Authors: Christina George
The Publicist (2 page)
Kate could almost hear the wheels in Tom’s head turning. She knew she’d hit a chord. Tom had been with the show for five years, which was considered long for any producer. Media folk tended to job jump faster than most of us change our underwear.
“Tom?” Kate began tentatively, “what do you think?”
“Actually Katie, it’s not a bad idea.”
Her heart almost jumped out onto her desk. If she could persuade Tom to put Haley on, she might be able to salvage the entire project.
“Kate, listen, I need to run this by a few folks and I suspect it would be contingent on getting Frey on the show
and
getting him to talk about this. He’s not very fond of this topic as you can imagine.”
“Tom, why not leave that to me? I’m good friends with Frey’s publicist and editor; I might be able to persuade them.”
“Good. He’s got another book coming out so the timing could work out. Listen Katie, if I do this for you, you owe me and you owe me big.”
“Tom, you’ll get my first born.”
She could hear Tom smile through the phone, “It’s not your first born I’m after.”
.
Kate pulled her jacket tighter around her as she raced up 20
th
Street to meet Grace. She was already ten minutes late and she knew her ever-punctual friend wouldn’t be too happy or too surprised when Kate walked in well past their usual meeting time.
The wind blew through the buildings, gusting up the street. It was starting to get chilly, even in late-September. Kate loved autumn in New York; it was her favorite time of year. Nothing in the world compared to a crisp fall morning racing through the streets of Manhattan, a steaming latte in one hand and the
New York Times
in the other.
Like most New Yorkers she raced across a busy street, dodging a cab, not bothering to wait for the light to turn green. She could see Mulligan’s was busy, even for a Wednesday. Mulligan’s was their usual meeting place, once a week if Kate wasn’t traveling. They would catch up, swap stories and hang out. Grace was an artist and a very talented one. She had a showing scheduled in November for her paintings, which she was both excited and nervous about. Kate had promised to help her publicize her first art exhibit. It had taken her years to get to this moment and Kate was thrilled to help. They had been friends for over ten years, ever since meeting at NYU and sharing a dorm room. Grace was delightfully different, as Kate would often tell her own disapproving mother. Few people understood Grace the way Kate did. She didn’t subscribe to society trends, didn’t watch the news or read the paper. She read Russian novels, worked on her art and taught yoga to help pay the rent. She was without a doubt Kate’s most eclectic friend, but also her closest and most honest. Kate knew she could always get the truth from Grace, regardless of whether she wanted to hear it or not.
She pushed the door open and spotted Grace almost immediately. Her friend had taken two seats by the bar and waved when she saw Kate enter the pub.
“You’re late,” Grace smiled, giving her a gentle peck on the cheek.
“Sorry. Haley is still a 911 but I think I have it resolved, or at least it would seem that way.”
“I watched her on
Piers
the other night.” Grace smiled, “She was good. I came to Mulligan’s to watch it, forced the bartender to turn off the boxing match long enough to see her segment. He wasn’t happy.” She winked.
“Gracie, when are you going to get a TV?” Kate signaled the bartender to duplicate her friend’s order.
Grace pushed a shiny black curl off of her shoulder, sipped her wine, and said: “Never. TV is the work of the establishment to keep us all in line. Besides, I’d never get any painting or reading done if I watched TV all day. I’m in the middle of another Nikolai Golgol book. What an amazing writer—I’ll have to loan it to you when I’m done. I think you should suggest to that publisher of yours that he produce more Russian novels; I think it could save the business.”
Kate chuckled. Grace knew better than to try and send one of her “favorites” her way.
“Anyway, I’m glad you got Haley back on track….” Grace’s sentence was cut off by the ringing of Kate’s phone. Kate pulled it out of her bag, recognizing the number immediately.
“It’s Mac, isn’t it?” Grace arched a sculpted eyebrow.
“Yes.” Kate smiled sheepishly.
“So, he’s still pursuing you?” Grace sipped her wine, already knowing the answer.
“He’s not pursuing me, Gracie. He’s just, well, Mac.”
“Katie, please don’t forget that he’s married.”
The word “married” hung between them, heavy and obtrusive. Yes, in fact MacDermott Ellis was as married as they come. Met his wife during high school and have been with her for over twenty years. Two sons in college, a house in Connecticut and a cottage in the Hamptons. You don’t get more married than that. But this was publishing and the rules seemed to be different, at least they did for Mac. Kate had heard stories of women he’d been with, but she dismissed them as rumors. So when Mac called her after hours, she treated it as nothing more than a call from a co-worker. Mac had been a tremendous help to her career and was a good friend to Kate. But Grace knew different. She knew her friend was being pursued even if Kate was too preoccupied in her own job to notice it. Grace insisted that at some point, sooner than later, Kate would find herself in a compromising position with this painfully handsome, lethally charming, and highly unavailable man. But Kate insisted otherwise. Grace hoped her friend was right.
.
The road to Katharine Mitchell’s illustrious career in publicity hadn’t always been as glamorous as some would think. Most people think that being a publicist means a series of exciting parties, rubbing elbows with celebrities, and trips to exotic places to promote whatever book they were working on. Nothing could be further from the truth. Generally Kate spent lunches at her desk and evenings thumb-dancing on her iPhone, responding to whatever media queries came in after hours. She lived and died by whatever news hook she could use to promote her authors and unlike most people, she hated Fridays. Because on Fridays, the sales reports would be shared with the publicity department. Sales numbers were always tricky. A feature on a major show didn’t always translate into book sales, in fact, book sales were almost an act of God these days. But regardless, a book with flagging sales was something no publicist wanted to see.
Kate landed her first official job as a publicist after struggling on her own as a freelancer for a number of years. She was accepted into Morris & Dean Publishing, one of the most esteemed publishing companies in the industry, and was brought in to assist their publicity department. Soon after she was hired, and through a series of circumstances and staffers leaving, Kate was promoted to a publicist, officially. There were five people in total who worked in the department, which was unheard of in publishing. While most of its competitors were cutting their marketing and publicity departments in half, Morris & Dean was expanding. They believed that a good book was like a tree falling in the forest, unless someone issued a press release, who was going to know? Kate liked that about Morris & Dean or MD as they were referred to within the industry. She gave herself five years to build her reputation, that was seven years ago. Now she was so deep into corporate publishing, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get out. Things, however, were changing in publishing. Sexier books, racier authors, smaller advances and less fanfare per campaign spelled trouble for MD and despite their original intent to lead books with grand publicity campaigns, the publisher was starting to bow to the pressures of a fickle society and topics that ten years ago seemed impossible to imagine. Books told entirely in tweets and sex between a man and the hot new alien down the street seemed to be the norm.
Kate was often at the mercy of whatever the editors fancied and, consequently, whatever books they decided to produce. Kate missed being able to pick and choose her projects. When you’re with a publishing company, you get what you get and that’s that. Often Kate found herself making a silk purse out of some mess of a book someone handed her. Sometimes she’d get lucky and hit pay dirt with a title the other marketing and publicity people would die for, and other times she was told to market something of which she was certain had about a three percent audience if she was lucky. Because everyone in publishing wanted to get into MD, most of the people who were there were stuck it out. Unless someone died, she wasn’t getting seniority anytime soon. Publicity people more senior than her got pick of the litter. More often than not, Kate got the runts. Like any New York publisher, Morris & Dean had a number of imprints that were smaller divisions of the larger company. Each imprint published a certain category. MD had about twelve imprints at last count but Kate didn’t work with all of them. She supported five, which was more than enough. They focused their core publicity efforts on the top three imprints that made the most in revenue, but in accordance with the way MD was run, all books got some marketing and publicity, even if it was less than their top titles. Sometimes though, all it took was one wildly successful title to carry the entire firm for the year.
Kate was born and raised in a hot, dusty town in central Arizona called Top-of-the-World. It wasn’t really the top of the world, not even close. It got its name from the Indians that settled there years ago although Kate could never remember exactly how the legend went. Located just south of Phoenix, the town was the smallest in all of Arizona. In the 2010 census, Top-of-the-World boasted a whopping 300 residents. Given the ones who moved away and a few that were born, Kate guessed the count to be around 330 now, give or take.
Kate had hated every minute of her life there and when the opportunity presented itself, she applied to every college as far away from the Arizona desert as possible. Unfortunately, her parents still loved it there and she was usually forced to visit them on every major holiday unless an author or major book launch prevented her from traveling. Kate welcomed the anonymity that a big city brought with it. There was no one to observe her every move and that’s just the way Kate liked it. She loved her parents and missed being around them, but she hated the thought of leaving New York. There was nothing cultural about Top-of-the-World, unlike some of the other cities in Arizona, but regardless, there were casinos everywhere. Her parents refused to be a part of anything upscale or cultural, despite Kate’s attempts to get them to move to a better part of the state. They preferred the quiet their twenty-acre property brought with it and the seclusion a small town offered.
Kate had two brothers, Billy, who was working in the Doctors without Borders program and David, who was a photographer for
Newsweek
. Much to her family’s chagrin David had taken a job in Afghanistan over a year ago. He loved it but Kate swore her mom had aged ten years since David’s departure. It wasn’t easy being the youngest of three siblings and being the only one who wasn’t in a noble profession. She wasn’t saving the world, or risking her life (well, if you didn’t count the occasional suicidal author). She was just Kate Mitchell, Publicist for Morris & Dean Publishing. She was thirty-four, unmarried but hopeful, and the most exciting moment in her life had been getting Rosie O’Donnell’s autograph for her mother when she was still on
The View
. Her parents seemed happy with her career choice but she knew she could be slinging hash and they’d say the same thing: “We’re so proud of you, Katie.”
.
“Listen, if I have to read another tell-all written by a celebrity parent, I’m gonna choke. The Spears-mother book tanked before it even hit the streets. It’s too risky.” Mac drummed his fingers on the desk, impatient with the caller at the other end.
“But Mac, if we can package it right, I’m betting we can sell some copies.”
“No, Liz, I’m not taking it, I’m sorry. No more celebrity mothers crying because they were lousy parents and now their little bundles of joy are racing the streets like tramps. I’m sorry. This is a Judith Regan title, not an MD one.”
“Judith isn’t in publishing anymore.” Liz felt the need to remind him, as if anyone could forget the OJ Simpson book debacle and Judith’s timely demise from publishing.
“I know, Liz.” Mac smiled sarcastically, “I guess that means you’re out of luck until she comes back.” The line went dead. Liz would be pissed, he knew, but eventually she’d get over it. She had to. She was an agent and she needed MD more than they needed her.
Mac leaned back in his expensive leather chair and ran his fingers through his jet-black hair. Nearing fifty, the grey was starting to come in on the sides, which only served to offset the cobalt blue in his eyes. He was a brutally handsome man, tall, and firmly built. Mac could have just about any woman he wanted, and most of the time, he did.
Mac had been with Morris & Dean for over twenty years, building himself up from an associate editor to being part of the senior editorial staff. In the span of twenty years, Mac had over a thousand best sellers to his name, most of the books he had handpicked for his imprint. He had made MD millions of dollars and now could virtually write his own ticket with the company. Mac’s main focus was on non-fiction and literary fiction titles, “snob books” as he often referred to them. Books written by authors that, while being good reads, were often pushed by people who felt they were better than most. Mac didn’t like most of the authors he worked with, occasionally one slipped in that didn’t have a God-complex and he did whatever he could to give those authors an extra push.
Last year Mac had asked to add another imprint to his line, he wanted to work with more mainstream titles and so the Avalon imprint was born. Avalon published the kind of books that may never become movies but were solid “plane reads,” as Mac referred to them. They did well in airport stores and had strong sales year after year. Most of these authors would never hit the national best seller lists or never be interviewed by Oprah but despite that, they still brought in a lot of dollars for the company. Along with this line Mac also wanted to take more celebrity titles, but not the crap Liz was trying to push, he wanted the “serious” stuff (if that was even possible when it came to celebrities). Mac had taken some “green” titles, children’s books, even the occasional cookbook.