Colin knocked on the Costas' front door. The dampness in the air made the cold sink deep into his bones and he blew into his hands to keep them warm. The last time he was here, the place had been alive with colour and noise. Now, under a grey February sky, it felt washed out and rather ordinary.
In due time, the door opened and Miguel invited him inside. Although it was warmer there, it was no less drab. Gone were the party decorations, the music and the energy. It was still spacious of course, and nicely furnished, but it fell short of what he remembered. It looked like the rental it was and he began to understand Ana's desire for a place of her own.
"Good to see you," said Miguel, although his eyes suggested otherwise. His handshake was professional yet abrupt. "Come through to my office. Ana's meeting with a contractor in the living room — a guy your wife recommended." He turned and led the way down the hall.
"Joe Kelly?"
"That's the one." There was a roundness to his shoulders, as though they bore a heavy weight.
"You've bought a place then?"
"Ana's found land she likes. There's an old house on it now that she wants to tear down." He shrugged. "I kinda liked it, but she's determined."
As they turned into the office, Colin let out a quiet sigh of relief. The sales commission would be on its way.
Miguel pointed to one of the leather armchairs. "Have a seat."
Colin perched at the edge of his chair and set his bag on the floor next to him. "I'm looking forward to working with you."
"That so."
"Well, yes. Of course. I wouldn't have signed on if I wasn't."
Miguel looked down at him. "I didn't give you a choice. Having you write the book is part of the deal."
"That's true," he said. "It's listed in the contract, along with the advance and the other items we discussed." As Colin reached into his bag, Miguel's cellphone rang.
"I gotta get this," he said and stepped back into the hall.
Alone in the office, Colin pulled out his own phone to check his messages. For the most part they were routine, but one from Gina caught his eye.
Got a lead on a new tell-all. Checking into it now, but if it pans out, you're going to want it.
Miguel returned a few minutes later. "Sorry about that."
"No problem." He shifted in his chair. "Do you want to go over the contract now?"
"Scotch?" asked Miguel, picking up a crystal decanter.
Colin blinked in confusion. "Uhh, sure. Thanks." He pulled a fountain pen from his jacket to have it ready for signing. It had leaked a little ink and as Miguel poured the drinks, he wiped it with a tissue, making a mental note to take a closer look at it later.
"How many books have you written?" asked Miguel, handing him a glass.
"Just the one. I'm primarily an acquisitions editor."
"So, you're in sales."
Colin took a sip of his scotch. It was undoubtedly single malt — a mild, Highland whisky. Quite palatable, but probably not Miguel’s best stock. No, the good stuff had to be earned. He smiled. The prize always had to be earned and Miguel was making him earn it now. Even though the deal had been made, he was being given one final test. He slid back in his chair and crossed his legs. "I find stories that people want to read — like yours."
"I was surprised when you called with the offer." Miguel sank into the opposite chair. "Word on the street is that Staadt has fallen on hard times."
"You can't believe everything you hear."
"That's true. My source is pretty reliable though."
Pete Gorman, it had to be. "Publishing is a tough game. I'd be a fool to suggest otherwise." He took another sip for dramatic emphasis. "But I know what I'm doing. I'll write you a great story, and marketing will put together a plan that includes a huge launch at the flagship store."
Miguel rested the glass on his knee. "When?"
"September."
"In seven months?"
"I've had tighter deadlines."
Miguel sat quietly drinking his scotch. "You smoke?"
"I beg your pardon?" The guy liked curve balls.
"I want a cigar," said Miguel. "How about you?"
Keeping him on task was more challenging than Colin ever thought possible. "That would be nice, thanks."
Miguel crossed the room to a cherrywood humidor. It stood about seven feet tall with glass doors that showcased a series of drawers inside. He opened one, then another, and from the third selected two Cohiba Blacks. On the table between them he laid a selection of cutters, lighters and long wooden matches. As an afterthought, he went to his desk, pulled out a handful of cedar spills and dropped them down next to the other items. "Help yourself," he said.
Colin lit one of the cedar spills and toasted the foot of his cigar, slowly rolling it above the flame to ensure an even burn.
Miguel raised an eyebrow. "You forgot to cut off the head."
Without taking his eyes from his task, he smiled. "No I didn't."
"You can't light a cigar like that."
"Sure you can, if you know what you're doing." He tapped the ash from the spill to keep the flame consistent. "Kind of like making a bestseller."
"What about talk shows?"
"What about them?"
"Do I have to do them?"
Colin continued to focus on the foot of the cigar, blowing on it now and then to find any dead spots. "No, but it would be a good idea."
Miguel leaned forward, watching closely. "I like Jimmy Fallon."
Blowing out the spill, Colin reached for the guillotine cutter and nipped off the head of the cigar. "We can call Jimmy." He took a deep draw and smiled. Perfection.
Miguel picked up a spill and copied the technique.
"Did you ever think, when you were a little kid, that one day you'd be a self-made man smoking hand-rolled cigars and drinking single malt scotch?"
"I didn't even know these things existed." Miguel rolled the cigar in his fingers, toasting the foot as Colin had done. "We were lucky if we had bread to eat."
"Must have been tough."
"'Tough' would have been an improvement." He blew on the cigar end, then set it back over the flame. "This one time, I stole an apple. Man, I was hungry. Felt too guilty to eat it though, so I gave it to my little sister." He glanced up from his work. "You're good — got me talking about my childhood before the contract is even signed."
Colin shrugged. "We're on a schedule."
Miguel clipped the cigar and took a puff. As he exhaled he nodded. "Oh yeah. That's worth waiting for."
"We can book the shoot for your cover photo any time. Just give me the name of your assistant and we'll get it set up."
A thin line of smoke trailed up from the end of the cigar and Miguel studied it quietly.
"Are you sure you're ready to do this?" asked Colin. Something in Miguel had shifted, but he wasn't sure what it was. The question came naturally from one man who valued privacy to another. The problem of course, was that they weren't merely two men sharing a drink together. They were salesman and prospect.
Miguel took a long draw and considered his response. "No. To be completely honest with you, I'm not."
Colin pretended to pick some lint off his trousers, using the delay to steady his nerves.
"But I need the money for the foundation." He extended his hand this time in friendship. "You got yourself a deal."