Corrupted Chapter 4

  “Thank you. So do you.” He was being courteous.

  Their train ride would only last for another ten minutes that morning, which to him was long enough. He didn’t want to look back to the past. He only thought about the future now.

  “You work at a corporation inside the city?” she asked him. It was a different dress code from his Post Office gig. Plus, he carried a briefcase with him.

  Antonio smiled and shook it off, raising his briefcase with his response. “No, I’m headed to the BEA at the Javits Center for my writings.”

  Jessica raised her brow, remembering. “Oooh, yeah, that’s right.” Then she frowned, confused. “What’s the BEA?”

  “Book Expo America. It’s a big convention they hold every year for the publishing industry.”

  Jessica got excited for him and grabbed his arm. “So, you finally got a book deal? Congratulations! I’m so proud of you.”

  She was so excited that Antonio decided to go with the flow of instead of telling her the truth, that he was still looking for a deal.

  “Yeah, you just have to keep pushing in this world for what you really want,” he told her.

  She looked down at his briefcase again. “So, what’s the name of your new book? I used to love your writings.”

  Antonio paused and thought about it. Yeah, but you never had the faith that I could publish any of it, he reflected.

  “We haven’t really decided on a final title yet. We have a few different ideas, you know.”

  He noticed a few of the other train riders beginning to eavesdrop. He could tell by their frequent glances.

  “Well, which stories did they want?”

  Antonio had written plenty of different stories. His mind had been all over the place.

  Knowing that eyes were watching and ears were listening, he hesitated.

  “Well, for right now, the werewolf stories are hot.”

  Jessica cringed. “Werewolf stories?” She hadn’t read any of those.

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right. I started writing them after.” He meant after they had broken up.

  Jessica remained curious about it. “Are they like, about Latinos?” All of his other stories had been Spanish based. He felt that Hispanic culture hardly had enough American literature.

  “Yeah, of course,” he answered proudly. It was the one point where he would not bend. His main characters would be Puerto Rican.

  Jessica noticed his anxiety as they approached the downtown New York stop.

  “Next. Time Square, New York,” the train announcer boomed through the intercom system.

  Jessica quickly pulled out her cell phone. “What’s your number now?”

  Antonio hesitated again. Oh, what the hell, it’s only a number, he told himself. So he gave it to her.

  “Okay, I’ll call you.”

  When he stepped off the train without her, he felt relieved. “Wow. Imagine how differently my life could be right now,” he mumbled as he walked toward the ascending staircase. Two of his younger sisters had already started families with kids, and it was definitely not a cakewalk. So Antonio was pleased to be an uncle instead of a father. An uncle held a lot less responsibility.

  Speaking of responsibility, Natalie Cumberland felt responsible for her actions and the reactions of her husband the night before. She showed up bright and early at the BEA herself to personally apologize to Vincent at the Williams & Klein booth.

  “I accept full responsibility for myself and for my husband last night, and it will never happen again,” she told him. She just wouldn’t include her husband in publishing events anymore. And she had to remind herself to tone down her own emotions in the process.

  Vincent kept his cool and nodded, noticing that she wore another black outfit. He sat in a high-backed chair in front of an empty wooden conference table.

  “I understand. We all can get a little emotional at times. Writing and publishing books is our whole livelihood, and it’s not to be taken lightly.”

  “You got that right,” she agreed with a forced chuckle. “With that all in mind, I wanted to get down here early before your busy day got started, because I really wanted a chance to flesh out all of your editing notes, face to face, and before I leave New York.”

  Natalie and her family lived in Detroit, an entirely economic story of its own.

  Susan overheard it all, while standing close by them in silence, but with a watchful eye. She continued to sift through Williams & Klein’s hard back titles to place on the table as showpieces. She had also read and reviewed Vincent’s editorial notes to Natalie, and they had discussed them all at the office. Susan had agreed with Vincent, Natalie’s new writing was not enticing enough for her present readers. It was all loose and runny eggs now instead of a hard scramble. Her writing didn’t have the same punch that it used to have.

  In a new day with revitalized energy, Vincent had no time or tolerance to mince words. He was ready to give it to her straight.

  “I think you need to start over again with a brand new book idea, and something that you can really sink your teeth into. I honestly don’t believe there’s anything you can do to make this book work,” he told her.

  He said, “In most cases with successful career authors, they’re able to maintain a creative zone that they use to keep their characters fresh and edgy. And they know to maintain stories that are gonna appeal to their loyal base of readers. But with your characters moving on to new heights and never returning to their old stomping grounds, your stories give the readers nowhere to go now.”

  Natalie listened in stunned silence, so Vincent continued.

  “The readers are in it each time for a new and unexpected journey and not a finished destination. You understand? So every book starts fresh with new and exciting surprises, whether you’re using the same characters or not, and lately you just haven’t done that.”

  He was speaking to her as if she was an amateur and not a ten-year veteran of seven books, five of which were New York Times bestsellers. However, her last two novels had not made the list and had not sold as well.

  Natalie took in the curt response from her editor and immediately looked to Susan as a witness, as if she could help explain what had just happened.

  Susan could feel the air being sucked out of the huge room. All of sudden, the convention center seemed as small and as suffocating as a dorm room closet.

  “Start all over? We’re talking about more than three hundred pages. Vincent, I’m trying to finish that thing to start working on a new contract,” she blurted.

  Susan quickly turned away as if the contract talk was none of her business.

  Vincent kept his cool reserve in his chair. He said, “I understand what you want, but as an editor, that’s like telling the football coach that you’re ready to rush through the season whether we win or lose, just because you’re ready for a new deal. But that’s not how it works. We’re working on this book right now. The next book will take care of itself once we’re ready.”

  It was a valid point and question. Vincent wasn’t a banker; he was an editor. And if the work wasn’t up to par, he rightfully didn’t want to be associated with it.

  Natalie snapped, “Well, I happen to like this book. So I’m not gonna start all over. I put a lot of heart and soul into this thing.”

  “I can’t tell,” Vincent countered. “And I’m sure that your readers won’t be able to tell either. You remember the reviews they gave you on the last two books? Now you want us to go along for the ride on a third one. Well, count me out on this one. I have a bad stomachache from the food.”

  For a minute, there was a stare down between them with no words. Vincent then decided softened up on his hard stance. He opened up his palms as if pleading to the judge in court.

  He said, “The readers just aren’t willing to put their hard-earned dollars on the table for books that don’t satisfy them, especially when there are so many self-published books coming out at half the price of your hard backs. So we just
can’t afford to miss anymore.”

  It was as honest as he could get. And he may not have been a banker, but he knew how to count, and Natalie Cumberland’s books hadn’t been adding up to her large advances anymore.

  With the other editors and assistants beginning to arrive at their booth, Natalie’s window of private opportunity was closing. But they were all respectful enough to give Vincent the space and time he needed to finish up his private counsel with her.

  “So, what are you saying, you’re not gonna publish this book?” she asked him bluntly.

  “It would be against my better judgment and against your ongoing career. If you do still intend to have one,” he answered. “Instead, I would advise you to take some time off from writing and get to read what else is out there. Sometimes we can get a little cut off from the real world while involved in our own cocoons.”

  “Are you saying that I’m out of touch?”

  “Obviously, we were both out of touch on your past two books,” he admitted. “But I’m wide awake on this one. And this book is not what you need to move forward.”

  Vincent was ready to move forward from their conversation. He wanted to speak to new writers, retailers and marketers. Even Lauren Grandeis had promised to stop by to see him.

  “Well, I still think we can, you know, make this book work,” Natalie insisted.

  Susan overheard her plea and felt bad for her. She had read the author’s new novel herself, and Vincent was right, there was an awful lot of work to be done on it. Natalie could really use a fresh start. However, her economic state was urgent, and she did not have the quality time to write a new novel. She needed more advance money right now. So she pushed him into a corner anyway.

  “I’m just gonna go back and work on the notes that you already gave me then. So I need to make it all more dramatic, is that it?”

  Vincent was done talking. He sighed and told her, “We’ll talk about it later.” And that was it. He wanted to hear no more about it. Nor did Natalie want to discuss it further. She understood that she was in a losing battle now. Improve the book you have or start a new one.

  There was no argument to that. A new book, taking several months to write, before awaiting another editor’s review, would be murder, particularly in her present state of mind. A lack of money made her lose focus and patience. And with her husband no longer employed in the auto industry of Detroit, increasing his longing to drink and philander, Natalie’s writing became their only family income and their only source of stability.

  Jesus, Lord, help me! she prayed. We’re gonna have to take out a loan on our house.

  As Natalie backed away, Susan approached the conference table with new books in hand as the other Williams & Klein editors and assistants made their move to join in around the conference table.

  “Hey guys. You two are always the first here in the morning. What time you get here, eight o’clock?”

  “Seven,” Vincent joked.

  “Nah, you didn’t get here that early.”

  “We were here early enough,” Susan chipped in. In her two and a half years of working for the company, she was picking up a lot of the strong habits of her immediate boss. And after losing eight different assistants to new jobs in the past dozen years, Vincent was happy to have her constant show of support and stability for a change.

  Always the able teacher, he pulled his assistant aside to consult with her in private.

  “Did you hear Natalie’s argument? It’s all based on money. If it was not, she’d listen to me and write a better book,” he commented.

  “Many times authors are thrilled to have a break. But when they need money, they force it. And it goes both ways. Sometimes the publisher will try to force out a book before it’s ready. That happens a lot when an author’s hot, like Jackson. And I’ve been through both situations. So you have to be careful to watch yourself on both sides of the coin.”

  Susan nodded. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard it all or been around the tough decisions before, but each new lesson served as a reminder.

  Before Vincent left her to ponder, he dropped another bomb on her. “Natalie’s likely working on her last book for us now. I’ve been through it all before. And just like with athletes, when an author loses it, it’s time to move on and cut them or trade them to another team. Then we see if they can make a comeback on someone else’s bill. But usually . . . they don’t.”

  Then he smiled. “Business is business.” And he walked away.

  Susan stood there and shivered, feeling the cold draft of the huge room sweep up under her and chill her bones.

  Wow! she thought to herself. Will I be able to do that, so cut and dry, when my time comes to be an editor? She took a measured breath and concluded, I guess I’ll have to. It’s all a part of the job.

  Antonio Martinez rode the escalators down to the main hall of the Jacob Javits Center, while proudly wearing a purple registration badge around his neck.

  He took a deep breath as he reached the bottom and stepped off. “Okay, here goes everything,” he mumbled. He then headed to his left to find the Williams & Klein Publishing Group booth. His first mission was to have an impromptu meeting with Vincent Biddle.

  Tony felt fine as he moved through the massive, temporary structures of the publishing industry. And there were hundreds of them standing over ten feet tall. Who would have ever guessed there were that many companies that published books? But there were, from comic book companies to science fiction, fishing, boats, cars, camping and Christianity.

  Tony made note of them all as he walked by them. But once he spotted the Williams & Klein structure and company logo, a hawk in flight, carrying the WK initials in its claws, he began to get nervous.

  Okay, shake it off, he told himself. He already knows you and likes you.

  But this is different, he countered. Now you’re asking him to look at your work. That’s more professional than just speaking to him at a party.

  Nevertheless, his body moved forward, as he spotted Vincent chatting it up with his female assistant. He was the only person of color at the booth.

  “May I help you?” one of the other editors asked Antonio before he could reach Vincent. He was a white man in his mid thirties. He suspected the well-dressed Latino was all about business, judging from his dress code and his black briefcase.

  “Yeah, I’m here for Vincent Biddle,” Tony informed him.

  “Oh, okay. And your name is . . . ?”

  “Antonio Martinez.”

  The man nodded. “Okay, Antonio. I’ll go and get him for ya’.”

  Why? He’s right there in front of us, Antonio questioned, grinning.

  Protocol was ridiculous sometimes. And before the man could address Vincent behind him, Vincent noticed Antonio and called out his name as if they old friends.

  “Antonio Martinez!”

  Tony smiled and felt better already. “So, you remember me?”

  Vincent strolled over to greet him with a proper handshake. “Of course, I remember you. It was just last night. What do you think, I’m senile? I’m not that old, am I?” he joked.

  “No, no, you’re not that old. But anyway, I’d figured I’d stop by and show you some of my work,” Antonio told him.

  “Oh yeah, well, pull it all out. Let me see what you got.”

  Vincent moved immediately to the conference table and took a seat to read. Then he waved his assistant over.