White Flag

One of the summer interns rapped on the door to William’s office, where the two of us had been waiting for him. “I have Richard for you,” she said. He was standing behind her, hands in his pockets, looking sharp in slim jeans, a pink checkered button down, and navy sport coat. It had been so long since I’d seen him in anything other than jeans and a tee that I forgot the kid knows how to dress, has a good tailor on speed dial, his seemingly inherent style the by-product of a blueblood upbringing.

“There’s the literary rockstar,” William yucked, standing and coming around the side of his desk to shake Richard’s hand. “You’re on fire right now, kid.”

“Thank you, William,” Richard said, a little bit bashfully. They knew each other from their time together at Literatti, but not well, and certainly not on a peer level. Richard’s sudden turn as hotshot writer had leveled the playing field between them.

William clapped him on the back and Richard turned to me. “Hey,” he said, leaning down and brushing his lips against my cheek. I stiffened, involuntarily, remembering what had happened in the pool just the other day.

I’d broken the surface of the water with a strangled gasp, pushing sheets of wet hair out of my eyes to see Richard, laughing, apologizing. I’d glided over to him, put my hand over his mouth, and said it was okay. There was surprise in his eyes as I pulled my hand away, arched up and kissed him. He didn’t even kiss me back at first, but then he was, intensely, swimming against me and pinning me between his chest and the edge of the pool. I wrapped my legs around his waist, could feel him, hard, and had something of a moment of clarity. What was I doing? Complicating things like this? Putting myself in danger of being hurt again? I’d pushed him off, shaking my head, muttering sorry, and climbed out of the pool. I collected my things to go and said I’d call him about setting up a call between him and the editors who were interested in the book. He didn’t try to follow me, and when I looked over my shoulder at him he hadn’t moved, was just staring at me with a mix of longing and sorrow on his face. I’d hurried off, going through the house, leaving a wet trail behind me.

“Ready for this?” I asked, with an encouraging smile.

“Guess so,” Richard said, with a shrug.

“This is the fun part!” William said. “You just get to sit back and let the editors tell you how brilliant you are, sell you on how they plan to make you a big fat success.”

The phone rang just then, and we all just stared at it for a moment, startled. “Want me to...?” and William nodded. I picked up, knowing it was Frank.

We exchanged pleasantries and then I put Richard on the phone. Good luck, I mouthed to him, before he put the phone to his ear. I didn’t even know why I said that. It wasn’t like he needed it.

William and I left his office, quietly, closing the door behind us to give Richard privacy. Immediately after Richard got off the phone with Frank, he was going to meet with Howie, in her boss’ office, and hop on the phone with Denise.

Frank had been able to come through at $600,000, which meant that at this point, Richard would base his decision on which editor he connected with most during these phone calls. One thing I find so fascinating about my job is how a handful of different editors can read a manuscript, love it, but have completely different takes on it. Completely different ideas about how to strengthen the story, about how they feel about certain characters. I felt confident Frank would have a much more nuanced take on The Five than Denise would, and that would sway Richard to go with Literatti, but I was still riddled with unease. Howie was resourceful and relentless—what if she had something else up her sleeve that I didn’t know about?

“Frank better fucking seal this deal,” William muttered under his breath, as we waited in the hallway.

“He will,” I said, firmly, even though I was just as worried as he was.

“Josie,” William exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring like an angry bull’s. “You know how I feel about you. I will always stick my neck out for you. You’ve been the most loyal, hardworking assistant I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with. But if Howie pulls this off, I may not be able to help you.”

I patted his arm. “I know. I understand.”

We waited in silence for the next twenty minutes. Finally, the door to William’s office opened and Richard peeked his head out.

“How did it go?” I asked, as William and I joined him in the office.

Richard nodded, excitedly. “Really well.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Like really well. Wow. He saw things about the story I didn’t even see. Themes he really wants to shine a light on. He even had an idea about adding an extra layer to the ending that I really like. I’m pumped to get back to work on this.”

William and I glanced at each other, giddily. “That’s so great!” I said. “I think Frank”—

“Knock, knock.”

We all turned in the direction of the world’s most obnoxious voice. Howie was standing in the doorway, sporting that smug smile that seems to be permanently tattooed on her face.

“Ready for me?” she asked Richard.

“Uh, yeah,” Richard said. He looked at me. “Where will you after this?”

“In the mailroom,” I said. “Just head out to reception after your call with Denise and they’ll call me to come meet you there.”

He nodded. “Okay, sounds good.” He shook William’s hand. “Good to see you.”

“Congratulations again!” William said. “We look forward to working with you, in whatever capacity that may be.” He shot a look at Howie.

Richard gave us a little wave and followed Howie out the door. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder at me and mouthed, Thank you.

--

I was sorting through a fresh pile of manuscripts, half an hour later, when the phone rang. It was the receptionist, telling me Richard was waiting for me in the lobby.

I hung up and hurried to the elevators. “Come on, come on,” I whispered, pressing the elevator button again and again even though I know that does nothing. I was dying to know how the call had gone with Denise.

I rode the elevator to the ground floor and hurried down the hallway, pushing the door open with a flourish. Richard was sitting on a couch, flipping through the latest issue of GQ.

“Hey!” he tossed the magazine on the coffee table.

I gestured for him to follow me outside, to the courtyard, where we’d have some more privacy.

“So,” I said, sitting down on a bench facing the fountain in the center of the property. “How did it go with Denise?”

“You know,” Richard said, “I thought I was sold after talking to Frank. I kind of went into the call just thinking I was doing her a courtesy, even though my mind had already been made up. But I actually liked her. She had some interesting ideas.”

I struggled to find my smile. “That’s great! It’s always good to have two great options. Most writers would kill for that, you know.”

“I know,” Richard said. He squinted overhead, as a bulky grey cloud slid in front of the sun. “They both gave me a lot to think about. But this is the thing...”

I swallowed, dreading whatever the caveat was. “What’s that?”

“Denise actually told me the Little, Brown offer is now $750,000.”

I swallowed again, forcing down the acid charging up my throat. “Wow,” I said. “Richard, that is incredible.”

“So now I don’t know what to do,” Richard said. “I actually really like Denise. And it’s not just that she’s offering me more money, but they have a huge budget to market this thing. And that could spell bigger sales down the line.”

“Little, Brown has an ace marketing team,” I agreed. “Though because Literatti is offering as much as they are, they would prioritize this as their book of the season. Their smaller titles might not get the same attention as Little, Brown’s do, but you’re on a different level and don’t have to worry about that.” That was all true—if Richard’s MS was only netting an offer in the low six figures, then yes, I’d say he might be better off with Little, Brown, especially if he liked Denise as much as he liked Frank. But Literatti reserves a marketing budget that is comparable to Little, Brown’s for their bigger titles, which The Five would certainly be.

Richard nodded. “That’s good to know.”

My phone buzzed. I looked down to see a text from William. My breath caught in my throat as I read it. Denise upped the pot to 750k, he’d written, which I already knew. But I didn’t know the thing he wrote next: The partners won’t allow him to take the Literatti deal, not with that much of a discrepancy between the two offers. I’m sorry, Josie.

“Josie,” Richard said, “are you okay?”

I closed out the text and even though I was splintering up inside, I held onto my smile for all my worth. “It looks like you don’t have to agonize over this decision after all. I think you kind of have to go with Denise.”

I explained to him how it worked, how when a book goes to auction it’s a beauty contest only to a certain point. If one party comes in significantly higher, the agency is going to want their client to take that offer.

“I guess that makes things easy,” Richard said, with a little laugh. “But this means you won’t be my agent then?”

“Howie will be,” I said, trying not to sound as agonized as I did over having to say those words. “She’ll fight for you. That’s what you want in your agent.” At least that was true. And I didn’t want to stand between Richard and what was best for him. I hadn’t even earned that opportunity either. Howie was the worthier opponent, as it turned out.

“And you wouldn’t?” Richard asked.

“Wouldn’t what?”

Richard put his weight on his elbow, leaning closer to me. His upper lip pitched steeply in the middle, the perfect little v. “Fight for me?”

I smiled, sadly. “Sometimes the right thing to do is not to fight.” I wondered if Richard had thought that same thing, right before he broke my heart.