Ghost writer, p.39
Ghost Writer, page 39
“We doubted Zippy,” Peter Strong replied and everyone laughed.
Austin Sable pushed half a croissant in his mouth and, before chewing, said, “Va name is a huve provem.”
Nellie agreed. “Francis Flowers isn’t exactly a catchy name.”
“Unless you’re a romance novelist,” Lisa Potter, the newest senior editor, added.
Jonathan held up his hands to quiet down the laughter. “I know, I know. I’ve already discussed it with Zippy.”
“Did you come up with a good pen name?” Austin asked, finally swallowing the food in his mouth.
Jonathan clasped his hands behind his back. “Not yet. But I’m sure we’ll come up with something agreeable.”
“I trust Jonathan. It’s not an issue.” Ezra Arnott, vice president of Bromahn & Hutch, was in his seventies. His hair was so silver it was almost reflective, and he had a tan that seemed to last all year round. For thirty-nine years he had sat in on committee meetings. He had started in the mail room, moved to a low-ranking editor, and worked himself all the way up to vice president. His suits were Armani. His friends were famous. He had final say on everything that happened in fiction. And he trusted Jonathan. Jonathan smiled.
“Thank you, Mr. Arnott.” Jonathan glanced at Nellie, who was smiling and relaxed. Nellie was never relaxed at committee meetings.
“Okay, Jonathan, one down, one to go. Tell us about Clyde’s novel,” Nellie said, then added somberly to the rest of the group, “As all of you know, Clyde’s death has put this house in a precarious position. We were counting on revenues that will not happen now. However, this final book could be very big for us, especially if we market it right.” Nellie looked at Austin. “So let’s listen carefully and give Jonathan our full attention.”
The room quieted and everyone sat forward in their seats. It had been a long time since he had held a room so captive.
“Thank you, Nellie.” Jonathan took the stack of proposals in front of him and passed them around the room. “As all of you know, Clyde had retired from writing when he approached me about one final work—that was not a western.” A soft murmur swept the room. Jonathan laughed. “I know, I know. I was skeptical as well. As our fine editorial director pointed out to me, crossing over to a new genre has ruined more writers’ careers than demon agents. But, nevertheless, I felt I . . . we . . . owed Clyde at least a look at it. And it’s here today because I feel like it deserves more than a look. I feel it deserves publication.”
Peter Strong flipped through the pages of the proposal and laughed out loud. “A serial killer. Are you serious?”
Jonathan smiled confidently. “Well, Clyde wanted to sail uncharted waters in children’s books.”
Nellie’s face paled. “It’s a children’s book?”
“I’m kidding,” Jonathan said, and the group all laughed, except Nellie, who was shaking her head and asking for water. “Actually, people, it’s a little hard to describe. I would say it’s a thriller. But it’s much more than that. You could say it’s a drama, but you’ve got the creepy serial killer. And there’s a little humor in there, too.”
“Gee, you’re making my job easier,” Austin quipped sarcastically as he bit off the end of yet another croissant.
“Get used to it, Sable,” Jonathan said with a wink. “This is just the beginning.”
The group laughed again, and even Nellie managed to smile. “Go on, Jonathan. I want to hear this,” she said.
“Basically, the plot centers around a serial killer who is crazy like a fox and smarter than NASA. He’s one of the most prolific serial killers the country has ever seen. And, like the book says, he’s bored. Three men are about to be executed on death row, and one is innocent, accused of a crime the serial killer has actually committed. So his goal is to kill the innocent guy.”
“Why?” Robert asked.
“It’s simple. He’s evil incarnate.”
The room sank into silence until Austin said, “Wow. There’s a complex character for you.”
Nervous laughs were followed by stares at Jonathan. “Anyway, the serial killer lures in an FBI agent by the name of Keaton Spade to fall for his setup. Spade becomes obsessed by the whole thing and is determined to stop the serial killer’s plan from happening. Spade gets the DA involved. To make a long and complex part of the story short, they release a prisoner they believe is the innocent one. Unfortunately, they are wrong. They’ve released the wrong prisoner. So there are two prisoners left. And time is running out for both of them. But the serial killer isn’t going to make it easy. He’s got a single clue that proves who is innocent and who is guilty. Unfortunately, he won’t reveal the clue until they’ve decided which prisoner to release.
“The media and agenda groups are pressuring the DA and the governor to make a decision. Three recent executions of innocent men fuel the fire. The heat is on. The DA decides both are guilty and refuses to look into it any further. However, the governor then gets involved and comes to a decision. He has decided which prisoner to release.”
“Which one?” Lisa Potter asked anxiously.
Jonathan smiled. “His name is Lincoln Smith. Accused of killing his prostitute girlfriend. A real lowlife.”
“Is he the innocent one?” Peter leaned forward on the table.
Jonathan had them and he knew it. “Well, we don’t find out until he’s released. And he’s released the same day the other one is to be executed. So the FBI agent goes to the serial killer’s cell and demands proof that they’ve released the right prisoner. But to his horror, the serial killer shows him otherwise.”
“What’s the proof?” Robert Huff asked, glancing around at the other captive audience members.
“A tattoo on his arm. It matches the tattoo on the victim’s arm the other prisoner is accused of killing. Everyone missed it. Even the FBI.”
“What happens?” Nellie’s eyes widened.
“Agent Spade rushes home to try to call the DA, but when he gets there he remembers he found a mysterious note on his door before he left to see the serial killer. It is from the innocent prisoner. It tells him not to try to save him.”
“He wants to die?” Austin asked with genuine curiosity.
“No. But he wants the other prisoner to live.”
Everyone in the room glanced around the table. Jonathan continued. “So the FBI agent has one chance left. He races to the governor’s mansion and begs to see him. When he finally gets to speak to the governor, he realizes the governor’s reasons for releasing the other prisoner were strictly political. He doesn’t care who lives or dies. And he doesn’t care who is innocent. All he cares about is that he’s gotten votes from both parties, and he’s in good political standing.”
Jonathan stopped and looked around the room. Everyone was holding their breath. He waited for a moment and finally Nellie said, “Well, come on, Jonathan, let’s hear the ending.”
Jonathan cleared his throat and sipped his water in a casual manner. “That is the ending.”
Eyebrows raised and heads turned. “That’s the ending?” Peter asked with a disapproving laugh.
“Well, death does have a way of leaving things a bit unraveled. That’s where Clyde left off when he died.”
Nellie’s expression turned to worry. “That’s not good.”
Jonathan smiled at her. “Never fear, dear Nellie. It’s Jonathan Harper to the rescue. I have hired a ghostwriter, and we have come to a conclusion as to how Clyde intended to end the book.”
Nellie reached for the pitcher of water. “Thank goodness, Jonathan. I thought you meant that’s how the whole story ended. The innocent guy dies.”
Jonathan scratched his ear. “Well . . . um, there’s a little more to the story than that. I mean, the agent tries to get there in time, and he does, but the innocent prisoner refuses to see him.” Jonathan paused. His heart began to race. Suddenly the six pairs of eyes that were on him seemed like a hundred. The hot air from the vent above him started making him feel a little sweaty. “And so . . . he dies. And the other prisoner goes free.”
You could hear a pin drop in the room, and soon a pen did drop. Nellie’s. Straight onto the table with a loud thud, then rolling several feet to the other side. She blinked twice, looked down at her notes, and glanced around the room.
“Jonathan, are you trying to tell me that the ending to Clyde’s novel is that the serial killer wins? The innocent man is executed?”
“Oh no. Not like that. See, the serial killer thinks he wins. But the truth of the matter is that the innocent prisoner chooses to die.”
More silence was followed by Robert saying, “What’s the difference?”
Jonathan gulped his water. “The difference is that he chose this for himself. He wanted the other man to live.”
Lisa looked down at her notes. “A man accused of killing his prostitute girlfriend?”
An annoying and sharp itch moved over Jonathan’s scalp. “Well, yes. See, the innocent prisoner has a positive effect on everyone he comes in contact with. Even the warden says so. He’s an extraordinary human being.”
“So extraordinary that he dies in the end? On purpose?” Austin looked around the room at the others. “I’m not seeing the appeal here.”
Nellie was tugging at her French twist. “It’s a sad ending, Jonathan.”
“Not if you’re the prisoner set free.”
Austin laughed out loud. “What does that mean?”
Jonathan’s undershirt was soaked. “If you’re the guy that gets set free, it’s a good deal for you.”
Peter and Robert exchanged glances and then Robert said, “Sure. But who’s going to want to read a story about some loser who needs to be executed being set free by a man who doesn’t deserve it?”
Austin’s laugh grew louder. “Yeah. I can see the catalog copy now. ‘Warning: Ending of this book may make you want to hang yourself.’ ”
A mild chuckle grew into a louder laugh. Jonathan glanced at Nellie, who had poked an entire pencil straight through her twist. She looked up at Jonathan, her eyes filled with uneasiness.
“Everyone settle down,” she said sternly. Jonathan noticed Austin was the last one to stop laughing. “Let’s take this seriously.” She looked at Jonathan. “Jonathan, you realize we’ve got a huge problem here.”
Jonathan swallowed and wanted to drink more water, but his glass was empty. And so was the pitcher next to Nellie. “We do?” he said in pretend confidence.
Nellie flipped through some pages of her notes. “First of all, when do we meet the innocent prisoner?”
“Meet him?”
“In the story.”
“Oh.” The back of his shirt was soaked through. “You don’t.”
Everyone was shooting questions and answers.
“The main character is the FBI agent?”
“So the hero fails.”
“But he’s not the hero. The prisoner is.”
“That doesn’t make sense. We’ve got two heroes and both fail.”
Jonathan tried to chime in. “He doesn’t fail. It’s his choice.”
“And our hero lets a murderer free. Wow. That’s reassuring as I lock my door and load my gun,” Lisa said as she shook her head.
“But the prisoner is changed by it . . . by him. . . . You see?” Jonathan added, though no one heard him.
Austin toyed with his croissant. “And what else happens? The serial killer gets elected president?”
“Cut it out, Austin,” Nellie snapped. She calmed everyone down, then looked at Jonathan. “If we never get to know the man, how do we know why he dies for this other prisoner?”
Jonathan could hardly breathe. His palms were as slick as oil. He cracked his knuckles and said, “Well . . . because he . . . he loves him.”
Austin’s snicker was met with a sharp eye from Nellie, who then said, “They knew each other? They were friends?”
“Well, no.”
“The other prisoner did something for him? Maybe saved his life once?”
“No.”
Four out of five of Nellie’s fingers on her left hand were in her French twist. Jonathan met the stares of everyone in the room. “None of you are getting this?” he asked.
Peter looked down. Lisa began writing in her note pad. Robert just stared back at him with lost eyes. Austin was laughing under his breath and picking at his croissant. Nellie had added another three fingers from her other hand into her hairdo. But worst of all, Ezra Arnott’s eyes were filled with pity.
Jonathan leaned forward on the table, trying to find a way to recover. His eyes found Nellie’s, and for a second they locked. Then Nellie said as she looked away, “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I just don’t think we can make this fly.”
Jonathan straightened up. “Why? Sure, there are some holes in the story. But it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. I’ve got Zippy as the ghostwriter. You’ve seen what he can do with fiction. He can fill in the blanks. He can make it happen.”
Austin tossed his croissant on a napkin. “This isn’t going to happen. Not with an ending like this. Not with a name like Clyde Baxter.”
Nellie’s sad eyes found Jonathan’s. “Jonathan, you know what Clyde’s readers expect from him. I mean, I wasn’t opposed to Clyde switching genres. But a story like this would kill us. We can’t let Clyde’s last novel be something like this.”
“But . . .” Jonathan’s voice cracked. “This is what he wanted. He told me. He had to write this before he died.”
“The guy was like a hundred or something, wasn’t he? He probably wasn’t thinking straight. It happens to the best of us.” Austin looked at Jonathan and winked. “Right, buddy?”
The blood that was pumping into his heart suddenly made its way to his face, turning it a bright red and pushing beads of perspiration out of his pores. “You think you’re smart, Austin? You’re a kid. You wouldn’t know a good piece of literature if it read itself to you. Can you even read?”
Austin sat up in his seat. “Look, I’m not the enemy here. I’m just saying this is a marketing nightmare. From every conceivable angle.” He looked at Nellie.
“Why don’t you stuff your flapping tongue back into that big mouth of yours before I stuff a croissant down your throat.”
Austin’s condescending laugh resonated off the walls. “I’d like you to come over here and try.”
Before Jonathan could move, Peter had hopped up and grabbed his shoulders. He looked him in the eyes. “Jon, it’s not worth it. He’s not worth it,” he said in a soft voice that was intended for no one else.
“Sit down! Everyone sit down!” Nellie’s shaking hand brought an empty glass to her trembling lips. She slammed the glass down and everyone took their seats. Half her hair was now falling down, and her fingernails nervously clicked against the side of the glass. “This isn’t a war room, for crying out loud. What is wrong with all of you?” She drew in a breath and tried to put her hair back in place, an impossibility even with hairpins. She looked around the room. “The question here is, do we think this book is right for our house? Do we think it will sell well? Do we think it has something to say?” Her eyes roamed the room. “These are the questions we ask of every book, do we not? Is it good writing? Is it a good plot? Is it the type of fiction we want to put our name on?”
Everyone in the room focused their attention on Nellie. Except Jonathan. All he could do was look down at his feet.
“Now. I want everyone here to focus. To focus on the issue at hand here. We have a famous author that our house represents. He’s written one final book that is not in the genre that made him famous. It has an ending that hardly makes sense to anyone sitting in this room. What are we going to do about it?” Nellie’s voice was stern and direct, and everyone became a professional again.
Lisa was the first one to speak. “I have to say, I wish this wasn’t his last story. I mean, Mahogany Hills was so great. His career ended on a high. Do we dare mess with that?”
Peter Strong clicked his pen rapidly “I agree with Lisa. The ending kills it for me. And the plot, though fascinating, has a few holes in it.”
“But that’s something that a ghostwriter can fix,” Robert added. He then looked at Jonathan. “But the ending . . . that’s the real problem. Doesn’t everyone agree?” A couple of people nodded, though Jonathan knew everyone agreed with him. Robert leaned forward on the table. “What about changing the ending? Making the FBI agent rescue him at the last second? That’s more along the lines of what Clyde writes.”
The room came alive with hearty agreement. Jonathan felt so tired he couldn’t even stand. The noise died down as everyone focused their attention on Jonathan, who sat down slowly.
“Well?” Nellie finally asked. “What about changing the ending? Then it could possibly be salvaged.”
Jonathan felt a pain inside himself. Not a physical pain. Something deeper. Something stronger. It was as if his soul had been cut. It confused him. He’d never felt anything like it. It was like something inside of him was grieving. His hand moved over his trembling lips as he tried to hold himself together. He looked down at the table and said, in a babbling manner, “But . . . it doesn’t really work with a different ending. It’s about sacrifice . . . and freedom. Freedom that isn’t earned but given. It makes you richer . . . and you appreciate it if it’s not yours to have. . . . It’s not about the serial killer and the FBI agent. It’s about this prisoner.”
There was a long silence. The whole room had come to a complete standstill. “Then why does the whole story revolve around the serial killer and FBI agent?” Nellie finally asked.
Jonathan didn’t know. He didn’t know anything at this moment. It was as if he had been swept into space and didn’t have any oxygen. The room tilted back and forth, and he closed his eyes to try to refocus.
