A midmorning meeting on the East Coast is early here in Arizona, so I roll out of bed carefully, keeping my footfalls light. In the bathroom, I change into the clothes I hung from the towel rack last night while Cecily roasted s'mores with her siblings.
There isn't Wi-Fi in the suites, but it's available at the main lodge. Early morning dew gathers on my shoes, darkening the tan leather as I make my way through the grass.
In the lodge, an employee sets up grab-and-go breakfast items for the guests. I help myself to a mason jar with a label that readsapple pie overnight oatsand pour myself a cup of coffee from the steel canteen.
"Thank you," I tell her, passing her on my way to the small room markedbusiness center.
In it I find two separate workspaces, which are really just two desks, and two chairs. A framed piece of paper on the wall provides the Wi-Fi name and password.
I take a couple bites of the oats, wash it down with a big slug of coffee, and log into the meeting. The faces of my colleagues appear, looking no different than they did ten days ago when I left the office to pack and head for the airport.
"Nice of you to join us, Dominic." Sally greets me first, drawing attention to the fact I am two minutes late. Of course she could not allow me to quietly appear on an all-agents call.
I say nothing, addressing Sally's mother, also known as my boss. "Hello, Dee. Apologies for being tardy."
Dee's face gets too close to the screen. She squints. "Where are you? That looks like an office."
I swivel my chair and look behind me. I hadn't noticed the single bookshelf, decorated with books that have probably never been read, and a potted faux plant. "I'm in the business center where we're glamping."
Sally snorts. "Glamping. Never thought I would hear that word come out of your mouth."
I say nothing. Again. Sally does not know me, we are not familiar enough with one another to determine what the other might say. What is the nepo baby playing at?
"Glamping," Dee repeats, pulling back from the screen. "That sounds delightfully rugged."
I do my best not to scoff, or tell her otherwise. If I were to explain that last night I had the best halibut of my life, slept onEgyptian cotton, and stargazed from my bed, she might hop on the computer and book herself a stay.
Dee starts the meeting by asking everyone to give a brief summary of the project currently taking up most of their time.
John speaks first. I've never disliked the guy, but I don't like him either. He used to be a literary snob with strong opinions about commercial fiction, but in the last year he has adjusted his position and rebranded himself a 'man of the people'.Peoplebeing anyone young and trendy. "I've just signed a debut author." He rubs his hands together, sending a brief glance at Sally before saying, "A western horror titled Last Things First. It's gonna be great."
The manuscript I discarded? Declined?
I have to say something. "John, if I may?—"
"You may not," Sally snaps, crossing her arms. I would never hit a girl, but maybe I could recruit Cecily to slap the haughty look off Sally's face. Given what happened with that woman in the bar in Sierra Grande, Cecily would be up for the task.
I look to Dee, waiting for her to interject, to tell her daughter to pipe down, but she says no such thing.
Ignoring Sally for the third fucking time in this meeting, I say, "I declined Last Things First because the writing is bad, and?—"
"That is your opinion," Sally interrupts.
"That would be most people's opinion after reading the first five pages." I do not want to argue, I do not want to stoop to this child's level, but how am I supposed to help the company if I don't tell them what they're signing up for?Whothey are signing. Sometimes there are books an agent thinks will be great, but they are duds. For whatever reason, the market doesn't like the story. And then there are books that an agent knows will be a dud, andsurprise surprise, they publish and flop.
"Sally," I start, doing my best to keep my irritation from seeping into my tone, "signing books you know won't do well as favors to friends harms the reputation of the agency." It's also a great way to make your colleagues find employment elsewhere.
Dee steps in. "Dominic, how about you give us an update from your side?"
"He's too busyglamping," Sally mutters, and finally earns a look of reproach from her mother.
I wish there were a remote control capable of muting Sally.
"I have Klein Madigan working on his second concept to present to his publisher, and Veronica Fisher on second round edits for Dirty Restaurant."
"Dirty Restaurant is going to be good," Dee says, tapping her chin. "Salacious."
"It has tremendous commercial appeal," I start, but Sally raises a hand like she is in a classroom.
