“Stupid ass,” she stated. “That’s just what his dumb ass get.” And she went right back her furious typing on the keyboard . . . butt-ass naked.
Brittney Enis felt naked that afternoon herself at the Impact Publishing offices, but not with her clothes. Dressed in a business black suit with a feminine pink shirt, her appearance was always classy and professional. But Brittney felt naked with new ideas. She was ready to put them all out on the line. So she took a deep breath, while standing at her desk station, preparing herself for a meeting with the acquisitions manager, all about acquiring Darlene Krause’s new manuscript for a two-book deal at the right price.
Her co-worker Jill Miller walked up and smiled, squeezing her left arm. “You look good and ready. But remember, this is not about just one conversation. Winning is a process.”
Brittney exhaled with a forced smile and said, “I’ll remember that.”
At ten minutes to two, she began her diligent walk toward the office of Hannah Manningham. It was the fifth room to the left, up a short hallway that was separated from the cubicle area that Brittney and Jill worked from.
Well, here’s goes nothing, Brittney told herself as she approached.
A late fortyish white woman with graying hair and the thin, lined face of hard negotiations, Hannah was ready for her as soon as she walked into the office.
“Brittney, hey,” she greeted her, rising up from her desk for a friendly handshake. Hannah wore a floral blouse and a long beige skirt, but her face and demeanor was all business.
“Hi,” Brittney responded, smiling back. She sat down in the open chair to her left that faced Hannah’s desk, while the chair to her right remained empty.
Hannah wasted no time with it. She had other meetings that day. “So, you really like Darlene Krause?” she asked.
“Yes, very much,” Brittney admitted.
“And so does Vincent Biddle at Williams and Klein,” Hannah commented. She had been briefed for the whole conversation.
“Apparently, he does.”
“I heard he even announced it at a party last week, during the BEA.”
Brittney had no idea she knew that part. She was surprised by it, but not startled. “Yes, he did,” she responded with a calm nod.
Hannah folded her hands in front of her face behind her desk. “And you used to work with Vincent before you came to work with us?”
Brittney took a breath and admitted that part too. “Yes, I did.”
Hannah paused and took a breath of her own. She asked, “This isn’t a power game, is it?”
Brittney paused to compose herself. “No, it is not a power game. It just happens to be . . . a coincidence,” she answered, extending her palms.
Hannah nodded, as focused as a lioness, stalking her prey through the high grass. She asked, “Did you have some type of argument with Mr. Biddle at that party?”
Brittney was surprised again. My God, did they have cameras in the room? she mused. She knew that Jill would never tell. But obviously someone from the company had told.
“Yes, we did,” Brittney admitted. “But we’ve always had an antagonizing relationship, even when I worked with him.”
Hannah took another breath and a pause, while tapping the fingers of her hands together. “But you see what position that puts me in.”
Brittney answered, “After we’ve all worked in the same industry for awhile, we all end up having familiar history in some way or another.” It was a good comeback line, while her heart continued to pound, and her calmness remained intact on the outside.
Hannah said, “Let’s suppose for a minute that . . . Darlene Krause decides to sign with us, and Vincent Biddle loses out on your history. Do you see the position that puts all of us in?”
Brittney lost a touch of her cool and said, “But we are always put in a position in a bidding war. That’s why we call them wars,” she quipped.
“Yes, but your war with Mr. Biddle would be a lot more than just dollars and cents. And you have to think about the best interest of Darlene in this situation. Does she know the history between you two? I don’t believe that she does. And that would be unfair to her, to be involved within a war that may continue on even after everything has already been decided.
“Furthermore, Williams and Klein has had a history of outbidding other publishers for what they want, while we, on the other hand, have a history of not getting involved in the practice of throwing money at authors at all.”
Brittney heard all of that and returned to her cool pose. She responded, “The publishing industry needs a fresh face and new energy. Darlene Krause represents the future of authors who can attract a mainstream audience, while still appealing to minority readers who can relate to her and her story.”
Hannah paused to think about it. She hadn’t been around Brittney Enis much at the Impact Publishing offices, but the young woman sure seemed determined.
She said, “Just out of curiosity, what would be your final offer on a bid?”
“One hundred thousand and we’re done,” Brittney answered strongly.
Hannah shook her head immediately. “No one is giving out a hundred thousand dollars to new authors anymore. I doubt if even Vincent would be able to offer that much. They’re hurting from the economy like everyone else.”
Brittney said, “He’ll offer one hundred and twenty . . . and we’ll still win. But six figures is what she’ll want. Then she’ll feel accomplished and ready to go.”
Hannah read her eyes to determine how sane was. Was this young woman delusional or what? Young people didn’t know how to put in their dues anymore.
But before Hannah could comment further, Brittney added, “By us signing Darlene Krause to that amount, we get an opportunity to address the national media and introduce her with a bang. And that’s what the industry needs right now. Safe and mundane contracts are only getting mundane responses from the readers, which is not safe.”
Hannah said, “Yeah, but that’s putting an awful lot of pressure on a new author to perform.”
Brittney countered. “That’s also pressure on me and on us, in an industry that is suddenly devoid of courage and excitement. And as always, that new excitement will come from the new stories and new authors who are courageous. It’s the American way. That’s why Vincent wants her; she’s the new story with the goods to back it up. And if we think that she’s not strong enough to maintain it, then fine, we back away from the second contract. But we will earn our money back on her introduction. That much I know.”
Hannah thought about it herself. Zadie Smith from London blew out of the gates with her first two books only to cool off just as fast. However, the first two books had already earned out her contract several times over, and her freshman and sophomore books continued to sell. So Hannah actually nodded, swayed by the logic of the Brittney’s numbers game.
Finally, Hanna told her, “You give me a few more days to think about this.” She added, “But in the meantime, understand this: if we do sign her for a hundred thousand dollars and two books, and she explodes out of the gates only to cool off on the second contract, then that becomes part of your legacy, and it also a part of ours. But one-hit wonders is not what Impact is about. We want authors who are gonna last . . . and editors who understand that,” she concluded. “So you think carefully about that.”
She was basically telling Brittney that she could roll the dice and win on a short-sighted project if she really wants, but she could also lose on their long-term mission, which was the real focus on their company; books that continued to make an impact on people’s lives.
Nevertheless, Hannah Manningham had been around the book industry long enough to understand how a small publishing house like theirs could continue to earn handsomely by presenting the breakout books of new authors.
Authors who are able to make an Impact, she repeated to herself of the imprint’s motto.
And Brittney was up for the challenge. It’s not as if I’m going to allow Darlene to wal
k out into the fire without my expertise. And I believe that I can get her to trust me . . . especially if I get her a hundred thousand dollars. She’s already assuming that I’m going to offer her less than that . . . just as I planned it.
All the way out west in Denver, Colorado, Darlene was bored to death and waiting desperately behind her desk station for her lunch break to arrive at the job. In June, the Colorado ski season was nowhere near where it would be from September through April. The ski lodge and resort where she worked was nearly empty now, which gave her plenty of time to daydream about heading back to New York.
“Hey, Darlene, how was your trip to New York? the chipper supervisor walked in fro outdoors and asked her. She was a handsome, blonde-haired woman with a lot of energy and a great body, especially at fifty. A veteran skier since her adolescent years in grade school, her looks were more handsome than pretty because of her physical stature and athleticism.
And not only was the supervisor good-looking, youthful and curvy, the management there had hired a bunch of great looking guys and girls, who all oozed with good health, bright white teeth, liveliness and all day and night sex appeal. Darlene even called it “The Factory,” obviously established to keep their clientele of skiers in bliss, whether they were old family folks, teenagers, young toddlers or hot and flirtatious singles.
However, Darlene had to work extra hard that morning to manufacture her usual light bright smile. Speaking about her trip to New York helped had her.
“Oh, it was great,” she responded. “It’s lots to do there. I had a lot of fun.”
“Yeah, but I bet they don’t ski,” her supervisor quipped as she breezed by toward her interior office.
Again, Darlene had to force out a smile. Who cares if they ski or not? she thought to herself. Man, I can’t wait to get the hell out of here! I’m starting to think that Denver is just like they think it is in New York; skiing, football and pretty-girl airheads. And here I am working at a ski resort of all places.
As she continued to cringe at her present predicament, the supervisor breezed past her again, always in a hurry to fix something in her tight-fitting ski clothes. Darlene figured she loved to show off her body.
She said, “What were you in New York for again, a writer’s convention or something?”
Evidently, Darlene had made the mistake of talking about the purpose of her trip to the wrong person at the job, who had ran their mouth to her boss about it, because she surely hadn’t told the woman. She was the nosey type who investigated everything to use against you.
“Oh, it was just a book conference discussion, but I was mainly there to see New York with some friends,” Darlene blew it off. She didn’t want the woman thinking too much about her writing aspirations. She didn’t want the extra attention around there.
The supervisor said, “Oh, okay . . . your mother told me.”
Mommmm! Darlene thought to herself. Why does she even talk to everyone?
“Yeah, she just knows how much I love books, that’s all,” Darlene commented, embarrassed that her mother had been the culprit to tell.
“Oh, okay. You thinking about writing a book one day?” her boss asked her next.
This time Darlene’s smile was genuine, genuinely deceptive. “Maybe one day,” she answered. “But I always wonder what I would write about that would be so interesting for someone else to read, you know.”
Her boss shrugged. “There’s plenty of things to write about. You could write about love at a ski resort. You know how they had the Love Boat, the seventies television show? Well, you could write . . . I don’t know, Love Mountain, or whatever. He he he,” she giggled and ran off.
Darlene continued to grin. After her supervisor had left the room, she mumbled, “Exactly. Then I could take it to New York and get it published for a hundred thousand dollars.”
Are you kidding me? she chuckled to herself. Please get me out of here! I mean, how ditzy can that woman be? I guess she’ll be a teenager forever. Even though she’s fifty-something.
Read the next exciting, raw and unedited chapter
of CORRUPTED
a serial ebook by Omar Tyree
on Friday, September 30th
and the Friday after that
and the Friday after that . . .
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Omar Tyree, Corrupted Chapter 11
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