by Marian Keyes
And the damage would be incalculable, not just to poor penniless Nathan Frey but to her. To orchestrate a flop, before the book had even been sold…
Word always got around, everyone’s faith in her would be shaken, and the gossamer-fine relationships she’d built up with editors over the years would take a long, long time to repair.
26
Tuesday evening Jojo’s bed (post-coital)
‘So what are you going to do?’ Mark asked.
‘What would you do?’
‘Accept the £1 million pre-empt.’
‘I see…’
‘It’s an astonishing sum, especially for a debut.’
‘I seeeeee…’
‘Like that, is it?’
‘What?’
‘You’re not going to take it, are you?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know.’
‘You want to beat the £1.1 million that Richie Gant got for Fast Cars, don’t you?’ Mark wound his fingers in her hair. ‘It’s not a good way to make decisions. If you’re trying to get one over on Richie, it’ll cloud your judgement.’
‘I didn’t ask for your advice,’ she said haughtily.
‘Yes, you did,’ he laughed, kissing her knuckles, one by one. ‘And that’s the thing about asking for advice, Red, sometimes you don’t get the answer you want.’
She lifted her head, disentangling his hand from her hair, then flopped back against her pillow and sighed.
‘Wish you were back in the precinct?’ Mark prompted. He had a little boy’s interest in her police life and was always trying to get her to talk about it.
‘It wasn’t all Charlie’s Angels, you know.’ She was slightly testy. ‘How would you like checking out a body so ripe you can smell it four floors away and having to keep watch until the bus showed up?’
‘Bus?’
‘Ambulance. We were supposed to wait in the apartment but sometimes the smell was so bad we couldn’t. We’d haveta stand in the hallway, trying not to puke.’ She turned to look at him and burst out laughing. ‘Oh Mark, you should see your face. That’s the thing about asking for gory details,’ she deadpanned, ‘sometimes you don’t get the answer you want.’
He pinched her. Somewhere interesting.
‘Don’t do that unless you mean it.’
‘I mean it but –’
‘But?’
‘– but the optic needs refilling.’
‘Beautifully put.’
‘While we’re waiting, tell me what this terrible smell is like.’
‘The worst there is, once you experience it you’ll never forget it.’
‘Would it make you ill?’
‘Would it make you ill! The first whiff makes you gag, and you keep on gagging. And the smell gets on you – sticks like glue to your clothes and hair so everyone else gets it from you. Then they all start heaving. But,’ she said cheerfully, ‘you could get lucky and get a nice fresh one, who’d been dead only a few hours. They might have a nice apartment so you could watch TV for a coupla hours while you waited. Even get some beers in. That’d be a good day.’
‘You’re joking about the beers?’
‘No.’
After a thoughtful silence Mark asked, ‘Did it ever get to you?’
‘The beers or the dead people?’
‘The dead people.’
‘Sure.’
‘Like when?’
After another thoughtful silence Jojo replied, ‘A four-year-old girl, a victim of a car crash, died in my arms. I couldn’t eat dinner that night.’
‘That night? Just that night?’
‘Maybe for a few days. Hey, don’t look at me like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like I’m a monster. I had to be tough, that’s how we coped. You can’t go out with a bleeding heart, you won’t last a lick of time. Can we talk about something else?’
‘Alright. How’s Manoj working out?’
‘He’s OK. He’ll do until Louisa comes back.’
‘If Louisa comes back.’
‘Don’t.’
‘And even if she does,’ he teased, ‘it’ll all be different. She’ll often be late and distracted and smelling of baby sick. Falling asleep and leaving early to bring her child to the doctor and she’ll have lost the killer instinct.’
Jojo pinched him. Somewhere interesting.
‘Don’t do that unless you mean it.’
‘Oh, I mean it.’
Afterwards they dozed off and when Jojo awoke with a jump, she saw that it was 1.15 a.m.
‘Mark, get up. Time to go home.’
He sat up, his skin wafting a sweet heat to her. He was sleepy but it was clear he’d been giving this some thought. ‘Why don’t I stay?’
‘Just not go home?’
‘Yes.’
‘You want to get caught?’
‘Would it be so bad?’
‘Yes. No matter what happens this isn’t the way to do it.’ She threw a sock at him. ‘Get dressed. Go home.’
27
10.00 Wednesday morning
The clock ticked closer and closer to Pelham’s deadline and Jojo was still no nearer to fixing on a decision.
Take the million and lose the chance of getting more? Or turn down the million and run the risk of getting far less?
There was no way of knowing: it was just a guess. Although it felt better to call it a gamble.
It was no different to the poker she used to play with Pops and her brothers. Pops used to sing,
You’ve got to know when to hold them,
know when to fold them,
know when to walk away…
‘Jojo, Patricia Evans is on the line. Do you accept or decline?’
… know when to run.
‘Decline. I’ll call her back in ten.’
Jojo whooshed by Manoj’s desk. ‘I’m going to see Dan.’
‘Your mentor,’ Manoj said. ‘Mentlor,’ he amended when she was gone. Manoj feared Dan Swann and his funny green hat.
Dan was in his office doing something with a cloth to one of his pieces of war memorabilia. He was wearing his green hat – he must have forgotten to take it off when he’d come in – and underneath it his face was small and imp-like.
‘Hello, Jojo, you’ve caught me polishing my helmet.’
Jojo was never sure how many of Dan’s double entendres were intentional. All, she suspected, but now wasn’t the time…
‘You’re looking a little hot under the collar.’
‘I bet I am. I need to say this out loud: I’ve been offered a £1 million pre-empt from Patricia Evans. Should I accept it and lose the chance of going a lot higher? Or turn it down and run the risk of getting nothing at all? You’re an experienced agent, what do you usually do?’
Dan rummaged in the pocket of his cords and emerged with a coin. ‘Heads or tails?’
‘Oh come on.’
‘Sometimes I go to Olga Fisher –’
‘Why Olga? Should I go see her?’
‘– and we play paper scissors stone.’
Jojo looked displeased and Dan said vaguely, ‘I can’t give you any answers. It’s a game of chance and I suspect what you should do is look at what those crass young men call the worst case scenario.’
Jojo considered it. ‘Worst case scenario? I could lose £1 million. I could destroy an author’s career.’
‘Quite.’
‘Yes,’ Jojo said thoughtfully. ‘Thanks, Dan. This has really helped.’
‘You’ll accept it?’
Jojo looked surprised. ‘No.’
‘Excuse me, my dear, but you’ve just said you could lose £1 million and destroy an author’s career. You did say that, didn’t you, because if you didn’t I fear I may be going the way of Jocelyn Forsyth’s barking auntie.’
‘I said it was the worst that could happen. It’s not a matter of life or death. Like, no matter what happens no one gets hurt. No, I’m going all the way. Thanks.’
A one-hundred
-and-eighty swivel on her high heels and she was gone. Dan spoke to the air. ‘That woman would eat her young,’ he observed, with warm admiration.
Later
It was a hard call to make. Patricia wasn’t pleased. Not one bit, and abruptly she withdrew the warmth she usually reserved for Jojo.
‘You can still bid on Monday,’ Jojo said, gently.
‘I’ve made the only bid I’m going to make.’
‘I’m sorry, I really am. If you change your mind… I’m going nowhere and you have my number.’
Afterwards Manoj asked, ‘How did she take it?’
‘She hates me.’
‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’
‘Oh no, she does. But hey, it’s not like she was my best friend. And the next time I have a good book, she’ll want to know. Now tonight,’ she said, changing the subject entirely, ‘which yoga class should I do? I could go to the hard one and stand on one leg like a heron, sweating like a pig, or I could go to the class where I lie on the floor and breathe deeply. Which shall I do? Tell me, Manoj.’
‘Lie down, breathe deeply.’
‘Correct answer. You’re a good boy.’
‘A man, Jojo, a man. When will you see it?’
Later still
She decided to skip yoga. It had gotten too late and she could lie on the floor and breathe deeply just as easily at home in front of the TV.
She gathered up her stuff and on the way out saw that the light in Jim Sweetman’s office was still on. On impulse she stopped for a quick chat, but when she rapped on the open door, then pushed it, she saw that Richie Gant was in there with Jim. They looked up at her blankly, then turned their attention back to a speaker from which a disembodied and very deep voice boomed, ‘Hey, there’s always residuals.’
‘Sorry,’ Jojo whispered, moving away.
It was seven-thirty and Jim Sweetman and Richie Gant were on a conference call. What the hell were they up to? Who could they be talking to at this time of night? No one on Greenwich Mean Time, that was for sure. Which meant they were talking to somewhere else.
28
11.10 Friday morning, the agents’ weekly show and tell
‘Jojo?’ Mark asked. ‘Anything to report?’
‘Sure have. My author Miranda England is number seven in this week’s Sunday Times best-sellers.’
Murmurs of ‘Well done’ and ‘Good stuff’ came from around the table. Only Richie Gant said nothing at all. She knew because she looked hard at him, trying to catch his eye to have a good gloat.
Mark moved on. ‘Richie?’
Both Jim Sweetman and Richie shuffled and sat up straighter. They exchanged some kind of look and Richie got the nod. You tell them.
Ah fuck, Jojo thought. Scooped again.
‘The blinding Mr Sweetman,’ Richie sounded like a disreputable used-car salesman, ‘and his media department have sold the movie rights of Fast Cars for $1.5 million to a major Hollywood studio. We’ve been talking to the West Coast all week –’
Talking to the West Coast. He loved saying that. So that’s what they’d been doing on Wednesday night.
‘– and we wrapped it up late last night.’
Then Richie met her look. A full-on smirk right across the table and into her face.
3.15 Friday afternoon
Manoj buzzed her. ‘I have Tony O’Hare from Thor. Accept or –’
‘Accept.’
Jojo’s adrenalin was in sudden full spate. This could be good. Another pre-emptive offer, perhaps. A funny time to do it, on Friday afternoon, but…
‘Jojo? It’s Tony. It’s about Love and the Veil.’
‘Yes?’ Breathless.
‘I’m very sorry but I’m going to have to pass on it.’
Shit.
‘Personally speaking, I loved it, but we’re pulling in our horns a little here. Not such a great year, not too much spare cash, only temporary, but that’s how it is. I’m sure you understand.’
‘OK.’ She had to clear her throat. ‘OK,’ she said again in a more normal voice. ‘Don’t worry, Tony. Thanks for letting me know.’
‘No, thank you for sending it to me. I really am sorry, Jojo, but it’s a great book and I’m sure you’ll have no trouble selling it.’
Jojo was no longer sure of any such thing.
‘Well?’ Manoj came in.
‘He’s not interested.’
‘Why not?’
‘Says they’re short of cash. Can you open the window?’
‘Why? Are you going to jump?’
‘I’d like some air.’
‘It’s painted shut. Don’t you believe him?’
‘It’s hard to know because they’ll never say outright if they don’t like a book. Just in case it’s a huge hit and everyone knows they passed. I’m going out to have a cigarette.’
Jojo stood on the street, inhaling and exhaling thoughtfully. There were still three publishers in the running. There was still everything to play for.
But there was very little point in going to tonight’s hypnosis session. She needed to keep smoking to get her through this weekend.
29
3.05 Sunday afternoon
Jojo looked up from the Sunday paper and asked, with sudden curiosity, ‘Doesn’t Cassie ever wonder where you are?’
Mark had shown up shortly after ten. They’d gone to bed, gone for breakfast, then back to bed and now they were making their way through a pile of magazines and newsprint. He seemed in no hurry to go home.
Mark put down Jojo’s Harpers. ‘I don’t just disappear. I always tell her something.’
‘Like what?’
‘That I’m working, or playing golf or…’
‘And she believes you?’
‘If she doesn’t, she doesn’t say.’
‘Maybe she’s up to something herself.’
‘You think she might be?’
‘Would it bother you?’
After a long pause Mark said, ‘It would be a relief.’
Jojo couldn’t really imagine Cassie having a torrid affair. Mind you, affairs didn’t have to be torrid, not all the time. Cassie might go for walks by the canal and do crosswords with her man also.
She’d seen her once, but that was long before she was interested in Mark, so she hadn’t paid her much attention. She remembered her as looking like the primary school teacher she was: Suzy Hausfrau smiley and cosy with a frosted bob. She was in her early forties but Jojo only knew that because Mark had told her.
She and Mark had been married about fifteen years. Jojo knew the story. Mark was friends with her brother – still was – and he’d met Cassie when they’d all shared a flat.
Jojo often wondered if he still loved her; she could have asked him, but she was scared he might say he did and scared he might say he didn’t.
‘Yikes,’ Jojo said. ‘I’m sorry I mentioned Cassie, now I feel, like, really guilty.’
‘But –’
‘Tell me something. Entertain me.’
Mark sighed, then rallied. ‘OK. Look at her.’ He pointed out a tennis player in the magazine. ‘She gets ten million a year in sponsorship, think of the commission. We’re in the wrong business, Red.’
‘We could try getting Coke to sponsor authors. Nah, you’re right, books aren’t sexy enough.’ She laughed at his downcast face. ‘Oh, alright then, what about product placement?’
‘What?’
‘Well, you know – hand pick a few hot authors, match them to a product and they write about it in glowing terms in their novel.’
‘I can see the industry loving that.’
‘OK, initially it would cause uproar, but money talks.’
‘So give me an example of this product placement.’
Jojo put her hands behind her head and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. ‘Take… say… let’s see. Right, take Miranda England – she’s good for quarter of a million copies of her current paperback, and her readers are almost entirely women aged between twenty and forty.
’
‘And what product would you place?’
‘Ah…’ Jojo bit her lip as she thought. ‘Well, cosmetics is the obvious one. The protagonist could wear a certain brand every time she goes out. Say, Clinique.’ Jojo was a Clinique girl and had been since she took herself into Macy’s, aged sixteen, and had her chart done. ‘You don’t have to hit readers over the head with it, but you could make your point. More subtle than advertising and much more targeted.’
‘God, you’re good.’ Mark shook his head in admiration.
‘I’m only joking,’ Jojo said, suddenly anxious.
‘I know, but I’m enjoying it. Go on.’
‘OK.’ She warmed to her theme. ‘Men and cars. Pick any of those guy books and have the hero driving a Ferrari. No, scrap the Ferrari, too expensive, regular people couldn’t afford that. Maybe a Merc, or a Beemer.’
Then her imagination really kicked in. ‘No, no, I know! Something like a Mazda. A medium-price car that’s maybe trying to sex up its image. As well as putting it in the book the author would have to drive that car for a year. And the book’s anti-hero could drive one of their rival’s cars, it could break down at a vital moment, that sort of stuff. The possibilities are endless… And another thing! We could name books after the products. Not just new publications but back-list titles could also be auctioned off. The Horse Whisperer could become Coca-Cola’s Horse Whisperer. Or Bridget Jones’s Diary – “ brought to you by Clinique”. They do it with sport, so why not books?’
Mark was doing his thing of smiling but not looking at her. ‘And how would we persuade our authors to agree to this? They’re a precious lot, you know.’
‘If the money was right…’ Jojo said archly.
‘You’re brilliant,’ Mark said. ‘Brilliant. So,’ he teased, ‘first thing tomorrow I should set up meetings with car manufacturers and soft-drink companies.’
‘Hey, it was my idea!’
‘Tough. The world of business is a savage one.’
