response. She opened her mouth to comment, but closed it again when Leah continued speaking.
“By branding I mean this. You must become McDonald’s. When you go to a McDonald’s anywhere in the world and you buy a cheeseburger, you know you’ll get two pickles on it. That’s what readers want.”
Incorporeal Page 9
