Page 38 of The Lie Maker

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, you know the rumor that was going around.”

“It’s bullshit, Lawrence. Whatever you think happened did not happen.”

“Okay. But if you want the book to sell, it’s gotta have something like that. Even better if it’s true, but not absolutely necessary.”

“It’s not about me. It’s something else altogether. Suppose I said I was asking for a friend? Someone who’s looking to tell his or her life story? Who are the top ones out there?”

“Hang on,” Eckhart said. “We did a piece on this not long ago. Let me see if I can find it.”

Lana heard the tapping of keys, then Eckhart was back. “Here we go. You want to write these down.”

“Just read them out to me.”

Eckhart read her more than a dozen names. Jack Givins was not among them. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have been approached, but there were clearly a number of writers out there who would have been ahead of him on a list.

“Okay, thanks,” Lana said. “I don’t hear the name Jack Givins there.”

“Ah, didn’t I see you with him at something a year or two ago?”

“It’s possible.”

“Well, if he’s writing someone’s story, it’s news to me. He looking for that kind of work?”

“He’s the kind of guy who’s always up for a challenge.”

“What he should really do is write his own story.”

“He’s done that. Two novels. Got some very good reviews.”

“I’m not talking about fiction. He should write a memoir or something. Although he probably wouldn’t. Seems to be a guy who values his privacy, not even putting out those books under his own name.”

Lana paused. “Why do you think he’s got a memoir in him?”

“I could be totally wrong. Maybe what I heard isn’t true.”

“What did you hear?”

“Look, it’s not for me to say. He just has... an interesting story. You’ve read his books. The clues are all there. Listen, Lana, I’ve got another call here. Take care.”

And he was gone.

Lana slowly put the phone down. The clues were in Jack’s books? She’d read them, of course. What was Lawrence referring to?

Jack wrote about emotional abandonment, about young men trying to find their way in a world where there was no one to count on. Jack wrote about boys and young men who were lost.

Was that what Jack was? A lost boy? Whatever major events had shaped him, why hadn’t he told her about them? He rarely spoke of his family, other than Earl. She thought back to when she stumbled upon the Joan Didion book he’d bought her. How her search had turned up almost nothing of a personal nature.

She needed to talk to him. If there were things he’d been holding back, things he did not trust her enough to share, well, that was deeply troubling, because she—

Because she loved him.

She picked up her cell, intending to bring up Jack’s number, but before she could place the call the phone rang in her hand.

“Yeah?”

“Lana?”