by Marian Keyes
Rosemary Rozelaar was Roland’s neurologist but she’d clearly ceded all control to Mannix, who was in his element, moving around Roland’s bed day and night, studying printouts and brain scans.
Mannix’s parents were still in Ireland and appeared sporadically at the hospital. They always seemed to be just coming from a party or on their way to one, and they brought gin in a flask to Roland’s bedside and drank it from white plastic cups.
I never stopped being aware of Roland’s debts; they wore away at my thoughts like a stone in a shoe. Over the past couple of years he’d repaid a lot, but he still owed thousands upon thousands and there was no chance that he’d be working again for a long, long time.
I wanted to bring it up, because ultimately it would surely impact on Mannix and me, but I didn’t want to add to Mannix’s worries.
Eventually he addressed it. One rare morning in bed, when he didn’t jump up and go immediately to the hospital, he said, ‘We’re going to have to talk about money.’
‘Who? Us?’
‘What? No, about Roland’s debts. Me, Rosa and Hero. And Mum and Dad, for all the good they’ll be. We’ve been in denial, but we need some sort of family conference. The problem is, every one of us is broke.’
‘But when I deliver the new book in February …’
‘We can’t use your money to pay my brother’s debts.’
‘But it’s our money. Yours and mine.’
He shook his head. ‘Let’s not go there. Let’s see what else we can come up with. Okay, I’m going to jump in the shower.’
He was halfway across the room when his phone, which he’d left on the bedside locker, rang. He sighed. ‘Who is it?’
I picked it up and looked at the screen. ‘Oh? It’s Gilda.’
‘Don’t bother answering.’
‘What’s she ringing for?’
‘Just asking about Roland.’
Oh. Okay.
Two days before Academy Manhattan reopened after the break, Betsy, Jeffrey and I were due to return to New York.
‘I can’t leave here,’ Mannix said to me. ‘Not yet. Not until he’s stabilized.’
‘Take as long as you need.’ I wanted to be with Mannix; I missed his presence, his advice, everything about him, but I was trying to be a bigger, more generous person.
Mannix took us to the airport and the thought of going back to New York without him was suddenly overwhelming. I loved him. I loved him so much it hurt, and I knew I had to tell him. I should have told him long ago.
In the post-holiday mayhem of the departure hall, Mannix shoved our trolley through the throngs to our check-in desk.
‘Get in the queue, kids,’ I said to Betsy and Jeffrey, then shunted Mannix to one side.
‘Mannix,’ I said.
‘Yeah.’
‘I –’
His phone started to ring. He looked at it. ‘I’d better take this.’
‘Rosa?’ he said. ‘Right. Okay. But be there. See you then.’
‘Everything all right?’ I asked.
‘Rosa’s trying to weasel out of the talk about Roland’s money. Or lack of. I’d better get going. Safe flight. Ring me when you land.’
He kissed me briefly on the mouth, then turned away and was instantly swallowed up by the crowds. I was frozen to the spot, stricken with terror that our moment had been and gone. That somehow the best bit had already happened, while I’d been waiting to get there, and now we were on the downward slope.
January in New York was snowy and very quiet. The promotion for One Blink at a Time had finally finished and my days were strangely peaceful. Apart from going to the movies about once a week with Gilda, I had no social life. I worked on Right Here, Right Now and the highpoint of each day was a call or a Skype from Mannix. It seemed that Roland’s condition was starting to settle. I always wanted to ask Mannix when he was coming back, but I managed not to. Nor did I ask about Roland’s finances. I knew they’d had their family discussion and if Mannix was too stressed to talk about the outcome, I’d go along with it.
In the last week in January, I got an unexpected phone call from Phyllis. ‘How’s the new book?’
‘Finished, really. I’m just playing around with it.’
‘Why don’t you come see me? Today. Bring the pages.’
‘Okay.’ I might as well. I was doing nothing else.
When I walked into Phyllis’s office, the first thing she said was, ‘Where’s Mannix?’
‘In Ireland.’
‘What? Again?’
‘No. Still.’
‘Ooooooh.’ It was information that she hadn’t had and I didn’t feel like telling her the whole story. ‘What’s going on with you guys?’ she asked.
‘Just …’ I shrugged. ‘Stuff.’
‘Oh yeah? Stuff?’ She stared at me hard but I wouldn’t give in.
‘So you wanted to see my new book.’ I handed over the printout.
‘Yeah. I’m hearing things on the bush telegraph and they’re making me twitchy.’
Instantly I was filled with alarm.
I watched as she studied the first nine or ten pages, then she started flicking and speed-reading, and before she’d reached the end, she said, ‘No.’
‘What?’
‘Sorry, honey, this won’t do.’ Her kindness was what was really worrying. ‘One Blink at a Time didn’t work. You cost them money. You need something different. They won’t buy this.’
‘But it’s exactly what Bryce told me to write.’
‘Things were different then. Now we’re eighteen months on and One Blink at a Time has bombed –’
‘It’s bombed?’ No one had told me. ‘It’s actually bombed?’
‘Yeah. Bombed. You thought no one was calling because they’re all on a diet and grouchy? No one’s been calling because they’re so embarrassed for you. They will not publish a One Blink at a Time reboot.’
‘Can’t we wait and see what they say?’
‘No way. You never bring them something they’re sure to reject. Bottom line, Stella: I will not agent this book. Go away and come up with something else, fast.’
Like what? I wasn’t a writer; I wasn’t a creative person. I was just someone who’d got lucky. Once. All I could offer was more of the same.
‘You were rich, successful and in love,’ Phyllis said. ‘Now? Your career has tanked and I don’t know what’s up with that man of yours but it’s not looking so good. You’ve a lot of material there!’
She shrugged. ‘You want more? Your teenage son hates you. Your daughter is wasting her life. You’re the wrong side of forty. Menopause is racing towards you down the track. How much better does this get?’
I moved my lips but no words came out.
‘You were wise once,’ Phyllis said. ‘Whatever you wrote in One Blink at a Time, it touched people. Try it again, with these new challenges.’ She was on her feet and trying to move me towards the door. ‘I need you out of here. I’ve got clients to see.’
In desperation, I clung to my chair. ‘Phyllis?’ I was pleading. ‘Do you believe in me?’
‘You want self-esteem? Go to a shrink.’
She ousted me into the snowy street, then called later that afternoon. ‘You’ve got until March first. I promised Bryce “new and exciting”. Don’t let me down.’
I was in bits. I didn’t know what to do. It was impossible for me to come up with a new book. But one thing was certain: I couldn’t tell Mannix. He had enough on his plate.
The thought of having no income made me feel like I was falling through endless space. Mannix and I had always known that giving up our jobs and moving to New York was a risk. But we’d never contemplated the exact details of how it could go wrong – and where it would leave us financially. From what Bryce had said at that first meeting, I’d assumed I’d have a career that would last some years, one that would guarantee us security indefinitely.
For two days, I got through the hours, starey-eyed and frozen with fear. Gilda
noticed I was being weird but I fobbed her off. I was too frightened to talk about what had happened. If I talked about it, it made it real.
Then – in one of those jokes that God likes to play on us – Mannix rang to say he was coming back to New York the following day. ‘Roland’s out of danger and there isn’t really anything more I can do for him.’
‘Great,’ I said.
‘Aren’t you glad?’
‘I’m thrilled.’
‘You don’t sound it.’
‘I am, of course I am, Mannix. You know I am. See you tomorrow.’
In desperation, I rang Gilda and I told her everything that had happened, every single word that Phyllis had said to me.
‘Hang tight,’ she said. ‘I’m on my way over right now.’
Half an hour later, she arrived, her cheeks pink from the cold. She was wearing a white furry hat, white furry boots and a white duvet coat. She was dusted with snowflakes, some even on her eyelashes.
‘Wow, it’s cold out there. Hey, Jeffrey!’
Jeffrey came to hug her. Even Esperanza stuck her head around her door and said, ‘Madam, you look like a princess from a fairy story.’
‘I’ll take that, Esperanza.’ Gilda smiled and Esperanza retreated.
‘Where can we talk?’ Gilda unpeeled her layers of outdoor clothing.
‘Come into the bedroom.’
‘Okay. Shut the door. Stella, I’m going to propose something here. If you don’t like it, you forget I said it and we never refer to it again.’
‘Go on …’ But I already knew what she was going to say.
‘We collaborate.’
‘Say more.’
‘We merge our two books …’
‘Right.’
‘… and create an all-bases-covered go-to guide for all ailments, physical and spiritual, for every woman who wants to live her best life.’
God, she was inspiring. ‘Yes!’
‘We’re a good fit, Stella, you and I. Always were. Kismet.’
‘We could even call the book that – “Kismet”!’
‘Sure! Or how about: “Your Best Self”?’
‘Maybe we don’t have to decide on the name just yet.’
‘But this is real?’ she asked. ‘This is actually happening?’
‘Yes!’ I was overjoyed, almost queasy with relief.
‘There is just one thing. I don’t want Phyllis as my agent.’
‘Oh, Gilda.’ I was instantly sobered. ‘I signed a contract with her when all this first started. She has to be my agent.’
‘Not if we’re both the authors. Obviously your name would be huge on the jacket and mine would be teeny tiny, but legally, under these circumstances, you can step away from her.’
‘I don’t know …’
‘Hey, look. She was the right agent for your first book; she put you on the map, got you a deal. But you don’t need her now. Why pay her ten per cent when she does nothing?’
‘But who would be our agent?’
She looked at me like I’d lost it. ‘Mannix, of course. It’s so obvious.’
And in a way it was.
‘Look at that great deal he got for you with that Irish publishing house.’
‘Can we talk to Mannix about it?’ I asked.
‘Sure! He’s back tomorrow. I say we give him twenty-four hours to get over the jet lag then we both go at him.’ She giggled. ‘He’ll be powerless to resist.’
‘She blew it.’ Gilda made an impassioned plea for bypassing Phyllis. ‘She should have done the second deal as soon as you got the first one. But she thought if she waited she’d get more. She was greedy.’
Mannix and I exchanged a look: by cutting Phyllis out, weren’t we also being greedy?
‘You’re just being smart,’ Gilda said.
‘I don’t know …’ Mannix said. ‘I feel loyal to Phyllis.’
‘So do I,’ I said.
‘It’s not about loyalty,’ Gilda said. ‘It’s just business. She’s still Stella’s agent for anything published under her own name. Always supposing you can get her support. But, guys, here are the facts: she’s refusing to agent Stella’s second book. And you’re hurting for money.’
And that was what everything came down to: money.
Almost all of the first advance had been spent. Not on fast cars and champagne, just on the daily demands of a city as expensive as New York.
‘You need to live,’ Gilda said to Mannix. ‘And there are Roland’s debts …’
I looked at her in confusion: did she know how much Roland owed? Because I didn’t. Perhaps she was just talking in general terms.
After a lengthy silence, Mannix said, ‘If this is our best chance to keep earning a living, then I’ll do it.’
‘Great! Ten per cent to you. Stella and I split the rest fifty-fifty?’
‘Sure.’
Mannix sounded so weary that I said, ‘I thought you liked the bit of agenting you’ve done.’
‘I did. I do.’
‘Who tells Phyllis?’ Gilda asked.
After a silence, Mannix said, ‘I will.’
‘Do it now,’ Gilda said. ‘Let’s get that put to bed.’
Obediently Mannix picked up his phone and Gilda scrambled to her feet. ‘Jeez,’ she said, almost gleefully, ‘this is one conversation I don’t want to hear. Come on, Stella, let’s have some wine.’
A few minutes later, Mannix came into the kitchen and I gave him a glass.
‘So …?’ I asked.
He took a mouthful of wine.
‘How did she take it?’ Gilda asked.
‘As well as you might expect.’
‘That bad?’ I said. ‘Cripes.’
Mannix shrugged. He didn’t seem to care.
Gilda and I spent the next month merging the two books, matching the appropriate sayings with each chapter. Gilda had broken up with Joss Wootten so we took the project to a young enthusiastic graphic artist called Noah. It was delicate, challenging work, much more so than I’d imagined – it involved cutting some of Gilda’s text and shoehorning mine in. We had to do it over and over again until the blend felt natural and we put in such long hours staring at computer screens that I nearly went blind.
But it was important to get it right. I was scared now, really really scared, because this was my last chance.
Mannix had let Bryce Bonesman know that he was now the agent for the book; he promised him ‘new and exciting’ and said it would be ready by the start of March.
On a Thursday night, on the second-last day in February, at around nine o’clock, Gilda said, ‘I think that’s it. I don’t think we can make it any more beautiful.’
‘Print it?’ Noah said.
I took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Print it.’
We watched the glossy pages flop from the printer and we assembled two copies of our beautiful book, one for each of us.
The awkward matter of a title still hadn’t been resolved. Gilda wanted to call it: ‘Your Best Self’; I preferred: ‘Right Here, Right Now’. So I suggested we leave the final decision to Blisset Renown.
‘Should we email it to Bryce?’ I asked.
‘The files are too big,’ Noah said. ‘The download would take for ever.’
‘Why don’t you deliver it in person to him tomorrow morning?’ Gilda said to me.
‘Why don’t we both?’
‘You’re the main author. You should do it.’
‘Okay. If you’re sure.’
We gave each other a congratulatory hug, thanked Noah and left.
Down in the street, I asked Gilda if she was getting the subway.
‘No. I’m going to visit a friend.’ Instinctively I knew it was one of her interesting older blokes and I didn’t want to pry.
‘So let’s put you in a cab.’ She had her hand out and a taxi had already pulled over.
At home, Mannix mustered an enthusiastic response to the pages, but I could see it was an effort. I’d been increasingly worrie
d about him since he’d come back from Ireland. Though he’d always joked about being a glass-half-empty kind of person, I wondered if he was having a bout of actual depression, triggered by the shock of Roland’s stroke. He’d stopped going swimming, his smiles were rare and he never seemed to be fully present.
‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ I told him. ‘Everything’s going to be great.’
The next morning, I hurried over to Blisset Renown and gave the book to Bryce’s assistant. She promised she’d give it to him as soon as he came in.
Back at the apartment, shortly after eleven o’clock, Mannix’s phone started to ring.
‘It’s Bryce,’ he said.
‘He must have got the book!’ I said.
Mannix grabbed the phone and put it on speaker. ‘Hey, Bryce.’
‘Mannix, sir? Congratulations! You couldn’t have picked a better project to launch your US career.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I need to brainstorm with Sales, Marketing, Digital, the whole team, and pull together a consummate vision. But we need to get you guys in for a meeting asap. Does tomorrow morning work?’
The following morning, at Blisset Renown, Ruben met Mannix and me as we came out of the elevator and we followed him down the hallway. I’d assumed we’d be going to the boardroom but instead, to my surprise, we were diverted to Bryce’s office. Gilda and Bryce were already there, sitting behind Bryce’s desk. They were deep in chat.
A slew of colourful pages – the new book – was strewn in front of them.
‘Mannix, Stella, take a seat,’ Bryce said.
‘We’re having the meeting here?’ I asked. ‘Just the four of us?’ What about all the vice-presidents?
‘Take a seat,’ Bryce repeated and I felt a prickle of unease.
I pulled up a chair so I was sitting facing Bryce. Mannix sat beside me and Gilda remained where she was.
‘So,’ Bryce said. ‘Everyone here, we love the new book.’
I felt almost ecstatic with relief.
‘The thing is, Stella,’ Bryce continued. ‘We don’t love you.’
I thought I was hearing things. I stared at him, waiting for some kind of punchline.
‘Yes.’ Bryce sounded regretful. ‘This is real. We don’t love you.’