The Nomination
Page 29
He’d been wrestling with this book for a year now, and he still hadn’t found his rhythm. He didn’t know whether it was this particular book, or it was him. Maybe he’d lost it. Maybe he’d never write anything publishable again.
The phone rang.
Mac grabbed it the way he’d grab somebody’s hand if he were falling into a bottomless crevasse. Any excuse not to write.
“Mac Cassidy,” he said.
“It’s Ted,” said Ted Austin. “You’re not working, are you?”
“Of course I’m working,” said Mac. “And since you’re calling me, I assume you are too. Or is this a social call?”
“Have I ever made a social call?”
“Not to me,” said Mac. “Not yet. So what’s up?”
“I got good news and bad news. The bad news is worse than the good news is good. Let’s get it out of the way.”
Mac swiveled around in his desk chair so that he could look out the window. The autumn sun was streaking through the crimson maples. “I have acquired a certain perspective on bad news,” he said. “You don’t need to soften it for me.”
Austin cleared his throat. “Beckman’s pulling the plug on the Simone project.”
Mac found himself nodding. “Did he say why?”
“No. But we can surmise.”
“I’m on schedule. We’ve abided by the contract.”
“Sure we have. It’s not your fault, Mac. He’s not blaming you. What you’ve shown him is good stuff.”
“The Larrigan material is dynamite,” Mac said.
“Yes.” Austin hesitated. “Exactly.”
“Oh.” Mac laughed quietly. “I get it.”
“Somebody got to them.”
“Threatened them, you think?”
“Who knows,” said Austin.
“Look,” said Mac after a minute. “If you want the truth, it’s a relief. I don’t like this book. With Simone dead, it’s not right. I’ve been struggling to get a handle on it.”
“Then it’s not such bad news after all.”
“Not that bad.” Mac hesitated. “So what’s the good news?”
“You can keep your advance.”
“That’s it?”
“It was a generous advance.”
“Yes,” said Mac, “it was.”
“There’s a kicker,” said Austin. “It’s this. If you publish this book with somebody else, you’ve got to return your advance to Beckman.”
“So I can not write it for a nice advance,” Mac said, “or I can write it and forfeit the advance.”
“Yes,” said Austin. “Well, you’d probably get some kind of advance, assuming we could place the book. Doubtful it’d be as generous as Beckman’s.”
“Tell you the truth,” said Mac, “I don’t want to write it. This book doesn’t want to be written. It’s been fighting me every inch of the way. I wouldn’t feel that bad about keeping the advance.”
“I told Beckman we wouldn’t make a fuss about it,” said Austin. “We could, but we won’t. He’s grateful for that. He wants to hear other proposals. I’ve got some ideas.”
“You know what?” said Mac. “I’m tired of writing other people’s stories. Maybe this would be a good time to try something different.”
“Like what?”
Mac was shaking his head. “I don’t know. A novel, maybe.” He hesitated. “Something from my own heart, not somebody else’s.”
“Well, Mac,” said Austin, “if you write a novel, I’ll try to sell it for you. Please keep in the back of your mind, though, that what you’re really good at is ghostwriting.” He paused for a moment. “We’ll talk some more. Happy Columbus Day. Enjoy the holiday. Do something fun.”
“Maybe I will,” said Mac.
He hung up the phone, stood up and stretched. A novel, he thought. That might be fun.
He walked through the house and out onto the back porch. Katie and Jessie were working side by side with wicker grass rakes, dragging fallen maple leaves into big piles on the lawn. They hadn’t seen Mac step out onto the porch. From where he was standing, they could have been sisters—Katie looking older than her age and Jessie looking younger than hers. Each was wearing cut-off jeans and a big floppy T-shirt and dirty sneakers, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, laughing together in the slanting afternoon sun, raking crimson and golden autumn leaves into piles in Mac Cassidy’s backyard.
—THE END—