The Accidental Bestseller (22 page)

—W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM

 

 

 

It took Kendall some time to absorb what Tanya was suggesting. Faye and Mallory also seemed to be stuck in the processing mode; the idea was so staggering that it was hard to take it in right away. Still no one had jumped up yet and said, “That’s ridiculous,” although, of course, it was.

The minutes ticked away in the late-morning silence as the sun inched up farther and each of them tried to navigate her way through the alien territory Tanya had invited them into.

“You’re offering to write this book for me.” Kendall wanted to be certain she hadn’t misunderstood.

“Well, I’m actually thinking of it as more of a collaboration. You’d be writing the primary point-of-view character. And, of course, your name would be on the cover. We’d just be helping you finish out your contract so that you could get the hell out of Scarsdale.”

“I want to help and I have no problem with doing the pages,” Faye said. “But it feels a bit . . . unethical. Kendall would be putting her name on something she didn’t write alone. I mean, even James Patterson admits when there’s another author on the project. And we’re all under contract to other publishers. I don’t even know if we can legally contribute to a book that someone else has contracted to write.”

“We’d just be like ghostwriters,” Tanya argued. “There are lots of projects where one person’s name is on the cover and the real author doesn’t get cover credit.”

“But in those situations the publisher
knows
who wrote the book,” Faye pointed out.

Kendall listened to their points and counterpoints, all of them valid. It felt so odd to be the subject of discussion, to have her life and career debated in front of her as if she’d died and been invited to the postmortem.

“And what if it becomes a runaway bestseller. Makes the lists. Lands Kendall on
Oprah
?” This from Mallory, who’d done all of those things.

Tanya snorted. “Hell,” she said, “we all know Oprah only picks stories about dysfunctional families and somebody has to die in the end; these would just be dysfunctional writers. I don’t think she’s gonna be interested.”

Some of the tension dissipated as they laughed in agreement.

Kendall was still trying to gather her thoughts. “The truth is I’m not sure we should even be considering this, but I think the chances of that kind of attention are remote.” She ticked off her points on her fingers. “Lacy Samuels has never done this before. Plain Jane is going to slap some crappy cover on it, print the smallest amount of copies possible, and stick it on some shelves. And nothing with my name on it right now is likely to end up anywhere but on the remainder table.”

They all stared at each other, considering.

“But more importantly,” Kendall said, “I can’t ask you to do this. You’re all on deadlines and don’t need to take on mine. And I wouldn’t feel comfortable taking credit for your work. Whether it was a hit or a flop, I’d know it wasn’t really mine.”

“You didn’t ask, Tanya suggested,” Faye said. “And the more I think of it the more I think, ‘Why shouldn’t we?’ I don’t believe anyone here, with the possible exception of Tanya, would be snowed under by another hundred pages. And I think there’d be a great energy from doing this together. We could create something more than any of us could create on our own. There’s lots of work out there done under other names and for different reasons. And besides, no one would ever know. We’d have to make it our secret.”

Kendall looked at her friends and a flood of love for them coursed through her. “You guys will never know what even having this conversation means to me. You make me feel like I’m not alone. That somehow getting through all of this . . . shit . . . is possible.” She paused to regroup, amazed that she could be this close to tears all the time. “I don’t know if what Tanya’s suggesting is the right thing to do. I hate feeling this needy but frankly, the idea of not having to write this book alone makes me almost weak with relief.”

Kendall paused, wanting to make sure she put it all out there. If they did do this, their whole group dynamic would change; just the act of writing this book together—a book about themselves—could open them up in all kinds of ways, and that wasn’t even taking into account what might happen after it had been published.

“But we don’t really know what to expect from this; it’s completely uncharted territory. And we could end up wandering in the wilderness. I love Tanya for suggesting it and both of you for considering it. But I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize our friendship. I could probably find a way to live without money or a publishing contract. I don’t think I could live without my ‘peeps.’ ”

“All right, all right,” Tanya said. “We are not going to get all weepy about this. Kendall, if we decide we want to write this book with you, do you want us in on the project?”

Kendall gnawed at her lip. Her pride told her to hold her head up and tell them thanks, but she’d be fine on her own. Except, of course, that would be a big fat lie. Even with them here propping her up it was taking everything she had not to run and curl up in bed. Or buckle on her tool belt.

Slowly she nodded. “I can completely understand if you choose not to do this. I won’t be hurt or offended.” She paused, wanting to make sure there would be no misunderstanding. “The whole idea is definitely on the funky side, but working together would take a huge weight off my shoulders.”

She could see that Tanya was ready to press for a decision, so she stood to leave, not wanting to know who might be in favor and who might not. “I’m going to go in and make us some lunch. Let me know when you’re ready to eat.”

“No,” Mallory said. “Don’t leave.” She raised a quizzical eyebrow to Faye and Tanya, both of whom silently nodded their heads. “It looks unanimous to me,” Mallory said.

They all broke into smiles as Tanya pumped a triumphant fist in the air. “Let’s all go in and make lunch together,” she said. “Then we can start seriously brainstorming while we eat.”

They trooped inside chattering about
Sticks and Stones
and the logistics of writing the book together. The brainstorming started over tuna sandwiches and sweet tea and continued well into the evening when they had to stop because their jaws ached and their brains were reeling.

On Sunday they woke up early to hammer out the basic plot points then sketched out a cast of characters, knowing that each of them would flesh out her own.

Just for fun, they added an evil and highly unattractive editor as well as a well-intentioned but naïve young editorial assistant. Then they placed bets on how long it would take Jane and Lacy to recognize themselves.

When their brains were once again completely fried, they went for a hike. After showers they broke open the wine, tossed a salad, and threw a frozen pizza into the oven.

Kendall’s home-improvement project that day was a small one—just a new latch for the screen door and a fluorescent fixture that she attached under one of the kitchen cabinets; a definite sign of progress that everyone noticed but was careful not to comment on.

On Monday afternoon Kendall and Mallory drove Faye and Tanya to the Atlanta airport. They stood on the curb and hugged each other fiercely. “Thank you,” Kendall whispered as she threw her arms around Tanya and then Faye. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate . . .”

“Don’t.” Tanya hugged her back, holding on tight. “I can’t wait to work on your book.
Sticks and Stones
is going to be killer.”

“She’s right,” Faye added. “We’re going to write a knockout of a book. You just wait and see.”

There was a final round of hugs and then Mallory confirmed their plan. “We’ll e-mail detailed character sketches to each other as soon as we can and Kendall’s going to start on the first chapter. We’ll aim for a conference call at the end of the week to discuss what’s been completed and lay out the upcoming chapters. Kendall and I’ll join the scenes together and handle all the transitions. When it’s complete we’ll all do a read through and make notes. After Thanksgiving we’ll get together again to tweak and produce a final.”

Kendall stood with Mallory and watched the other two disappear into the terminal. If she didn’t have a meeting with a divorce attorney the day after tomorrow, she could have convinced herself that things would be fine. Trying to sidestep a nosedive back into the negative, she got behind the wheel of the Pilot and worked her way out of Hartsfield-Jackson Airport then headed north on Highway 85, fairly certain the car could make the trip without her by now.

They passed the first few miles in silence, Kendall trying to imagine what Anne Justiss, attorney-at-law, might look like and how much she would charge, Mallory thinking about . . . Kendall had no idea what.

“Have you been in touch with Lacy Samuels since she first made contact with you?” Mallory asked.

“No.”

“Well, I think it would be a good idea to send her a quick e-mail updating her on where things stand with the book.”

“You mean like, ‘Dear Lacy, Just wanted to let you know that I haven’t actually started the book yet due to a small emotional breakdown. However, even though my husband has left me for a much younger woman, there’s nothing to worry about because when my friends realized how incapacitated I was they volunteered to help me write it?”

“Very funny,” Mallory said, a pained expression on her face. “But I think we should make sure something from you is waiting for her when she gets into the office tomorrow morning.”

Kendall shook her head. “If there’s going to be something in Lacy Samuels’s inbox in the morning, it’s going to have to come from you. I was sort of hoping my level of interaction with Scarsdale would fall somewhere between little and none.”

“Actually,” Mallory said. “I think it needs to be just the opposite. Our goal should be to get her hyped. It can’t hurt to have someone excited about the project.”

“She’s an assistant, Mal,” Kendall pointed out. “An insult delivered by Jane Jensen.”

“But she’s also a resource,” Mallory argued. “And whether we like it or not, at the moment she’s your conduit at Scarsdale. It can’t hurt to try to get her on your side.”

Kendall shrugged, not even close to believing that Lacy Samuels could be any kind of asset. She was more than likely a chip off of Jane Jensen’s block. And if she wasn’t, she was probably some sort of timid little mouse, who’d never question an executive editor.

Back at the mountain house, Kendall went to her room to take a nap. Mallory retrieved her laptop from the downstairs bedroom and carried it upstairs and out onto the deck.

With only occasional glances out to the view, she scanned e-mails and responded to both her agent and her editor, staying as vague as possible without sounding any alarm bells. She wasn’t quite ready to find out whether she could force herself to focus on her own work, but felt a strange stirring of excitement about Kendall’s project, which she already thought of as a gift to a friend and not an obligation. The fact that no one but her closest friends would even know she’d written it was incredibly freeing.

The warm feeling in her belly dissipated when she found no sign of a message from Chris. She debated what to do about it and settled for sending a chatty e-mail filling him in on all that had transpired and apologizing once more. She stopped short of committing to a return date because she’d already decided to let Kendall’s state of mind be her guide, but she vowed to herself to make things up to Chris just as soon as
Sticks and Stones
was under way and she had her own project back on track.

Her next order of business was to initiate contact with Lacy Samuels. Using the password Kendall had given her, Mallory logged on to Kendall’s e-mail account and pulled up the Write Mail screen. With her fingers poised above the keys, she thought for a moment, and then, attempting to capture Kendall’s tone and personality, she began to type.

Here Mallory gave very specific input. She knew that Kendall didn’t have cover approval like she did, and that the “cover consult” written into many contracts consisted of an editor sending the completed cover to the author as little more than an FYI. Still Mallory thought it better to give direction than to sit back and wait for the bad news. Everyone knew a cover could make or break a book and yet so often the really great covers were lavished on authors who were so big they no longer needed them while those who would most benefit got covers that could actually hurt them—like the author they knew whose hero had been depicted with three hands. And another whose heroine, shown in a revealing clinch with the hero, could have been the author’s double.

Here she went on to suggest several promotional ideas that had occurred to her before she realized that Kendall would have never done such a thing—having never been given any reason to believe that her publisher would appreciate these kinds of suggestions. After some internal debate, she deleted those sentences and then before she could rethink it to death, she pressed Send.

18

—P. D. JAMES