Page 21

Chapter Twenty-One

“I know it’s shocking for me to ask you this, but are you sober?”

I laugh, and VV continues.

“Lord knows I’ve had a Bloody Mary or two for breakfast that’s turned into a champagne brunch that’s turned into a night where the cab driver has had to wake me up yelling, ‘Ma’am, you’re home!,’ but this seems insane, even to me.”

“I’m sober,” I assure her. “But this all certainly does feel like a drunken night out where you wake up the next morning thinking, ‘What happened?’”

“Well, I’m sorry for all you’re going through, and I’m sorry for what your grandmother went through,” VV says. “My God, what women endure at the hands of men.” She pauses. “It explains so much about why your parents started The Mighty Pages, the books they publish, the wall they build around themselves. I thought it was snobbery. Now I realize they’re just like the rest of us. They’re scared to get hurt and rejected.”

I can hear her jewelry jangle in the background.

“So, let me get this straight,” she continues. “You’re ready to send me your manuscript and, in return, you want me to send you the worst manuscript I’ve ever received?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Hold on one second,” she says. I can hear her tap on her keyboard. “Oh, I just got one. And another. And another.”

I laugh.

“I promise it will never see the light of day and that the author will not be hurt,” I explain. “I just need it to fool Marcus long enough for me and Jess to finalize the plan I told you about. And I want to use a pen name on it just to make the irony even richer.”

“But of course. As if this isn’t crazy enough. What are you thinking?”

“C. Bell,” I say. “For Currer Bell.”

“Very clever,” VV says with a chuckle. “The pen name Charlotte Bront? used to first publish Jane Eyre . No one knew until she visited the publisher and revealed her true identity.”

“I thought a gotcha moment might be fitting. Every great book needs one, right?”

“I don’t think Marcus will get that pen name reference considering how tone-deaf he is to the history of women in publishing,” VV says. “But he’s clever, Emma. Don’t underestimate that he probably has a gotcha of his own waiting.”

“But we know all of his secrets.”

“Where there’s one body buried, there’s many,” VV warns. “I’ve worked with a lot of assholes in this business, blowhards with egos the size of a shopping mall. Oh, you’re probably too young to remember a shopping mall. They were fabulous, by the way. I could buy and eat anything in one place, and also get a perm. But I digress…not even an iceberg could take down those jerks. Men can say or do anything, and yet there is a limited societal appetite for what women are allowed to do. You do too much, and you are tasteless. Tread carefully.”

“I will,” I say. “And after you send the manuscript to me and I send it to him, I have another favor to ask about mine.”

“Oh, God,” she interrupts. “Now what?”

“Try to get it to go to auction.”

“It’s got to be five o’clock somewhere doesn’t it?” VV gasps. “You’re actually driving me to drink. Do we think we’re Marcus Flare now?”

“I know that’s a big ask,” I say. “And I know you still need to read it, but if you think it is good enough, I would love you to represent me and work your magic.”

“I am not Houdini, honey,” she says. “Although that wordplay does give me an idea for the type of novel you’re seeking.”

“You’re the best, VV.”

“I know I am,” she says, “but I’m the best for a reason. I’m grounded in reality.”

“If you believe in my book then I know you can get enough buzz going about it.” I hesitate. “And, after it goes to auction…”

“If!” VV says. “You do realize what you’re asking me is the equivalent of telling an owner of a Jack in the Box franchise to get a Michelin star or he’s fired.”

I finish my thought, undeterred by reality.

“I’d like to give it to my parents.” I pause for effect. “For free. No advance. If they even want it, I mean.”

“So I’m risking my reputation and the ire of the world’s bestselling author for nothing?” she asks, her bangles creating a cacophony. “You do realize 15 percent of zero is zero, right? You do realize agents make a living selling books. I can’t pay my rent with air.”

“Please,” I beg.

“Well, I can’t tell them I’m selling it for free at first,” she says. “They would be suspicious and never believe it was me. That part would have to wait.”

“I want to save my parents and The Mighty Pages,” I say, “and I believe a book they would never publish—a book written in GiGi’s honor—has the chance to do just that. Wouldn’t that make for a happy ending?”

“We can dream, my dear,” VV says. “And what name, pray tell, would I use when submitting your work? I think I need to take notes now to keep track of all the lies, but I know that Emma Page or GiGi Page would sort of let the cat out of the bag, right?”

“Ignatius Marcuzzi.”

“Good Lord. Is your novel entitled Goodfellas ?”

I laugh, explain and continue.

“Just make sure Marcus doesn’t see it or…”

“Or he’ll get’cha,” VV finishes. “God, I admire your chutzpah. You remind me of when I started out in this business, brash, ready to take on the world, when I had a thyroid that functioned and skin that didn’t wave hello every time I lifted my arm.” I can hear VV exhale deeply. She continues. “I don’t know if your plan is genius, or the Titanic .”

I hear the lake call beyond the kitchen windows.

“At one time, the Titanic was genius.”

“Okay,” VV finally says. “I’ll try my damnedest, but that’s like asking me to stay completely sober for the four Zoom meetings I have this afternoon.”

“I can never thank you enough,” I say.

“I haven’t done a damn thing yet,” VV says. “I could fail.”

“You never fail.”

“God, I hate you,” she says. “Hey, I have a joke for you. How many publishers does it take to screw in a light bulb?”

“How many?”

“Three. One to screw it in, and two to hold down the author.”

I laugh.

“I’m trying it out on the team at Knopf today,” VV says. “They’re very serious.” VV rattles her bracelets as if to make sure I’m listening. “Emma?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t get screwed.”