The Accidental Bestseller

by Wendy Wax

  But whatever her motivations, Mallory had brought them all together to help Kendall and that’s what they needed to do. If Kendall Aims thought the three of them were just going to let her slide down the publishing drain, she didn’t know who she was dealing with.

  Mallory was the first to make it clear that the conversation was not over. “Why don’t we start with your character’s growth arc? Where does she need to get to emotionally? What does she have to deal with to get there?” Mallory said. “Once we have her set, we can figure out the other writers’ journeys.”

  Faye jumped in next. “Maybe you should use what really happened to you, from the time your editor left and things started going downhill,” Faye suggested. “Include a husband who does the wrong thing. Maybe even the kids leaving for college. They always say it’s best to write what you know. And it might be cathartic.”

  Tanya watched Kendall process the fact that they weren’t going to let her off the hook. A whole boatload of emotions washed over her face, but at least when she finally spoke the tears that had been welling in her eyes had dried and her tone was both sharp and sarcastic.

  “Do you think it would be too obvious if my main character was named Kendall and her lying, cheating husband was named Calvin? And do you think it would be OK to kill and dismember him by chapter two?”

  Faye and Mallory laughed in relief, but Kendall’s words smacked Tanya right between the eyes and cleaved right through to her brain. She had what she thought of as a “duh” moment, the kind that practically walks up and clops you on the head and says, “Don’t be stupid, just do this.”

  Trying to work it out, she stood and began to pace to the edge of the deck and back. The others’ conversation stuttered to a halt as they watched her. Faye took her feet off the deck railing and sat up straighter. Mallory stopped scribbling on her yellow pad and Kendall stopped fingering her tool belt.

  “OK,” Tanya said, turning to face them. Her thoughts seemed to be outpacing her ability to communicate, and she made a conscious effort to slow them down. “Kendall’s story is supposed to be about four writers, loosely based on us.” She paused to make sure she had their full attention and then emphasized each word carefully. “But what if they are us?”

  “What?” they Greek chorused.

  Again she tried to slow herself down so that she could be as clear as possible, certain that if they only understood, they would be as excited about her idea as she was. “What if Kendall’s character is Kendall. And Faye’s is Faye. And yours is yours, Mal? And the beautiful, yet driven, single mother is me?”

  Kendall’s brow furrowed. In fact, all of them stared back at her as if she’d somehow taken a nose dive over the edge of reason. But Tanya could see it all clearly now; she just had to make them see it, too.

  “Kendall’s right. She’s in no shape to write a four-hundred-page manuscript from multiple points of view right now. But what if each of us wrote our own character?”

  The shocked silence continued, but Tanya was determined to push through it.

  “We could each write from our own character’s point of view and then we could meld the pieces together.” She paused a moment to gather her thoughts. “That way each of us would only be writing about a hundred pages—a quarter of the book.” She paused once more to let this part sink in; a hundred pages was nothing compared to a complete manuscript—another twenty-five pages a week over the course of a month. “And just think of how genuine each of those characters’ voices will be. We could really create something great.”

  Still no one spoke, but at this point Tanya couldn’t have stopped talking if they’d wrestled her to the ground and taped her mouth shut, which they looked somewhat tempted to do. She just kept spewing out her thoughts, reforming and restating them, trusting that if she talked long enough her message would get through.

  “It’ll be labeled fiction,” she explained, “so we can make up our characters’ backstories or we can write the absolute truth and let people think it’s fiction—whatever’s easiest or most interesting to us. Of course, we’ve got to figure out the plot and what it is that threatens their careers and their friendship—but that should be fun if we do it together.”

  She paused for breath and to scan their faces for clues to their reactions. She’d explained her idea as best she could. Now she was going to have to ask them point-blank whether they were willing to consider it or were just trying to figure out how to tell her “no.”

  17

  The only important thing in a book is the meaning it has for you.

  —W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM

  It took Kendall some time to absorb what Tanya was suggesting. Faye and Mallory also seemed to be stuck in the processing mode; the idea was so staggering that it was hard to take it in right away. Still no one had jumped up yet and said, “That’s ridiculous,” although, of course, it was.

  The minutes ticked away in the late-morning silence as the sun inched up farther and each of them tried to navigate her way through the alien territory Tanya had invited them into.

  “You’re offering to write this book for me.” Kendall wanted to be certain she hadn’t misunderstood.

  “Well, I’m actually thinking of it as more of a collaboration. You’d be writing the primary point-of-view character. And, of course, your name would be on the cover. We’d just be helping you finish out your contract so that you could get the hell out of Scarsdale.”

  “I want to help and I have no problem with doing the pages,” Faye said. “But it feels a bit . . . unethical. Kendall would be putting her name on something she didn’t write alone. I mean, even James Patterson admits when there’s another author on the project. And we’re all under contract to other publishers. I don’t even know if we can legally contribute to a book that someone else has contracted to write.”

  “We’d just be like ghostwriters,” Tanya argued. “There are lots of projects where one person’s name is on the cover and the real author doesn’t get cover credit.”

  “But in those situations the publisher knows who wrote the book,” Faye pointed out.

  Kendall listened to their points and counterpoints, all of them valid. It felt so odd to be the subject of discussion, to have her life and career debated in front of her as if she’d died and been invited to the postmortem.

  “And what if it becomes a runaway bestseller. Makes the lists. Lands Kendall on Oprah?” This from Mallory, who’d done all of those things.

  Tanya snorted. “Hell,” she said, “we all know Oprah only picks stories about dysfunctional families and somebody has to die in the end; these would just be dysfunctional writers. I don’t think she’s gonna be interested.”

  Some of the tension dissipated as they laughed in agreement.

  Kendall was still trying to gather her thoughts. “The truth is I’m not sure we should even be considering this, but I think the chances of that kind of attention are remote.” She ticked off her points on her fingers. “Lacy Samuels has never done this before. Plain Jane is going to slap some crappy cover on it, print the smallest amount of copies possible, and stick it on some shelves. And nothing with my name on it right now is likely to end up anywhere but on the remainder table.”

  They all stared at each other, considering.

  “But more importantly,” Kendall said, “I can’t ask you to do this. You’re all on deadlines and don’t need to take on mine. And I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking credit for your work. Whether it was a hit or a flop, I’d know it wasn’t really mine.”

  “You didn’t ask, Tanya suggested,” Faye said. “And the more I think of it the more I think, ‘Why shouldn’t we?’ I don’t believe anyone here, with the possible exception of Tanya, would be snowed under by another hundred pages. And I think there’d be a great energy from doing this together. We could create something more than any of us could create on our own. There’s lots of work out there done under other names and for different reasons. And besides, no one would ever know. We’d have to make i
t our secret.”

  Kendall looked at her friends and a flood of love for them coursed through her. “You guys will never know what even having this conversation means to me. You make me feel like I’m not alone. That somehow getting through all of this . . . shit . . . is possible.” She paused to regroup, amazed that she could be this close to tears all the time. “I don’t know if what Tanya’s suggesting is the right thing to do. I hate feeling this needy but frankly, the idea of not having to write this book alone makes me almost weak with relief.”

  Kendall paused, wanting to make sure she put it all out there. If they did do this, their whole group dynamic would change; just the act of writing this book together—a book about themselves—could open them up in all kinds of ways, and that wasn’t even taking into account what might happen after it had been published.

  “But we don’t really know what to expect from this; it’s completely uncharted territory. And we could end up wandering in the wilderness. I love Tanya for suggesting it and both of you for considering it. But I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize our friendship. I could probably find a way to live without money or a publishing contract. I don’t think I could live without my ‘peeps.’ ”

  “All right, all right,” Tanya said. “We are not going to get all weepy about this. Kendall, if we decide we want to write this book with you, do you want us in on the project?”

  Kendall gnawed at her lip. Her pride told her to hold her head up and tell them thanks, but she’d be fine on her own. Except, of course, that would be a big fat lie. Even with them here propping her up it was taking everything she had not to run and curl up in bed. Or buckle on her tool belt.

  Slowly she nodded. “I can completely understand if you choose not to do this. I won’t be hurt or offended.” She paused, wanting to make sure there would be no misunderstanding. “The whole idea is definitely on the funky side, but working together would take a huge weight off my shoulders.”

  She could see that Tanya was ready to press for a decision, so she stood to leave, not wanting to know who might be in favor and who might not. “I’m going to go in and make us some lunch. Let me know when you’re ready to eat.”

  “No,” Mallory said. “Don’t leave.” She raised a quizzical eyebrow to Faye and Tanya, both of whom silently nodded their heads. “It looks unanimous to me,” Mallory said.

  They all broke into smiles as Tanya pumped a triumphant fist in the air. “Let’s all go in and make lunch together,” she said. “Then we can start seriously brainstorming while we eat.”

  They trooped inside chattering about Sticks and Stones and the logistics of writing the book together. The brainstorming started over tuna sandwiches and sweet tea and continued well into the evening when they had to stop because their jaws ached and their brains were reeling.

  On Sunday they woke up early to hammer out the basic plot points then sketched out a cast of characters, knowing that each of them would flesh out her own.

  Just for fun, they added an evil and highly unattractive editor as well as a well-intentioned but naïve young editorial assistant. Then they placed bets on how long it would take Jane and Lacy to recognize themselves.

  When their brains were once again completely fried, they went for a hike. After showers they broke open the wine, tossed a salad, and threw a frozen pizza into the oven.

  Kendall’s home-improvement project that day was a small one—just a new latch for the screen door and a fluorescent fixture that she attached under one of the kitchen cabinets; a definite sign of progress that everyone noticed but was careful not to comment on.

  On Monday afternoon Kendall and Mallory drove Faye and Tanya to the Atlanta airport. They stood on the curb and hugged each other fiercely. “Thank you,” Kendall whispered as she threw her arms around Tanya and then Faye. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate . . .”

  “Don’t.” Tanya hugged her back, holding on tight. “I can’t wait to work on your book. Sticks and Stones is going to be killer.”

  “She’s right,” Faye added. “We’re going to write a knockout of a book. You just wait and see.”

  There was a final round of hugs and then Mallory confirmed their plan. “We’ll e-mail detailed character sketches to each other as soon as we can and Kendall’s going to start on the first chapter. We’ll aim for a conference call at the end of the week to discuss what’s been completed and lay out the upcoming chapters. Kendall and I’ll join the scenes together and handle all the transitions. When it’s complete we’ll all do a read through and make notes. After Thanksgiving we’ll get together again to tweak and produce a final.”

  Kendall stood with Mallory and watched the other two disappear into the terminal. If she didn’t have a meeting with a divorce attorney the day after tomorrow, she could have convinced herself that things would be fine. Trying to sidestep a nosedive back into the negative, she got behind the wheel of the Pilot and worked her way out of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport then headed north on Highway 85, fairly certain the car could make the trip without her by now.

  They passed the first few miles in silence, Kendall trying to imagine what Anne Justiss, attorney-at-law, might look like and how much she would charge, Mallory thinking about . . . Kendall had no idea what.

  “Have you been in touch with Lacy Samuels since she first made contact with you?” Mallory asked.

  “No.”

  “Well, I think it would be a good idea to send her a quick e-mail updating her on where things stand with the book.”

  “You mean like, ‘Dear Lacy, Just wanted to let you know that I haven’t actually started the book yet due to a small emotional breakdown. However, even though my husband has left me for a much younger woman, there’s nothing to worry about because when my friends realized how incapacitated I was they volunteered to help me write it?”

  “Very funny,” Mallory said, a pained expression on her face. “But I think we should make sure something from you is waiting for her when she gets into the office tomorrow morning.”

  Kendall shook her head. “If there’s going to be something in Lacy Samuels’s inbox in the morning, it’s going to have to come from you. I was sort of hoping my level of interaction with Scarsdale would fall somewhere between little and none.”

  “Actually,” Mallory said. “I think it needs to be just the opposite. Our goal should be to get her hyped. It can’t hurt to have someone excited about the project.”

  “She’s an assistant, Mal,” Kendall pointed out. “An insult delivered by Jane Jensen.”

  “But she’s also a resource,” Mallory argued. “And whether we like it or not, at the moment she’s your conduit at Scarsdale. It can’t hurt to try to get her on your side.”

  Kendall shrugged, not even close to believing that Lacy Samuels could be any kind of asset. She was more than likely a chip off of Jane Jensen’s block. And if she wasn’t, she was probably some sort of timid little mouse, who’d never question an executive editor.

  Back at the mountain house, Kendall went to her room to take a nap. Mallory retrieved her laptop from the downstairs bedroom and carried it upstairs and out onto the deck.

  With only occasional glances out to the view, she scanned e-mails and responded to both her agent and her editor, staying as vague as possible without sounding any alarm bells. She wasn’t quite ready to find out whether she could force herself to focus on her own work, but felt a strange stirring of excitement about Kendall’s project, which she already thought of as a gift to a friend and not an obligation. The fact that no one but her closest friends would even know she’d written it was incredibly freeing.

  The warm feeling in her belly dissipated when she found no sign of a message from Chris. She debated what to do about it and settled for sending a chatty e-mail filling him in on all that had transpired and apologizing once more. She stopped short of committing to a return date because she’d already decided to let Kendall’s state of mind be her guide, but she vowed to herself to make t
hings up to Chris just as soon as Sticks and Stones was under way and she had her own project back on track.

  Her next order of business was to initiate contact with Lacy Samuels. Using the password Kendall had given her, Mallory logged on to Kendall’s e-mail account and pulled up the Write Mail screen. With her fingers poised above the keys, she thought for a moment, and then, attempting to capture Kendall’s tone and personality, she began to type.

  Hi Lacy, thanks so much for your call. Just wanted to touch base to let you know that I’m up in the mountains and am now completely focused on Sticks and Stones. Am very excited about this book and look forward to working with you to make it all that it can be. The story is developing really well and I see no problem in meeting my December 1 deadline.

  In the meantime, I do have some thoughts about the cover.

  Here Mallory gave very specific input. She knew that Kendall didn’t have cover approval like she did, and that the “cover consult” written into many contracts consisted of an editor sending the completed cover to the author as little more than an FYI. Still Mallory thought it better to give direction than to sit back and wait for the bad news. Everyone knew a cover could make or break a book and yet so often the really great covers were lavished on authors who were so big they no longer needed them while those who would most benefit got covers that could actually hurt them—like the author they knew whose hero had been depicted with three hands. And another whose heroine, shown in a revealing clinch with the hero, could have been the author’s double.

  I look forward to working with you and to hearing Scarsdale’s plans to promote this book, which I think should appeal to both insiders and those outside the industry.

  Here she went on to suggest several promotional ideas that had occurred to her before she realized that Kendall would have never done such a thing—having never been given any reason to believe that her publisher would appreciate these kinds of suggestions. After some internal debate, she deleted those sentences and then before she could rethink it to death, she pressed Send.