Original Sin

‘We’ll talk later,’ she mumbled, shooing Kim out of the office and putting her head in her hands. Vanessa Friedmann was fierce, the master of the deal. She took on very few clients and was famous for getting six-figure deals for all of them. Breathe, breathe, she willed herself. She flicked through her Rolodex and dialled Vanessa’s number with a sense of dread. This was the part of her job that she hated.

‘Vanessa, hi. It’s Brooke Asgill. How are you?’

‘Brooke Asgill,’ said Vanessa. ‘This is a nice surprise. Didn’t think you’d still be working.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Brooke, you are America’s most famous bride-to-be. That sounds like a full-time job in itself.’

‘Well, remind me to take a long holiday when it’s all over.’

Vanessa laughed a little too enthusiastically. ‘Well, congratulations on your wedding. I hope your favourite agent is going to get an invite, and if you ever want to publish your memoirs, I’d be happy for us to talk.’

‘Actually, that’s why I’m calling.’

‘Fantastic!’ said Vanessa, her enthusiasm real this time.

‘No, not about me. About a slush-pile script that came into me a couple of weeks ago. I believe you’re looking after the author.’

There was a pause and a rustling of papers.

‘Ah yes, Eileen Dunne. I was going to call you this week. Incredible book, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up when I read it. In my thirty years in the business that hasn’t happened very often but with Portico – phew! This is the real deal.’

Brooke was experienced enough to know she was being set up. It was just agent’s hyperbole; in fact Brooke seriously doubted that Vanessa had read more than the first few pages. Eileen Dunne already had serious interest from a publisher; for an agent it was a no-brainer. Who cared what the book was like?

‘When a book is this good, obviously I want to go straight to auction with it,’ continued Vanessa briskly. ‘But the author insisted I give you first look.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Brooke, trying to sound bright although her heart was pounding. ‘I did rescue it from Yellow Door’s slush pile after all. And I think one of our assistants recommended you to Eileen.’

There was a long pause which suggested that what she had just said cut no ice.

‘So you are interested?’ said Vanessa finally.

‘Well, I’ve only seen the first few chapters. I also gave it to Mimi Hall who liked it as well,’ Brooke replied, trying to keep her voice casual. It was a game: agent bigging up the manuscript as if it was literary gold, editor down-playing their excitement. It was like a lover’s dance.

‘How about I give you twenty-four hours to come up with a pre-empt?’ said Vanessa smoothly.

‘Did you have a figure in mind?’ asked Brooke, the words sticking in her throat.

She was not a tough negotiator like Mimi, who could eat even the fiercest agent alive. For someone who had been brought up in a very wealthy family, she was uncomfortable talking about money, and haggling over advances with agents actually made her feel physically ill. It was certainly not what she’d signed up for when she first started at Yellow Door as an editorial assistant with the dreamy notion that life in a publishing house would be spent leisurely reading books. Vanessa gave a low laugh down the phone.

‘It’s a trilogy with enormous crossover appeal. If it went to auction it could go to seven figures for a three-book deal.’

Seven figures. A million dollars, minimum. Brooke swallowed as quietly as she could.

‘I’ll need to talk to Mimi about this one.’

‘Fine. How about we put in a call for five p.m.? I want to drop the manuscript to other editors by tomorrow lunchtime.’

Brooke put the phone gently back into its cradle. She felt nauseous. She was not confrontational by nature and wondered what would happen if she offered Vanessa the maximum advance she could. Seventy-five thousand was her limit as a commissioning editor. Vanessa would probably break a rib laughing. Steeling herself, she picked up the manuscript and walked down the hall to Mimi’s office. The corner room was by far the best office on the floor. Bright morning sun was streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, along with the unmistakable sounds of a normal New York morning: road-drills, beeping taxi-cab horns. The bustle and energy of the city served as a welcome juxtaposition to the hush of the Yellow Door workplace.

‘Come in,’ said Mimi at Brooke’s timid knock on her open door. For a moment, Mimi didn’t even look up from her notebook. She tucked her dyed black bob behind her ears and placed both palms on the table before she favoured Brooke with eye contact.

‘Brooke. Good,’ she said. ‘Have you spoken to the Dunne woman yet?’

Brooke held the manuscript in front of her like a shield. ‘I’ve just spoken to her agent.’

‘Agent?’ said Mimi, looking up with alarm. ‘I thought you said this one was slush.’

‘It was, but it looks like she’s got an agent in the meantime.’

‘That’s unlucky,’ snapped Mimi, her voice accusatory. ‘Who is it?’

‘Vanessa Friedmann.’

‘Fuck,’ said Mimi, her expression concerned. ‘So how much is that bitch trying to squeeze out of us?’

‘She’s putting it out to auction tomorrow, but we have first refusal.’

‘What did you say? You do know we can’t go any higher than forty thousand dollars?’

‘Each?’ asked Brooke hopefully.

Mimi looked at the ceiling. ‘For the whole trilogy,’ she snapped.

‘Well, it seems that Vanessa is looking at something considerably higher. She mentioned seven figures.’

‘What?’

Mimi stood up and started pacing behind her desk. Against the bright light she looked silhouetted.

‘If you’d acted as soon as I said I was interested in the fucking script, we wouldn’t be in this position,’ she muttered. Brooke could read between the lines of Mimi’s angry frustration; she had seen this before. Mimi believed in the book, she could see its potential, but she didn’t want to pay a penny more than she had to for it.

‘Did you call Vanessa?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Call the author, ask if she’s signed a contract with the Friedmann Agency. If she hasn’t, make her an offer directly.’

Brooke shook her head. It was hugely unethical to say the least, possibly even actionable should Vanessa choose to claim – not unreasonably – that she had already begun negotiations on the deal.

‘We can’t do that,’ protested Brooke.

‘Oh yes you can,’ said Mimi brusquely. ‘Do it now and let’s get this wrapped up by the end of the day.’

When Brooke left the office, her heart was thumping. To stitch Vanessa up would blacken her name with one of the most respected agents in New York. Mimi might have the arrogance to do it, but could she? And anyway, it wasn’t Mimi who had to suffer the consequences. Sitting back down behind her desk she took a few moments to do some breathing she had learnt at yoga class. It did nothing to calm her down. She was trapped. If she defied Mimi, she risked being frozen out in the department, and if she went straight to the author, Vanessa Friedmann might well use her influence to put an end to her career in publishing. She longed to phone David to ask his advice, but he was on his way to Darfur to film a documentary for the network. Feeling the beginnings of tension headache, she tapped out an email to Edward Walker.

Hi Edward,

Mimi and I both love the slush-pile manuscript. Remember we discussed it – New Harry Potter? Author now with Vanessa Friedmann so advance may go high. Authorization to pay up to four hundred thousand dollars?’

She pressed send and took a long swig of water from the bottle on her table, her hands trembling as she twisted the top off. She hadn’t felt like this in a long time. Perhaps never.

She jolted when she heard the ping of her message inbox.

If you think it’s that good, yes. Edward.

She snatched up the phone. ‘Vanessa, it’s Brooke.’

‘Glad you don’t hang about. What’s your offer?’

‘Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.’ Brooke pressed her hand onto the table as she said it. As she lifted it up she could see an imprint of her fingers.

Vanessa snorted. ‘Come on, Brooke, don’t insult me. You know what I said earlier.’

‘Two hundred and fifty in today’s climate is a great offer, Vanessa. You know how difficult young adult books are to call. For every J. K. Rowling or Stephanie Meyer there’s a thousand others in the remainder bin.’

‘I have my client to think about.’

What would Tess Garrett do? thought Brooke, picturing her steely, slightly frightening new publicist.

Brooke cleared her throat. ‘Your client sent her manuscript to Yellow Door and we’d already made contact, in fact we were going to make an offer directly to Eileen today. Unless you have actually signed a contract with Eileen, I think our lawyers can argue that we have precedent. You don’t want to lose your commission, do you? Fifteen per cent of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money, Vanessa.’

There was a long pause, so long that Brooke was beginning to think Vanessa had already hung up.

‘I can’t consider anything below four hundred thousand dollars,’ she said finally. Brooke could imagine her sitting in her midtown office in her Armani trouser suit, her mouth pursed into nothingness.

‘Three hundred thousand,’ said Brooke. ‘We’ll allocate a six-figure marketing spend to make sure it hits retail with a splash.’

‘And three hundred thousand would just be US rights?’

Brooke wondered how far she could push it. ‘Three hundred thousand. Three-book deal. US rights only,’ she said firmly.

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