Wonders Never Cease (21 page)

“Like being asleep? They gave you drugs, Liv. They knocked you out so deep that you didn't move. That's not how I sleep. I thrash around—I throw off all the covers. My wife has to sleep in another room sometimes.”

“I recommend the drugs. See if they have takeout here.”

“Did you dream?”

Liv hesitated. “Why?”

Biederman shrugged. “They knocked you out deeper than you've ever been before—like the headline says, ‘at death's door.' I don't know—I figured maybe you might have dreamed deeper than ever before.”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Like I said: You seem different somehow. Just thought I'd ask.”

“Well, it's the same old me, okay?”

“Good. Glad to have you back. I'll start getting your things together.”

She watched in silence as he began to gather items from the drawers.

“You really think I seem different?” she asked.

“I don't know what it is, but it's definitely there. Maybe it's like you said—you just got a good night's sleep for a change.”

“You know something, Morty? I feel a little different.”

“You do? How so?”

“I don't know. Just—different.”

Biederman stopped and looked at her. “Listen, this is a fresh start for you. This is a chance for you to redefine yourself. It was the old Liv Hayden who wrecked that car—it's the new Liv Hayden who's walking out of here. People will expect you to be different after something like this, and you can be anything you want. I just want you to know that I'll be there to support you, whatever you decide to be.”

She paused. “Can I tell you something, Morty?”

“Anything, sweetheart.”

“I did have a dream—and it was a doozy.”

“No kidding.” Biederman sat down on the edge of her bed.

“Why don't you tell me all about it?”

26

Y
ou boys need anything else?” the waitress asked.

“A little privacy would be nice,” Kemp said without looking up from his plate.

Biederman gave the waitress a smile and a wink. “It's a business meeting, sweetheart—if you don't mind.”

“You got it. Call me if you need me.”

“I'll take the check,” Tino said.

The waitress set the black vinyl folder in front of him and left.

“You don't have to do that,” Wes said. “We can split it up.”

“No problem,” Tino said. “As I told you, I'm an investor—it's the least I can do. Besides, it's bad luck to split a check when you're doing business.”

The four men sat in the back section of Jerry's Famous Deli on Beverly Boulevard, just across the street from Cedars-Sinai. Jerry's was a convenient choice for all of the men, since it was situated just a few miles from each of their offices as well as the medical center at UCLA.

Tino, unwilling to face another California entrée, went for the pastrami on rye with a double side of Russian dressing. Biederman, a Jerry's regular, had a bowl of yellowish broth with a single matzo ball the size of an orange. Wes chose the garden pizza with a simple side salad, while Kemp selected the priciest item on the menu—a New York steak, medium rare.

“I think this occasion deserves a toast,” Biederman said, hoisting his Heineken into the air. “To
entrepreneurship
. May those who seize life by the horns get the best cut of beef—and the next time we meet, may we toast with champagne.”

“Here here,” Wes said, “and I'd like to add to that. To
vision
—and to the soon-to-be runaway international best seller,
It's All About You
.”

Biederman cleared his throat. “Not to mention the film version, which I am mentioning now.”

Tino slowly rose to his feet. “To
trust
, without which every business venture is doomed to failure—with sometimes painful consequences.”

All three men now turned and looked at Kemp, who gradually felt the weight of their eyes and looked up. He slowly raised his own bottle into the air. “To the snobs at the Los Angeles Country Club,” he said. “May I soon be among them.” When none of the others seemed to comprehend he added, “To
money
—and all the possibilities it brings.”

Biederman nodded approvingly. “As our angel would say: ‘Amen.'”

Tino turned to Kemp. “How are things going at work?”

“What?”

“It must be a big relief now that you don't have to play angel night after night. There must be less pressure on you now. Is there less pressure?”

Kemp paused. “Oh—right. Yes, there's a lot less pressure.”

Tino nodded. “I thought there might be.”

“There'll be even less pressure once the money starts rolling in,” Biederman said.

“Speaking of money,” Kemp said, “how's everything progressing?”

“Like a well-oiled machine,” Biederman said. “You wouldn't believe it.”

“Why wouldn't I? Whose idea was this whole thing?”

“I must admit, my young friend, when you first presented this little plan of yours I thought you were just another meshuggener. I know better now; I stand corrected.”

“And how's our Chosen One doing?”

“Olivia's been in excellent spirits the last couple weeks—better than I've seen her in years. You know, I think this whole thing has been good for her. It's given her a new sense of purpose.”

“How's her memory holding up?”

“I've been doing what you said—going over the story with her again and again, asking for more details. She seems to remember a little more each day. I think she'll eventually remember every last word I told her. I can't say I'm surprised; Olivia is a first-class actress, after all—she's used to memorizing pages of script.”

“It doesn't hurt to have it embedded in your subconscious,” Kemp said.

“It's an eerie feeling, listening to her repeat back to me the things we wrote for her and pretending I'm hearing them for the first time. It's like déjà vu or something. I know her next words before she says them.”

“How do you think she'll handle the interviews?”

“We're talking about Olivia Hayden,” Biederman said. “The woman has done thousands of interviews. She comes alive in front of a camera.”

Now Kemp turned to Wes. “How's the book going?”

“It's at the printer now,” Wes said. “This has got to be the fastest release in the history of publishing. I had the manuscript practically finished before I even interviewed her. I just pasted in a few of her own words so she'd think it was hers. She couldn't believe I wrote the thing so fast—she thinks I'm some kind of genius. I told her I felt a spirit guiding me as I wrote—she loved that.”

“When does it hit the bookstores—and more to the point, when will I see a check?”

“The official pub date is a week from Thursday. The orders have been pouring in—the presales look terrific, and that's for a hardcover. If the sell-through looks anything like the sell-in, we won't have to go to trade paper for years. We'll make a killing.”

“The check, Wes—what about the check?”

“Be patient,” Wes said. “We'll issue royalty statements at the end of every quarter; you'll get your first check about six weeks after that. But remember, Vision Press has to recoup its production and promotion costs before the three of us start making any profit—we agreed on that. And then there's the matter of the advance—that has to be recovered too.”

“What ‘advance'?”

“An author always gets paid an advance. It's sort of like a down payment or a signing bonus. The author gets a nice fat check up front, but she has to pay it back out of her future royalties. We had to offer Liv Hayden a sizable advance. She'll pay it back over time, but we had to come up with the cash up front.”

“How much cash are we talking about?”

“Two million.”

Kemp blinked. “Two
million
?”

Biederman stepped in. “I encouraged Olivia to publish with Vision Press, but I had to give her a reason. After all, why Vision Press? Why not Random House or Simon & Schuster?
I told her that Vision Press had the most experience with this type of book, but Olivia is a very shrewd businesswoman. She knows the book will be big and she knows it deserves a big advance. Vision Press had to make an offer that would be competitive with other publishers. Two million was barely enough to do the trick.”

“Wait a minute,” Kemp said. “As her agent, are you getting a percentage of this advance?”

Biederman lowered his voice. “You understand, I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of a financial arrangement with my client.”

Kemp looked at Wes. “Vision Press is in debt up to its ears. Who in the world would loan you two million bucks?”

Wes nodded to Tino.

Tino made a modest shrug. “I was happy to be able to help in time of need.”

“I'll just bet you were,” Kemp said. “And what were the terms of this little ‘short-term loan'?”

Wes hesitated. “Fifty percent. Two years.”

“
What
? Are you telling me we'll have to pay this shylock
three
million bucks before I'm going to see any profit?”

“It was a bargain, considering,” Biederman said. “Who else would have loaned us that kind of money? And without the money, why would Olivia have chosen Vision Press? What if she went with a different publisher—then where would we be?”

“I think Bobby understands,” Tino said. “His emotions are clouding his judgment right now, that's all. He knows what it's like to need money right away.”

Kemp glared at the three men. “Why didn't somebody ask me about this ‘loan' idea?”

“We didn't think you had that kind of money.”

“He doesn't,” Tino said. “Trust me.”

“That's not what I meant. Why didn't anybody bother to run this idea by me? Why didn't you ask for my approval first?”

“It was a business item,” Wes said. “No offense, Kemp, but you're not exactly a businessman. The three of us figured you were handling the technical side of things. We decided not to bother you with it.”

Kemp looked at each of the men. “Let me see if I understand all this. Biederman convinces Liv Hayden to go with Vision Press, but only if she gets an advance of two million bucks first. So Hayden gets two million, and Biederman takes a percentage of that. To pay the two million Wes has to take out a loan from Tino here, so Tino makes a quick million himself. In the meantime, the book comes out and Wes's company starts raking in money—and someday in the distant future, after the loan is repaid and all the expenses are finally recovered, my check will finally arrive in the mail.” Kemp narrowed his eyes. “Is it just my imagination, or do I seem to be the only one not getting paid around here?”

“Stop being paranoid,” Wes said. “Nobody's gotten paid anything yet. You'll get your money, Kemp—we all will. We just have to be patient.”

“How patient?”

“A few months maybe. That's all.”

“But the money is coming, right?”

“Haven't you been listening? Everything's going according to plan.”

“Speaking of money,” Biederman interrupted, “we need to talk about the movie rights. Columbia Tri-Star is showing strong interest; so is Sony, but they both want to see some sales numbers first. The three of us had a meeting with Liv last week, and—”

“Wait a minute,” Kemp said. “The
three
of you met with Liv?”

“That's right.”

Kemp looked at Tino.

“Charming woman,” Tino said. “Lovely home in the Hollywood Hills. We had a very nice lunch.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I was there as a potential investor—in the movie.”

“Now you're getting a piece of the movie?”

“What's the problem?” Biederman asked.

“What's the problem? The three of you met with Liv Hayden—that's another meeting I wasn't in on. This was supposed to be a threesome, and
he
wasn't supposed to be part of it.”

“What are you, crazy?” Biederman said. “You can't meet with Liv Hayden.”

“Why not?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that you might look slightly familiar? You bear a striking resemblance to an angel she once met. What if she recognized you?”

Kemp stopped to consider that. “I just think I should be included more,” he grumbled. “I'm getting everything after the fact. All the decisions are being made without me, and I don't like it.”

“What's the matter?” Tino asked. “Don't you trust us?”

Kemp frowned at him but didn't reply. He kept imagining himself stretched out on a chaise lounge beside Liv Hayden's pool, gazing out over the infinity edge at Beverly Hills and West Hollywood below.

“I have something that might cheer us all up,” Wes announced. “I was saving this news for later, but maybe this is a good time. I just heard from our marketing department this morning: Oprah Winfrey has agreed to do a weeklong series of live interviews with Liv Hayden right here in L.A., followed by a big book signing on Saturday over at that new mall in Glendale to kick off the release of the book. We're talking about Oprah's Book Club; we're talking about a featured link on
Oprah.com
; we're talking about a week of exposure to fifty million viewers, most of them women—and women are the ones who buy books. Brace yourselves, boys—we're about to be Oprahfied.”

27

H
ello? Yes, I'm still holding—I've been holding for the last ten minutes. No, I understand. That's okay. Look, I'm trying to schedule an MRI for my daughter—I've been trying to get an appointment for weeks.”

Outside the house, a car horn was bellowing every few seconds. Natalie pressed the phone tighter against her ear.