The Accidental Bestseller
Page 31
In the morning Kendall saw Melissa and Jeffrey off then busied herself stripping beds and changing sheets. Later she’d call on Anne Justiss, divorce-attorney-turned-temporary-marriage-counselor, to see where things stood. Maybe in the afternoon she’d run down to Home Depot to pick up a few things.
When the phone rang, the shrillness cleaved the silence, startling her. Caller ID showed it to be a New York number. With some trepidation, Kendall answered, bracing for a complaint from Jane Jensen. Or a demand for more revisions.
“Is this Kendall Aims?” The voice was clipped and very Upper East Side. Kendall searched her memory banks, but she didn’t think she’d ever heard it before.
“Um, yes,” Kendall admitted. “This is she.”
“This is Naomi Fondren at Scarsdale.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Kendall couldn’t quite place it. “Yes?”
“I’ve been asked to prepare for a mid-April lay down for Sticks and Stones. Obviously this doesn’t give us near enough time to prepare for a major hardcover release.”
Kendall said nothing. She’d worked with a low-level PR assistant on her first few books, but the young woman had left and after that Kendall had been forced to rely on what self-promotion she’d been able to afford. Kendall’s mind paused in midthought and went back as the realization hit: Whoever Naomi Fondren was she’d just referred to Sticks and Stones as a major release. A hardcover major release.
Kendall dropped down into the nearest chair. She may have stopped breathing.
“I’m planning to have advanced reading copies out for review by February first,” Naomi said, referring to the bound copies of the book galleys that were traditionally sent out for review. “But obviously that doesn’t give us near enough time for the major publications, with their longer lead times. Publishers Weekly has agreed to read a loose-bound manuscript. And I’m sending another over to Ladies’ Home Journal right now; they’ve expressed an interest in serialization rights.”
Kendall had to force air back into her lungs. The lack of oxygen was clearly impacting her ability to hear and think. Only two of her eight books had been reviewed by Publishers Weekly. And serialization in Ladies’ Home Journal? That was normally reserved for authors of Mallory’s magnitude. Hell, that sort of exposure was the very kind of thing that turned an author into an author of Mallory’s magnitude.
“What, um,” Kendall began. “What’s your job title at Scarsdale?”
The woman laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I forget to introduce myself? I’m Scarsdale’s head of publicity.”
“Are you new?” Kendall asked. If so, perhaps Scarsdale had finally hired someone willing to promote all of their authors and not just the top sellers. Or maybe she simply had Kendall confused with someone else.
“Only to you, dear,” the woman said, with some amusement. “I don’t work personally with all that many authors.”
Kendall had no doubt the few she did work with probably had sales figures equivalent to Stephen King and Tom Clancy. But she didn’t have a chance to raise this question; Naomi was already on to the next item on her list.
“I’ve got someone working on a discussion guide right now. And I’ve called several of our top photographers to see who we can get down there to shoot a new color photo for your book jacket.”
A book jacket photo? Kendall had been using the same black-and-white photo for the past eight years. She’d never considered a new one—she’d just been getting older and the photo on her mass-market paperback releases had become smaller and smaller until the picture might have been of anybody.
“I’m also talking to the people at the Margaret Mitchell House in Atlanta to see if we can do a launch party for you there. This will be followed by a book tour to include sixteen key cities with New York Times-reporting bookstores. It’ll end in Chicago.”
“A tour?” There was just too much information coming at her—all of it ranging from highly improbable to completely impossible. Kendall was certain she must have misunderstood.
“Yes, dear. A tour,” Naomi said, as if speaking to a child. “Could you make yourself available for the last two weeks of April?”
Kendall surveyed the silent kitchen and the equally silent mountaintop. Then she looked down at her grubby sweats. There was a hole in the toe of her thick wool socks. Maybe she should tell Naomi she had to check her calendar to see whether she could squeeze the tour into her busy schedule. Did anyone ever turn this sort of opportunity down?
“We’re going to end in Chicago because . . .” Naomi paused here as if waiting for a drum roll. “I had the chance to pitch a producer I know at The Kristen Calder Show.” She named the nationally syndicated talk show out of Chicago, whose host had chosen to go head to head against Oprah. The publicity head laughed giddily—a really strange sound, given the sophisticated accent. “In fact I had a bound galley hand delivered to the show’s production offices. And Kristen Calder has chosen Sticks and Stones as her next book club pick!” She paused again, as if waiting for applause.
Kendall batted her eyelashes, trying to blink back her surprise. Kristen Calder had not yet achieved one-name status, but she was very big and still growing. Kendall knew this had to be a dream and any minute she was going to wake up. She squinched her eyes shut then opened them, but she was still in her kitchen, still on the phone. And her sock still had a hole in it.
“Did you hear what I said?” Naomi Fondren asked. “Sticks and Stones is the next Kristen Calder book!”
Kendall swallowed back tears. Everything she had ever dreamed of, right down to the last detail, was being flung at her at the speed of light and she was deathly afraid she was imagining it. She glanced frantically around the kitchen, but there were no Daliesque clocks melting on the wall, no Twilight Zone theme music playing in the background. “But . . .”
“Lucky for us, Kristen is trying to differentiate her book club by doing less weighty books and focusing exclusively on new authors.”
Kendall had to smile at the idea of being “new” after a decade of writing, but she didn’t speak. She simply couldn’t find the words.
“So then,” Naomi concluded. “That’s all I have for now. I’m going to e-mail you the name of a media coach I know in Atlanta; she’ll help you put together a look and a wardrobe and teach you how to deliver sound bites and such. Plus we want to make sure you’re ready to handle Kristen when you get to Chicago.” She laughed again. Naomi Fondren was having a very good day.
Kendall still didn’t know what to say.
“Do you have an author escort you prefer to work with?” Naomi asked.
This time it was Kendall’s turn to laugh. All of this was so utterly unbelievable she was bound to wake up in her real life at any moment. The knowledge that she was probably asleep or having some sort of out-of-body experience loosened her tongue.
“Escort?” Kendall giggled. “Hmmm, let me think. . . .” As if she’d ever needed one to get her to the Borders at her local strip mall. Or the few other local chain stores that occasionally invited her in to sign her books—provided she sent out newsletters and flyers to bring in the people to buy them, too.
“I’ll tell you what,” Naomi said, possibly grasping what alien territory Kendall had just passed into. “Dana Kinberg is based in Atlanta and she’s great. I’ll give her a call when we hang up and see if we can book her at least for the prep and the southeastern leg. She knows absolutely everyone and she’ll help you get comfortable with the whole thing.”
“Thanks,” Kendall said, even as she hoped Dana was the patient sort. Despite her eight books and a decade spent in publishing, Kendall felt as if she were being reborn. Dana Kinberg was going to have to teach her to crawl. She felt both fear and excitement at the prospect.
“So then,” Naomi concluded brightly. “If you don’t have any questions, I’ll get back to work on all this. I’ll keep you posted via e-mail whenever necessary. And I think you’d better give me your cell phone number
.”
She waited while Kendall gave it to her; then she insisted that Kendall take down hers and put her into her speed dial. “I’ll send you an itinerary for the tour as soon as I have all the details worked out,” Naomi promised. “Feel free to call me twenty-four/seven.”
As Naomi prepared to hang up, Kendall forced herself to speak. “So,” she said tentatively, not quite sure how to frame the one question she felt compelled to ask. “I guess Jane Jensen must have really liked the book.”
There was a brief pause and then, “Jane Jensen?” Naomi pronounced the name with a sniff, as if it didn’t mean much to her. “I don’t know about her.”
“Oh.”
“But the publisher certainly loved it. And so did the associate publisher. And the head of sales. And pretty much everyone else who really matters at Scarsdale.”
She laughed gaily while Kendall marveled at the absurdity of all of this happening now. How could it be that Jane Jensen, who cared so little for her and her work, had allowed this to happen?
“I don’t know where you’ve been up ’til now, Kendall. But there’s no question that at least as far as Scarsdale Publishing is concerned, you most definitely have now arrived.”
The first phone call Kendall made was to Mallory, who hooked them up to Faye and Tanya.
“Are you telling me this woman just called you out of the blue?” Tanya had started shrieking when she heard the name Kristen Calder and hadn’t stopped. The sound of washing machines and dryers roared faintly in the background.
“Yes!” Kendall replied. She was still quivering with excitement, her thoughts ricocheting in what felt like a million directions. “I was bracing myself for Jane Jensen and there was Scarsdale’s head of publicity handing me the moon.”
“Oh, my God! A Kristen Calder pick!” Tanya was still shrieking. “I just can’t believe it!”
“This is so great.” Mallory had said this five or six times now, but Kendall couldn’t help noticing that the congratulations sounded a bit hollow. “We all knew how good this book was. I just didn’t think Jane Jensen would ever admit it.”
“Really,” Faye agreed. “We all thought we were flying under the radar on this one.” There was a tinge of something Kendall couldn’t quite identify in Faye’s voice. “I have to admit I never expected this.”
Were they jealous? Kendall wondered but then dismissed the thought as quickly as it arose. They’d made this happen for her. Why wouldn’t they be pleased? Still some of her excitement began to fade. Not wanting to let the thought fester, she put it out there. “Is this a problem for you guys?” Kendall asked. “I mean, obviously I’m incredibly excited, but I hate that you’re not getting credit.”
“Not to mention the royalties,” Mallory observed, her voice dry.
Tanya stopped shrieking.
“Any idea what kind of print run we’re talking?” Faye asked.
Kendall had been so shocked by Naomi Fondren’s call she hadn’t even thought to ask.
“Well,” Mallory said. “You remember James Frey, the guy who wrote A Million Little Pieces, the Oprah pick that turned out to be fiction and not nonfiction as advertised? His book sold something like 3.5 million copies and sat on the New York Times Bestseller List for about fifteen weeks. Kristen Calder doesn’t have as big an effect as Oprah, but her last couple of picks topped all the bestseller lists. We could be talking close to a million copies.” Mallory’s tone had gone from dry to grim. “You do the math.”
Now Kendall felt like shit. Her friends had done her a tremendous favor; if it hadn’t been for them there would have been no Sticks and Stones. Yet here she was about to reap monetary benefits and critical acclaim as well. “Look, you guys,” she said, “we all know this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. I mean, who ever thought we’d be having this conversation?” She stared out the kitchen window, trying to push the guilt far enough aside so she could figure out what to do about it. “We all thought the book would disappear and that would be that.”
“Clearly we did way too good a job,” Faye observed, trying for humor. “But once you’re a Calder pick, making the New York Times list can’t be far behind.” She didn’t sound at all excited about the prospect.
“Is anybody else still trying to do the math?” Tanya asked weakly, and Kendall thought about what this kind of money would mean to Tanya and her girls.
“We’ll just split the money up,” Kendall said. “That’s the easy part. We did this together and we should benefit equally.” She thought for a moment. “And when I go on Kristen Calder I can just tell her what really happened. If I put the right spin on it, she might like the story behind the story of four friends pulling together. Then you all could share in the credit, too.”
For a minute, Kendall could see it. She’d want the three of them in the audience anyway—she couldn’t imagine being there without them—she’d just introduce them and they could all confess together on national television. It would be a Kristen Calder exclusive.
“Absolutely not!” Faye put a halt to Kendall’s little fantasy. “We talked about this before. My name can’t ever be attached to this book.” There was regret in her voice, but something that sounded like fear, too. “Not ever.” She cleared her throat. “And as hard as it is to pass up The Kristen Calder Show and a spot on the New York Times list, I can’t believe Mallory and Tanya want to be in breach of their contracts, either.”
“I could sure use the money, Kendall,” Tanya said. “And I’d love for people to know I had a hand in a bestseller.” She gave a bitter sort of laugh. “But I can’t let Masque know I had anything to do with Sticks and Stones. I checked my contract, and I’m definitely not allowed to work on any outside projects. It could give them grounds to drop me.”
“I agree,” Mallory said. “Admitting coauthorship could open us all up to trouble. I don’t want anyone to know I wrote Miranda Jameson. She’s not exactly a heroine I’m looking to claim. And I can promise you Partridge and Portman’s legal department would have plenty to say about one of its golden geese collaborating on a book for one of their competitors.”
“OK then,” Faye said, her relief apparent even over the phone line. “We all agree that Kendall will split the royalties equally among us and that Kendall remains the acknowledged author of Sticks and Stones.”
Kendall agreed, but her earlier emotional high had given way to an uncomfortable low. She disliked dishonesty, yet submitting Sticks and Stones with only her name on it was one great big fat lie.
No matter how compelling her reasons, or how insistent Faye, Tanya, and Mallory were about keeping the collaboration secret, taking credit for their work left Kendall at odds with herself and undeniably diminished.
“Listen,” Mallory added. “I know this is really great news for you. I’m sorry not to sound more enthusiastic. I’ve just got a few other things on my mind.”
Kendall suspected her friend was referring to the standoff with her husband. Chris had finished his project in Arizona and accepted another up in the Pacific Northwest. Mallory was writing up a storm as usual, and had just found out that Hidden Assets had moved from number ten to five on the New York Times list. In a rare confidence, she’d informed Kendall that she wasn’t going to drop everything and chase across the country after him.
“As exciting as it all seems, you need to be prepared,” Mallory said. “All the touring and signing seems very cool at first, but it can get really old really quickly.”
Kendall laughed. “Well, it’s going to be quite a departure from sitting alone up on my mountaintop, but I figure I might as well enjoy it. Wouldn’t it be a great irony to hit the list on my way out of Scarsdale?” Not to mention with a book she hadn’t authored alone.
“One last warning,” Mallory said. “Scarsdale might not be so quick to let you go now that you’ve delivered a book they can make real money off of,” Mallory said. “If Sticks and Stones does as well as it looks like it’s going to, they’re going to want the sequel.”
“All I’m saying is in publishing you should ‘never say never,’ ” Mallory replied. “If they think they can make money from Kendall in the future, they could offer her big bucks to stay. And Kendall wouldn’t have to work with Jane if she didn’t want to. Once you become valuable enough, you’re in the driver’s seat. And all the choices become yours.”
“I’m still trying to deal with the reality of Kristen Calder and the possibility of the New York Times list.” Faye sounded downright unhappy at the prospect. “That’s going to call an awful lot of attention to a book we all agreed we didn’t want to call too much attention to.”
Once again, Kendall felt as if she’d strayed into completely alien territory. In a span of months she’d gone from being afraid she’d never sell again to full-fledged publisher support. Whether anyone else ever knew it or not, she’d be aware that she hadn’t gotten there on her own merits.
For the first time in a month, her fingers itched for the feel of a power tool. She would have liked to have a project waiting for her when she hung up.
“I don’t think we should worry about making the list before the book is even in print,” Kendall said, trying to smooth things over and put everyone, including herself, at ease. “Besides, I have a much more pressing concern at the moment that I need your input on.”
The murmurings of support began. Faye joined in, too, though Kendall was no longer sure who was rooting for the success of Sticks and Stones and who was rooting against it.
“I’m about to have an author photo taken and go on a sixteen-city tour,” Kendall said. “And I don’t have a thing to wear.”
This stimulated the hoped-for change of topic as everyone piped in with suggestions that would help her minimize the amount of luggage while maximizing the number of outfits, but it didn’t completely calm Kendall’s nerves. She caught her attention straying to the hall closet where her tool belt hung. Maybe she should leave some room for it in her suitcase. So that she could strap it on if things got tense.