âAngel, attention to detail is
paramount
in this office.â I was a very small mouse to her great big cat, and there was nowhere to run. But as soon as I began to formulate some sort of verbal escape, Lucy shifted her tone once more. âThis is very
filmic,
â she said. âYes, I definitely think so. Get him on the phone, letâs sign him up before he goes somewhere else.â I started to rise, but she held up her hand, palm out. âNo, wait,â she said. âLetâs just see something first.â She walked around to her desk and punched her intercom button. âAnna!â
âYup?â
âGet Natalie Weinstein on the phone.â
âOkay, Lucy. Is there anything else you need right now? I could get you aââ
âNatalie. Weinstein. Anna. Now.â
Lucy positioned herself at her desk and motioned for me to come closer. âI want you to hear this,â she said. I noticed that her voice had dropped an octave or two and had what I could only call a seductive tone washing through it. As soon as she was connected with Natalie Weinstein, Lucy began rearranging the items on her desk with her free hand. This was a pattern I would soon become very familiar with. Whenever she was on the phone, and that was a good portion of every day, Lucy compulsively stacked the notepads, paper clips, pens, and anything else that was on her desk. She moved the largest items into the center first, progressively piling on items as they decreased in size, until there was a small tower in the middle of her desk. Then she took them down, item by item, and placed them in the corners of the desk. If she was still on the phone at that point, sheâd begin the process again. She repeated these motions over and over as she talked to Natalie Weinstein, and I became hypnotized, watching her hands move back and forth as her voice filled the room.
âItâs really hot,â she was saying, âand I thought of
you
first. Iâve got a virgin author here, came in over the transom. Yes, we
do
read our unsolicited manuscripts over here. Anyway, heâs a divine Italian man with a blockbuster novel idea. Yes, I have the novel right here.â
I watched the notepads stack up and come down.
âWell, it turns out heâs written the Italian
Trainspotting.
Actually, itâs more like
Trainspotting
meets
Under the Tuscan Sun.
Exquisite writing.â
Up, down, up, down.
âHeâs a heroin addict and heâs written the most vivid account ofâYes, I agree, there certainly is a market. Listen, Nat, this is
very
hot. Heâs still addicted. What? No, did I say addicted?
Recovery.
Heâs still in recovery. But itâsâwell, you know what a slippery slope recovery can be.â
I watched her hand pick up a pen and begin writing a note.
âYes, heâs Italian. From Milano. Drop-dead gorgeous. You know how Italian men are.â
She held up the note for me to see.
Do we have author photo?
it asked. I shook my head in the negative. She continued to write.
Heâd better be good looking!
she added to her note.
âHeâs already working on a sequel. Actually, he has two more books in the works. We could have an antihero series character here. Heâs calling it theâ¦let me find it hereâ¦yes,
The Horse Triptych.
What? Well, that doesnât matter, he can always change the title.â
She offered me a dramatic eye roll.
âYes, I will, Nat. I canât guaranteeâWell, I can offer you an exclusive ifâFine, Iâll have it on your desk tomorrow. You understand, I have to move on this right away. But, of course, I thought of you first.â
Lucy hung the phone up abruptly and, snapped out of my trance, my eyes shot to her face. I was impressed and also a little frightened. Lucy was assuming an awful lot without having spoken one word to Damiano Vero. I had no doubt, however, that she would get everything she was asking
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