Chapter Three #2
When she shopped, as she had for this trip, she leaned toward classic instead of trendy.
She liked the fit and feel of the chocolate-brown pants in a velvety suede, paired with boots of the same color.
When you had a yard of leg, play it up rather than hide it.
The spring-weight coral V-neck celebrated being a redhead, with a trio of thin-chained necklaces layered in the V for a little dash.
Simple gold hoops, another trio, as Zoey had convinced her they needed to get that third ear piercing.
She topped it with the thigh-length leather jacket, a sort of cognac color she’d treated herself to when she’d sold Whispers.
Add a scarf that played with those tones, and because the April day was breezy but bright, sunglasses.
She strapped on her cross-body bag, gave her reflection a nod.
Angling her head, she realized she’d have to decide whether to keep the shorter hair or let it grow back.
A decision for later, but for now?
“Yeah, you’ll do. No one would guess you’re still not sure all this is actually happening.”
Could be the Matrix, she thought as she checked her bag for her hotel key before leaving. And all this? Programming.
On the street, she walked, flowing along with the river of tourists and natives.
Where did she fit there? she wondered, and supposed she straddled the bridge over that river.
She’d walked these same streets with girlfriends, poked into some of the shops, sat over pizza or tacos or ice cream and bitched about clueless parents, whined about teachers, talked endlessly about boys.
When it came to the boys, Arden remembered, she’d been the one the others had confided in. Mostly because she had nothing much in the area to confide herself.
She’d been a listener, a watcher—a seat in the audience.
It paid off, she thought now, and gave in to the urge to stroll into a bookstore.
It took some wandering, some hunting, but she found her book—two copies. And took that glow with her to her meeting with her agent.
The first time she’d ridden this elevator to the twelfth floor to meet Yvonne Siscal, she’d been terrified, as she’d meet, for the first time, the woman she felt held her dreams in her hands.
The second time, after the sale of Whispers, she’d felt giddy, with a side of terrified.
Now she took stock and decided she toggled between happy and anxious.
The agency’s lobby always struck her as library-esque with its oversized leather chairs in a classic claret, its crowded bookcases, its sleek reception desk.
Before she could speak, she was struck dumb when the receptionist rose, smiled, and remembered her name.
“Ms. Bowie, so nice to see you again. I hope you had an easy trip in.”
“I did, thanks. It’s Arden.”
“Yvonne’s expecting you. I’ll just let her know you’re here. Oh, here’s Elle now. You remember Elle, Yvonne’s assistant.”
She was memorable—young, gorgeous, about five-two, and a fast-talking, fast-moving dynamo.
“Right on time.” Instead of offering a hand, Elle offered a hug that made Arden feel like a giant. “Just give Yvonne a buzz, Luce. I’ll take Arden back. So how was your flight in? No problem getting to the hotel, right?”
Even with a yard of leg, Arden had to quicken her pace to keep up as Elle breezed through a door, then down a corridor lined with offices and books, books, books.
“The flight in was quick, and the hotel’s perfect.”
“They’ve got a great bar. Like a speakeasy. You should definitely go in for a drink. Your first week on sale’s numbers are in. Solid. Yvonne will talk to you about that. And the podcast.”
“The—”
Yvonne’s corner office door stood open, and Elle strode straight in.
“Coffee, tea, water—flat or sparkling.”
“Oh, water’s fine. Flat,” she added as Yvonne stood from behind her desk.
She always gave Arden a flash of Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada. The silver wedge of hair, the strong cheekbones, and just the air of being in charge and knowing exactly what to do next.
She crossed to Arden on black heels—probably Pradas—and took both of Arden’s hands in hers.
“It’s so good to see you.”
“It’s really good to be here.”
“Take off that gorgeous coat that I’d steal if I were five inches taller, and have a seat. Tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Good. Overwhelmed, grateful, and good.”
Arden took one of the leather chairs—these the same color as her pants—while Yvonne took the other. And Elle dashed in with tall glasses of water on ice.
“Let me know if you need anything. I’m on the move.”
“Isn’t she always?” Arden murmured when Elle dashed off again.
“In the nearly four years she’s been here, I’ve yet to see her battery run down.”
“Yvonne, let me go back to that gratitude. I’m so grateful. I know you took a chance on me.”
“I have a good sense of what and whom to take a chance on. You didn’t break my streak. You wrote a good book, Arden, and in my opinion, you wrote an even better one with Rebound. You’re young, and building your foundation and career. My job, our job, is to help you with that.
“Let’s talk foreign rights for a start.”
“Foreign rights?”
“We have some offers. They’re low. We’ll negotiate, get them up a bit, but not by much.”
“We have offers from other countries?”
Yvonne smiled, sipped. “I’ll be almost sorry when you lose that wonderment.
Selling your book is what we do. Justin in our foreign rights department is shepherding Whispers through the process.
We’ll get you the numbers and details when we finalize them, then you’ll decide whether to take the offers. ”
“Yvonne, if they offer five bucks and a cookie, I’m taking it.”
“Yes, I’ll be sorry when you lose that. We’ll get you more than five bucks, and you’ll buy your own cookies.
Now, you have the signing at Pages and Pages on Saturday, and we’ll talk about that later.
Another opportunity opened up. It’s last-minute, and your publicity department’s really high on it.
Gracie Ullman’s podcast, Gracie’s Book Club. ”
“Elle mentioned something about a podcast.”
She’d never heard one, and wondered if she should confess that.
When she wrote, she wrote in the quiet. And when she read, she read in the quiet. Otherwise, music or TV.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who that is.”
“A lot of other people do. She has a very popular podcast, and she’s based in New York. She had a last-minute cancellation, and publicity jumped on it. It’s good exposure, a chance to reach potential new readers, and she does a fun interview.”
“I’ve never done a podcast.”
“You’ve never had a book published before.”
“Right. Well … when would I have to do it?”
“At four-thirty.”
Arden just gaped. “Today?”
“Last-minute cancellation, and your opportunity. I hope you’ll take it, Arden.
I’ll go with you, and so will your publicist. It runs ninety minutes, so after, I’ll take you out to dinner.
We’ll celebrate. Tomorrow, I’ll pass you to your editor.
Diane will show you around, introduce you to that team. ”
“Ninety minutes.”
“Gracie Ullman’s good at what she does, and so are you. They’ll hype your book signing. You say yes, publicity will let the bookstore know. Advice?”
“Yes, please.”
“Hit while it’s hot, Arden.”
It made her queasy, but she nodded. “All right, of course.”
“Great. Let me tell Elle to get the ball rolling, then we’ll walk over to foreign rights so you can meet more of your team.”
Team, Arden thought. That meant being a team player, even if you had to do a ninety-minute podcast when you really weren’t entirely sure exactly what that meant.
So she did it, and it wasn’t as horrible as she’d feared. Basically, she’d had a long conversation with an energetic woman who loved books. Despite nerves and outright dread, she had some fun.
When they sat in the restaurant, snugged at a table with voices all around, Yvonne lifted a glass of the wine she’d ordered.
“First, I’ll say it again. You were good. Quick, funny, entertaining, and honest.”
“Thanks, again. And again, I barely remember anything I said.”
“Including telling Gracie you’d be happy to come back when your next book’s released?”
“She threw me off by asking if I would. I’m definitely not going to think about that now.”
“All right.” She clinked her glass to Arden’s. “Here’s to you, Arden Bowie, and your future.”
She spent the next day meeting people, thanking them. She signed books for various accounts at a big conference table where they’d brought in pretty cupcakes and champagne.
After dinner with her editor, she slid into bed for the second night and slept like the dead.
When she woke, she lay there, listening to New York push its energy against the windows. And took stock.
Yes, she was enjoying herself, and learning as she went. So much to learn. But one more day of meeting, greeting, smiling, talking? Probably about her limit.
Unlike Elle, Arden needed her batteries regularly charged.
She got up, pushed herself down to the hotel’s fitness center. Back in her room, she showered, indulged herself with a room service breakfast. Since lattes weren’t on the menu, she took her caffeine with ice in a Pepsi.
Finding she had a few hours to spare, she sat down with her laptop and added to her work in progress.
There, she thought as she dressed, an hour in the gym, a nice breakfast, and a little time to write.
Batteries recharged.
She’d chosen a dress of deep blue, belted at the waist, with a straight skirt.
She’d planned to wear her mother’s locket with it, and the memory of that brought on a pang of regret.
Instead, she went with the interlocking rings Zoey had given her.
And checking the time, decided to walk the eight blocks to the bookstore.