The Ghost Writer — Part 5
A completed novel in readable parts.
If you’re late to the series and wish to start at the beginning, there are links at the end of this chapter.
Catchup:
Joseph Monteith, Random House’s Head of Acquisitions, was sent to investigate the whereabouts of an as-yet-unpublished author, Tim Bryant. Joseph had read the three chapters and was fabulously enthused, immediately passing it along to Lawrence Bernstein, the Chief Editor, who was equally impressed. Joseph travelled to the west coast of California to locate and sign the author immediately before another House was given the opportunity. However, Joseph was unable to locate the author. Fearing for his position, Joseph had to return without a signed contract. Monteith and Bernstein agree that this manuscript has not been written by an unpublished author, so why claim as much. However, there are many clues that the unknown author knew what he needed to do to gauge the interest of Random House. Joseph tells Bernstein that there is an excellent reason to believe that the author, who has an address in Mendocino, has returned to Scotland. Relieved that he has not been fired, Joseph relieved he has not been fired, listens to Bernstein’s instruction, which are to immediately follow after and locate Tim Bryant.
Meanwhile, at Random House, Lawrence Bernstein and Jocelyn Carruthers, newly appointed head of the Finance, Sales, and Marketing Department, met soon after and were at odds about Carruthers insisting that Acquisitions is one of the departments that has to make cutbacks.
Pt. 5 Fears
Several minutes past noon Sylvia, three inches shorter, having shed her high heels for pumps and lugging a suitcase, arrives back at the office flushed and sensing herself in disarray after a stressful morning. With sudden urgency, she’d managed to put her upcoming responsibilities in order, given the short notice that she would leave the country in hours. Sylvia drags her suitcase to a corner of the office, trying to hide it behind a sad-looking Rubber Plant, and hastens to the restroom unnoticed. Standing in front of the mirror, she pushes at her hair and purses her lips before adding a little gloss. Then, satisfied she cannot make herself look any better, Sylvia returns to her desk and begins clearing her immediate boss’s calendar, freeing Joseph Monteith up for a week.
Several floors above, Bernstein calls for Gwyneth over the intercom, still simmering from the discussion with Carruthers. “Gwyneth, give me a moment, will you?”
“Be right there,” Gwyneth responds, grabbing a notepad and pencil. She gives a light knuckle rap on the door and enters.
“Good, Gwyneth. Take a seat,” he insists and stands up from his desk. “I’ve had a meeting with that flaming bitch Carruthers. In short, the Acquisition Department’s budget is to be cut back.” Bernstein leans forward to take a cigar from the box on his desk, mumbling that Carruthers needs fucking in the ass. Gwyneth ignores the remark. Holding the cigar between finger and thumb, Bernstein points his cigar hand at Gwyneth in a Churchillian manner.
“Gwyneth, I want you to write an inter-department note to Finance. Make it sound convincing. That’s all. I don’t want Monteith restricted by budget concerns.”
“Very good, Mr. Bernstein: I’ll get on it immediately,” Gwyneth says. “Gwyneth don’t make it sound like there's room for debate. You know what to do. Okay, thanks, that’s all.”
Gwyneth smiles, hiding her frustration. She knows it’s a shit job, and this shit always falls to her.
Several floors down Sylvia picks up on a call. “Good afternoon, Random House, Acquisitions; how may I help you?”
“Sylvia, It’s Joseph. Do we have a timeline yet?”
“Yes, sir. The flight leaves Newark at 7:05 p.m. Boarding is at 6:20.”
“Good. Do we have a car booked for airport?”
“Yes, 4:15 p.m.”
“Okay. Let’s meet in my office at 3:00, and I’ll exchange some thoughts with you.”
“3:00, then,” and Sylvia puts the phone down and is thankful for a moment in which to bring a sandwich from her desk drawer, collected from the deli on her way back to the office — no tomato, sauce, pickles, just ham and cheese. She checks her watch; it is 12: 47 p.m.
With Gwyneth doing her ‘thing’, Bernstein swivels in his chair, looking at a wall of portraits of past Chief Editors, and suddenly feels his body twitch. He knows what it is, having suffered with Myoclonus most of his life, a brief muscle spasm, which, he has long convinced himself, attacks him when he’s onto something good.
By 2:30, Finance has received Gwyneth’s interdepartmental mail.
For the attention of Jocelyn Carruthers.
Dear Jocelyn,
I am writing to insist the finance department cover the costs of bringing a new writer under contract. We have received a highly regarded manuscript from an author who has expressed interest in working with us on this book.
As Chief Editor, I am responsible for finding new writers, nurturing their talent, and publishing them to achieve critical and financial success. At this time, new talent is essential to keep up with our competitors.
To secure this opportunity, we will need to cover the costs associated with negotiating and finalizing the contract and the advance payment for the author’s work. While I understand that cost-cutting measures are essential, these costs are an investment to ensure the continued success and growth of our Random House.
Securing this author will provide a significant boost, as the subject of this work is compelling and engaging and will undoubtedly prove a success. To delay only gives our competitors an open invitation to get to him first.
I have attached a detailed business case that outlines the potential benefits of this opportunity, as well as a clear plan for executing the contract and managing costs. With your support, we can successfully bring this author on board and continue to grow our business.
Sincerely,
Lawrence
Jocelyn Carruthers sifts the note across her desk. “Fuck that man. You’ll go too far Lawrence. I’ll be waiting,” she says quietly to herself. “I’m quickly getting tired of carrying the can for the sake of your reputation.”
“Mr. Blake… Mr. Blake…” Tim doesn’t turn his head. The flight attendant touches his shoulder. “Mr. Blake…?”
“I’m sorry, I was in a bit of a daydream,” Tim says, knowing he hadn’t recognized his other name after a few months working in the States.
“We are about to move from the gate, sir. Please fasten your seatbelt.”
“Of course,” and he clicks the belt closed. Inattention like that, can cause complex situations that he doesn’t need to deal with, he reminds himself.
The flight from San Francisco means stress enough, it’s a long flight, much of it over water.
For most of his adult life, Tim has visited therapists, all of whom, at one time or another, explained that a boy who has experienced a near-drowning in his boyhood can develop a condition known as post-traumatic stress disorder and may, at different times, feel the sensations of drowning. As a result, Tim likes to avoid situations or activities involving water, swimming or boating. Even so, Tim chooses to live on an island, the same one that has been his home from boyhood.
As Sylvia enters her boss's office, Joseph’s phone rings. It’s Bernstein, and Joseph picks up the call.
“Gwyneth says you’re flying out tonight, that’s good,” Bernstein says without introducing himself, “I don’t know what this writer wants from us, Joseph, but this anonymous business doesn’t work, it’s not how the publishing industry works anymore. We need to know who we’re dealing with, and we need to promote this author and his work immediately and not risk him falling into the hands of a competitor. Find him, and let’s get this manuscript published. Time is of the essence,” Bernstein says, and a click terminates the call.
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