She’d even pulled Baldwin’s deposition from the file and read it. According to his sworn testimony, he left the lighting company on good terms for a better job with a large floor-covering outlet in Fayetteville and harbored no bias against either party. Shortly before his employment ended, he overheard a conversation between the three owners about the need to finalize the terms of their buy-sell agreement in writing. It all seemed straightforward enough, but Amy had her doubts. And one of the worst things that could happen to a lawyer was to inform a judge that testimony presented as truthful was, in fact, a lie.
Chris swiveled in his chair when Amy appeared in the doorway.
“Come in,” he said.
Amy sat down across the desk from the lawyer. He handed her a stack of papers.
“I marked up the Westside Lighting brief. I hope you can decipher my comments.”
Amy glanced at the top sheet of paper, which was covered in red ink. There were lines drawn to the side and words scribbled down the margins. Something about it all struck her as humorous, and she started to chuckle.
“What is it?” Chris asked.
Amy turned one of the pages to the side and studied the words that crawled along the edge. She spoke slowly.
“Does this say, ‘The Court in Delray, supra, ruled that the contract was unenforceable on grounds that are clearly distinguishable from our case’?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re good here.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve been translating lawyer scribbles for a long time. I’ll let you know if something doesn’t make sense.”
Amy turned to the third argument, the one based on the testimony of Michael Baldwin. Chris had left it largely intact.
“Are you sure you want to rely so heavily on Michael Baldwin’s deposition?” she asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it.
“That’s my strongest argument. I even thought about moving it to the front of the brief.”
“I agree, but if he’s not telling the truth, it could put you in a bad spot.”
“He doesn’t have an ax to grind with anyone, and his testimony is consistent with what our client claims.”
“Yes, I saw that.”
Chris and Amy stared at each other for a moment.
“When do you think you can make the corrections?” Chris asked.
“Unless Mr. Phillips gives me a project I’m not expecting, I should be able to have something to you by the end of the day.”
“That would be great. I’m coming in tomorrow morning to work on this case.”
Amy left Chris’s office, taking her secret information with her.
Shortly before noon Amy sent Mr. Phillips an e-mail reminding him that she’d be gone for at least an hour. Thankfully, he didn’t pry into the reason why she requested the change in her normal schedule.
When she arrived at Ms. Burris’s house, Amy found Natalie sitting in her car in the driveway.
“How long have you been here?” Amy asked.
“A few minutes.”
“Why didn’t you go inside?”
“I wasn’t sure I should until you got here.”
Amy glanced sideways at her friend as they approached the front door.
“Were you scared to ring the doorbell?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think I did a terrible job of describing Ms. Burris to you. She’s like a friendly grandmother. It would have been fun for you to meet her without me around.”
“Oh, does Ms. Burris know about the man you found?”
“I don’t know, but if she doesn’t bring it up, please don’t mention it. I want this time to be about other things.”
“Okay.”
Amy pressed the doorbell. It took a minute or so for Ms. Burris to open the door. The elderly woman had dressed up for the occasion and was wearing a yellow brocade dress with an emerald necklace around her neck. It was the first time Amy had seen her since the allegation surfaced at the law firm about her decades-old romantic relationship with Sanford Dominick and her recent influence on his estate plan. The possibility that two people so different in their later years could have been attracted to each other when younger seemed as strange to Amy as anything she’d written in either of her books.
“Come in, Amy,” Ms. Burris said with a smile. “And you must be Natalie.”
Natalie extended her hand, but Ms. Burris reached out and gave her a gentle hug.
“Handshakes are for men who meet each other at a business lunch,” Ms. Burris said. “Let’s go directly into the sunroom.”
As they followed Ms. Burris through the house, Natalie looked from side to side and craned her neck as she tried to see into all the rooms they passed.
“You have a lovely home,” she said to Ms. Burris’s back.
“I’ll give you a tour later. There’s no need to try to see everything now.”
“I’d love that.”
“Natalie is a fantastic decorator,” Amy said.
They reached the sunroom. Light snacks of cheese, fruit, and sparkling water were laid out on a glass table. The birds that lived in the backyard were out in force and surrounded the sunroom, almost making it feel like an aviary. Ms. Burris served each of them a small plate of fruit and cheese. Amy nibbled one of the cheeses and licked her lips.
“What is this?”
Ms. Burris glanced at Amy’s plate.
“That’s a Hittisau. The other two are Appenzeller and Flosserkase.”
Amy sampled the other two cheeses. She’d never imagined something as common as cheese could be so exotic. Natalie put some Hittisau on her plate.
“I’m glad I don’t have to spell it to eat it,” Natalie said. “I could make a meal of this.”
“The Appenzeller is stronger,” Amy said.
“Yes, it’s often used in fondue,” Ms. Burris said.
“How did you learn about cheeses?” Natalie asked.
“I did some traveling in Europe when I was younger.”
Amy wondered if that was when Ms. Burris spent time with Mr. Dominick. Amy put a tart, crisp grape in her mouth. The fruit was deliciously fresh.
“This is wonderful,” she said.
Ms. Burris smiled and pointed at the glass table.
“Everything God creates is good. That’s the fruit. But he gives us the ability to create wonderful things as well. That’s the cheese.”
Amy nodded.
“Tell me about you,” Ms. Burris said to Natalie.
Natalie took a sip of water and gave a one-paragraph summary of her personal background before launching into information about her family.
“Not so fast,” Ms. Burris interrupted. “There’s more to you than what you’ve said. Amy has dreams in the night. What are your dreams during the day?”
Amy saw her friend’s eyes widen. She had no idea what was going through Natalie’s mind.
“Nothing but silly thoughts,” Natalie said after a few moments passed.
“Like Amy, you’re a creative person, too.”
“I like to decorate.”
“But that’s not all, is it?”
Natalie glanced nervously at Amy before she answered.
“I’ve never shared this with anyone except Luke, but I have an idea for a series of children’s books. I’ve written part of the first story and painted a few watercolor illustrations.”
Amy’s mouth dropped open. “I think that’s fantastic. Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was trying to be a copycat or compete with you. I’ve wanted to write and illustrate children’s stories for years, but I kept pushing it away. Then, when you got a contract for your first novel, it gave me the courage to try. I thought if—” Natalie stopped.
“Amy Clarke could get a book published, there is a chance for me.” Amy finished the sentence with a smile.
“Sort of like that,” Natalie admitted sheepishly. “But I’m super-proud of you and know it’s a long sho
t for me to get my foot in the door with a publisher.”
“When can I see what you’ve done so far?” Amy asked.
“Not until the first book is finished. I’ve written most of the text, but I have three more illustrations to complete. You won’t give me a sneak peek of your novels.”
“And now I’m sorry,” Amy said before turning to Ms. Burris. “You should see what Natalie does with watercolors. If Jeff and I ever bought a house at the beach, I’d have her paintings in every room.”
“The stories are set at the beach,” Natalie said. “They’re about a family with three children who discover things in nature while on vacation.”
“That sounds great,” Amy said. “Authors who weave educational information into children’s books have a big niche.”
The women continued to talk and nibble the fruit and cheese. Every time she looked at Natalie, Amy couldn’t keep from smiling. Ms. Burris took them into the kitchen where they fixed a salad from an expansive array of ingredients that included several kinds of fresh seafood. Amy loaded her salad with crab, not the imitation stuff squirted through a nozzle and shaped by a machine, but succulent, moist meat that tasted as clean as the arctic waters it came from.
After they’d fixed their salad plates, the women returned to the sunroom. There were four yellow finches thrusting their sharp, pointed bills into the tiny openings in a birdseed sock. Ms. Burris said a blessing for the food, and they began to eat. The short prayer made Amy want to make sure they left enough time at the end of the luncheon to pray again. No one spoke for a few moments while they savored the food.
“Amy, are you working on a book?” Ms. Burris asked.
Amy swallowed a bite. “Yes. I just started.”
Natalie raised her eyebrows. Amy made a split-second decision.
“And I’d like to run the concept by both of you.”
Beginning with the dream and the verse, Amy laid out the inspiration for the story and ended with her elevator synopsis. The other two women listened without interrupting her.
“My agent is more excited about this book than either of the other two,” Amy said. “And Jeff even seemed interested, which is a first. What do you think?”
Natalie looked at Ms. Burris and didn’t say anything.
“What is it, Natalie?” Amy asked.
“I’m just not sure,” Natalie said slowly. “It sounds, uh, so different from anything else you’ve written. But I’m sure I’ll love it when I read it.”
“There will be a different kind of depth to the characters,” Amy explained. “Brainstorming the plot has shown me the potential that’s in the story when I open myself up to more possibilities.”
“Possibilities to show the deeds of darkness?” Ms. Burris asked.
“Yes, and how the light dispels the darkness.”
“I missed that in the summary.”
“It will be there,” Amy replied, shifting in her chair.
The women continued to eat; however, for Amy the salad had lost some of its appeal. The disapproval from the other two women about the direction of the new novel hung heavy in the air.
“Tell me what you really think,” she blurted out. “Now is the time before I invest a year of my life writing this book. I’ve never shared my ideas so early in the process. After today, I’m going to be second-guessing myself every time I turn on the computer.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Natalie replied immediately. “And I trust you enough to know that you’ll use the gift God has given you in the best way possible. Don’t let me discourage you; I’d never do that.”
Amy bit her lower lip. “But it’s so easy for me to feel insecure, especially when I consider doing something different from what I’ve done before.”
“I agree with Natalie that you’re sincere and talented,” Ms. Burris said calmly. “However, my question is whether the verse from Ephesians is the basis for a new novel or preparation for what you’re going to face in your own life.”
Amy felt like she’d been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat. She didn’t breathe for a few seconds.
“Are you sure about that?” she managed.
“No,” Ms. Burris said. “But you asked us what we really thought, and I felt that I should mention it. Would either of you like something else to drink?”
“Water, please,” Amy mumbled.
Ms. Burris left for the kitchen. Amy immediately turned to Natalie.
“Is she right? My agent and Jeff didn’t have a problem with the concept. And I know I wouldn’t write something that dishonored the Lord.”
“Please, Amy. You can’t expect me to be the Holy Spirit for you.”
Even though Natalie was right, Amy felt put off. Ms. Burris returned with Amy’s water and then asked Natalie a question that took the conversation in another direction. Amy didn’t participate. She silently followed the other women as Ms. Burris gave Natalie a tour of the house. When it was time to leave, Amy didn’t ask Ms. Burris to pray.
“Are you okay?” Natalie asked as they walked toward their cars.
“How could I be?”
nineteen
A much less confident Amy returned to the office and tried to focus on her work. Late in the afternoon her cell phone vibrated. Usually she didn’t answer during the day unless it was Jeff or one of the kids, but Bernie’s picture appeared. Hoping for an emotional lift, Amy quickly closed the door between her work area and Mr. Phillips’s office.
“You answered,” Bernie said with surprise. “Is your boss playing golf this afternoon?”
“No, but he should be back shortly. He had lunch with a client, then went directly into a full-fledged meeting.”
“So the client buys lunch and gets billed for the time.”
“Yes.”
“Pretty soon you may be able to afford filet mignon for both of us,” Bernie replied.
“What do you mean?”
“The synopsis you sent me for the new novel was dynamic. I shot it out of the cannon to acquisitions editors at four of the big six and hit bull’s-eyes with two of them.”
The publishing industry was dominated by six companies with global distribution capabilities.
“If we play this right, we may be looking at an auction for your services.”
“An auction?”
“We set up a conference call and parade you around the paddock like a prize broodmare. The bidders weigh in with competing offers. When the bidding stops, we decide which stable will have the benefit of your services.”
Amy didn’t like the analogy.
“What about Dave Coley? Did you talk to him?”
“Not yet, but he wouldn’t be able to pay the entrance fee for this kind of sweepstakes.”
“I still want to let Dave and Cecilia read the synopsis for the book. I trust her instincts, and they took a chance on me when no one else would.”
“And you’ve rewarded them with two novels that are better than most of the titles they bring to market. This is the way it works, and they know it.”
Amy didn’t doubt Bernie’s knowledge about the publishing industry, but that didn’t make it feel right.
“Don’t fret. I’m going to send it over to Dave eventually,” Bernie continued. “But I wanted to see if I could get a nibble from New York before defaulting to plan B. And I got a lot more than a nibble. One of the editors bought a copy of A Great and Precious Promise and read it before calling me back.”
“You’re kidding. What did she think about it?”
“That it was an excellent first effort but only showcased a hint of your potential.”
“And she understands I’m a Christian.”
“As plain as if you stuck a Bible verse beneath your face on a billboard. Look, these editors know the kind of writers who get contracts from Christian publishing companies. It’s self-evident. The issue is whether a person has enough storytelling chops and writing ability to produce a book that can stand on its own outside the Christian ghetto. Most ca
n’t and won’t ever get the chance to try. You’re about to become part of a small minority. This could be a big deal in every way. Think about reaching an audience beyond white-haired ladies who think coffee with caffeine is a strong drink.”
“It’s tempting,” Amy said, then quickly added, “That’s not the word I wanted to use. I mean, it’s an opportunity I need to pray about.”
“Pray quick, because we have to strike while there’s an open door. If sales of The Everlasting Arms go into the toilet, this door will close and there won’t be a keyhole on our side. Right now, the acquisitions editors in New York can spin up sales projections to present to a publication committee without having to back them up with facts. Once the second book is released, there will be hard numbers that can’t be manipulated as easily.”
“How quick are you talking about?”
“A week or two. That will give me time to run the new novel past Dave Coley even though I know what his reaction will be. Also, do you think you can churn out a few chapters to show that you’ve got the ability to write with the big boys and girls?”
The reaction from Ms. Burris and Natalie at lunch was like a ball and chain wrapped around Amy’s creativity. If she was going to produce anything, it would take a mammoth effort.
“Maybe I could send you two chapters in two weeks,” she said tentatively. “It goes slower at the beginning because I’m just getting to know the characters.”
“Take the characters out to dinner and make it three chapters so it’s a nice round number. The prospects of a fatter contract, a bigger advance, and a broader stage should motivate you.”
“How large could the advance be?”
“It depends on whether we can generate healthy competition. Two or more publishers bidding for your services could push it to around one hundred thousand dollars per book on a three-book deal.”
“Are you serious?” Amy’s mouth dropped open.
“Yes. Advances aren’t what they used to be, but fresh voices with concepts that have curb appeal are always hot. The editor I talked with is already thinking about how to market you.”
The Living Room Page 19