Death By Chick Lit
Page 20
“Where to?” Doug came in and glanced inside the fridge. “We need half and half.”
“Can we stop at the book idea store?”
“Sure,” said Doug. “We’re out?”
Lola smiled ruefully.
They left the house, turning away from the bridge over the canal. Even before noon, the sun was burning high and hot. Doug steered them to the shady side of the street.
“Hang on.” Lola doubled back to the mailbox on the corner. The pickup time label on the inside of the chute handle was covered with looping black graffiti. She took Quentin’s check from The Cover out of her bag and dropped it into the box. Inside an envelope wiped clean of fingerprints and addressed, with her left hand, to Wally Seaport.
Surely they would reissue Quentin’s check—perhaps his last.
And meanwhile, she’d let Wally investigate The Cover, maybe connect a few dots, write the exposé that’s been waiting to happen.
Lola felt a bit bad about her potential role in revealing that authors like Mimi, Daphne, and Honey had had so much “help.” But if The Cover’s reach was as far as it seemed, their involvement was but a drop in the bucket. And as for their current contracts, there was no reason Annabel wouldn’t keep her deal with her publisher; Quentin, whose actions were not so much wrong as annoying, would likely come out clean.
“Mailing anything interesting?” Doug asked. He then frowned in mock horror. “You don’t pay bills with actual checks, do you?”
“Actually, in this case, yes,” said Lola. He will be so proud of me for handing this one off. “See, the part I hadn’t had a chance to tell you yet—”
Her phone rang.
Doug clapped his hands. “Your phone! Your favorite!”
Lola punched him in the arm.
“Hello?”
“Lola, so sorry to bother you on your cellular, but I just had an inspiration.”
“No problem at all, Dixie.” Lola stopped walking and raised her eyebrows at Doug. This was interesting. Dixie hated cell phones. She refused to use them except for matters of colossal importance.
“I was thinking about you and your husband. Your collaboration in the Leo Guinness affair. How well you seem to work together. How well do you think you would work together?”
“Like, work work? Probably pretty well, actually,” said Lola.
“And pretty fast?”
“When can we start?” asked Lola.
“Start what?” Doug mouthed.
“Good girl. Here’s the inspiration. A marriage guide. A hip marriage guide. Not that self-help pabulum that no one like you would be caught dead with on your nightstand. A guide for people like you. There are hip dating guides, there are hip parenting guides, but nothing for preeps like you.”
“Preeps?”
“Preparents. It’s a whole psychographic. Never mind. Are you with me?”
Dixie was practically breathless. This was the most excited Lola had ever heard her sound.
And this was the most excited Lola had felt in a long time. Her earlier reservations about branding herself professionally as one-half of a husband-and-wife team had dissolved, and not just because an agent was finally freaking calling her with an idea.
I am so tired of trying so hard to prove myself, Lola thought, to friends, to editors, to the goddamn New York Day books section. Who on earth would think less of me if I let someone, someone who happens to be my beloved full partner in everything except possibly scented candles, share the driving? I am officially ready to stop with the clenched-hands, gritted-teeth efforts to control everything and instead take on what the universe seems to be offering me, even a universe that requires a fifteen percent commission.
“Well, I guess I wouldn’t be a good husband-wife team player if I didn’t discuss this proposition with my husband first, would I?”
“Oh please, go ahead. But get back to me fast. This is a hot one,” said Dixie. “And Lola?”
“Mmmhmm?” Lola was practically hopping on one foot at this point. Doug was smiling back at her, still having no idea why.
“Just don’t use the term team player in the proposal.”
“She wants us to write what?” asked Doug.
“We can totally do it,” said Lola. “Between my experience, your ‘fresh new voice’-ness, and the weirdness about communication and trust we just went through, we’re all over it. The rest, we research.” She was on a roll. “You can fit it in after work and stuff, can’t you?”
Doug pondered for a second, but he was nodding already.
“Sure, monkey, yeah. Yeah,” he said. “I actually think we can do it. It’ll probably be fun, huh? Plus, we’re basically talking about getting paid to spend time together, so.”
Lola flung her arms around his neck, kicking one leg back and up for old-fashioned emphasis.
Her cell phone beeped.
“See? Not my favorite,” she said, not budging.
“You should get it,” said Doug. “Could be Scorsese.”
“All right,” Lola said, disengaging herself. It was a text message. From Wilma Vouch.
Yr mom gave me yr #. Thank u so much 4 yr help w/everything. Let me take u 2 to lunch @ Bergdorf’s sometime. Not that the cops believed me, but I go there all the time 4 the lobster club. Also, great bathrooms.
Beep. Another text message.
11:17 AM, antisocialclimber, hot sh*t writer Lola
Somerville, running errands in NoWay, adorable as always
“Oh my God.” Lola thrust the phone toward Doug. Before he could react, it rang.
“I’m so sorry, that was just me,” Annabel admitted, laughing.
Lola joined her, cracking up. “You suck-slash-rule!”
“Couldn’t resist. Checked with Doug, he said you were running out to do a couple things, so …” said Annabel. “Point is, I know it’s, like, trivial, but you totally deserve someone to post that to Celebuphone. I know I don’t count, but …”
“Actually, Bella?” said Lola. “You do.”
Outside their favorite doorknob store, Lola stopped Doug and looked him in the eye. “And sweetie? I’m all about the breeding. Just … soon. Very soon. Really,” she said. “I was getting there even before the book idea thing. I just need … a few more good nights of sleep. Then we can start having some not so good nights of sleep.” She kissed his cheek. “Right now, just for today, let’s say the book can be our baby.”
“Deal,” Doug said with a grin, kissing her right back. “Long as I get to pick the name.”