TWENTY-NINE

Jack was due in the office in less than an hour and Carla was scrambling to get ready. With her assistant she was pulling together all of the last-minute bits of information that Bertoli had given her on marketing for the book.

Owens wanted to be the first to give Jack the good news. Agents always wanted to be bearers of glad tidings on the theory that the client would equate the news with the messenger.

“Do we have the figures on the television ad campaign?” asked Owens.

“In your folder,” said the secretary.

“And the ‘dumps’? The stuff on the up-front floor displays at the chains?” said Carla. “Do we have the figures on that?”

“In your folder with everything else.” Jadra, Carla’s assistant, was getting perturbed. Owens was always a basket-case before meetings with important clients.

This time it seemed to be worse. For some strange reason, Carla was intimidated by Jack. She hoped he wasn’t bringing the lawyer-consort this time. At their last meeting Abby seemed to be able to read Carla’s mind, and Owens didn’t like it. She was still working on ways to separate Jack from this troublesome woman. Give her time and she would figure it out. It was Abby Chandlis who had blocked her from selling more books to Bertoli, books that could have meant millions in commissions for the agency and put Jack in book bondage for at least five years. Control was the name of the game and right now Jack had it and Carla wanted it.

“Tell me about the dumps?” she asked the secretary. “How many did Bertoli do?”

The assistant fished for a paper in one of the files. “Five thousand.”

Carla whistled. She had never heard of a book with such a large purchase of up-front store space.

“Dumps” were shorthand in the industry for cardboard racks that the publishers provided to the bookstores. Each of these held twelve to fifteen books in a portable stand-up display, with a colorful riser showing the tide and the author at the top, with all the hype that the publicity department could muster. Publishers had to pay to rent space in the front of the stores for their dumps. Space in a single chain of stores could cost a publisher thirty thousand dollars for a single week. For Jack’s book, Bertoli would be spending nearly two hundred thousand dollars for space in the first sixty days. Without this, a book seldom, if ever, had a chance to become a bestseller. For this reason there was hot competition among publishers to get dump space.

It was only one of the things that publishers did to get an edge in the market. On the paperback side they actually rented the numbered racks in supermarkets across the country, numbers that had no real correlation to placement on any bestsellers list. For the right price you could buy number one. In commercial publishing, if you had enough money, you could create your own version of reality.

Bertoli had also purchased expensive print ads, full-page spreads in the L.A. Times, Washington Post, New York Times, and the Chicago Tribune as well as several high-circulation national magazines.

One of the chic tabloid magazines had named Gable Cooper among its fifty most beautiful people in America right next to Mel Gibson and Antonio Banderas. Inside rumors were already circulating that Big-F had managed to influence this decision through its pricey print advertising buys.

In three days, ads would go up inside all the New York subway cars with the title of the book, some appropriate hype, and best of all, Jack’s picture. New York was a pressure point to establish buzz within the industry. Sample chapters of the book as a teaser were being delivered with selected copies of the morning newspaper on the day of publication. These would go to more than a thousand opinion makers in New York and Los Angeles, the A-list of the entertainment and publishing worlds. It was the biggest promotional push for a book in nearly ten years.

If Bertoli was successful, it would launch a career that most writers couldn’t even dream of. The name Gable Cooper would be synonymous with hot books and even hotter movies. Anything penned under the name for the next twenty years would be gobbled up in Hollywood and New York. Carla knew this, so today she had a single objective in her meeting with Jack. Somehow she had to convince him that additional contracts now for more books were in his own best interest.

The com-line rang on Carla’s phone.

“Oh shit.” Carla looked at the clock on the wall. “He’s early. Jadra, finish up there quickly.”

Her assistant went into hyperdrive, slipping last-minute papers into folders, two sets of which sat on the conference table in Carla’s office.

“And make sure we get coffee,” said Owens. “And lunch. Call Da Umberto’s and have them prepare something nice and have it delivered.” Carla had no intention of letting Jack get into a public restaurant where other agents might be courting introductions. His picture was already all over town.

The com-line buzzed again and Carla picked up the phone.

“There’s a Mr. Chandlis here to see you.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Chandlis. Says he’s related to an Abby Chandlis.” The receptionist sounded like she was about to hang up and throw him out the door. Strange people, some of whom wrote with crayons, from institutions, often showed up unannounced at literary agencies. “Do you want me to tell him you’re busy?”

Carla thought for a moment. “No.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “Jadra.”

The secretary turned just as she was heading out the door.

“If Mr. Jermaine shows up, entertain him for a couple of minutes. Tell him I’ll be with him as soon as I can. Take him to the conference room.”

Jadra nodded, left, and closed the door.

Carla went back to the phone. “Show Mr. Chandlis in.”

Two minutes later there was a tap on Owens’s door and another secretary opened it. “Mr. Chandlis.”

A instant later Carla got her first glimpse. Charlie had a head start on a five-o’clock shadow. His suit was wrinkled. He’d slept in it on the plane and had come directly by taxi from the airport to the office. He was carrying an attaché case. He looked like a salesman.

Carla rose from her chair and greeted him from on high, up on the pedestal behind her desk. She had no idea what the man wanted and figured a posture of authority was always safe.

“Mr. Chandlis. Carla Owens. Please come in.”

Charlie seemed to look around a lot as he made his way between the door and Carla’s desk. He had never seen an office as large as this or as elaborately decorated; purple plush carpets and smoked glass, a desk like a crystal altar. Charlie thought he’d died and gone to pimp heaven.

“Good to meet you,” he told her. When he finally arrived at the desk he handed Carla a business card. Charlie always did this with people he met. You could never tell when one of them might need a good criminal lawyer.

She looked at the card. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s about my wife,” said Charlie. “Abby Chandlis.”

Carla nodded slowly but didn’t say a word.

“You do know her?”

“I’m acquainted with an Abby Chandlis,” said Owens. “She’s your wife?” Carla didn’t show it, but she was suffering a major adrenaline rush, visions of a peccadillo on the eve of publication with an angry husband who was a lawyer. Some authors drank. Some found other diversions. Maybe Jermaine’s vice was married women.

“Actually we’re not married any longer,” said Charlie.

“Ah.” Carla’s heart dropped twenty beats a minute. “Please have a seat,” she told him.

Charlie ascended, one giant step for mankind, and flopped into one of the tufted chairs across from Carla’s desk.

“So what is this about Mr. Chandlis?”

“I’d like to know where she is.”

“And why do you think I can help you with that?”

“You paid her a lot of money,” said Charlie.

Carla gave him big eyes, like this was news to her.

“Well, not exactly,” said Charlie. “You wrote a sizeable check to a mister”—he took a note from his shirt breast pocket and looked at it—“a Mr. Jermaine.”

He looked at Carla. Her expression at the moment was a stone idol. She was giving up nothing.

“This Jermaine endorsed the check over to my wife. A very large sum of money. This money was commingled with other funds and then the entire amount was withdrawn and the account was closed.”

The first crack in granite. Carla tried to hide it, but the news came as a major blow. Abby Chandlis had a stronger hold on her client than Carla realized. If she could get him to sign over a seven-figure check, getting rid of the woman might be more difficult than Carla thought.

“And what is your interest in all of this?”

“You can call me Charlie.” He smiled at her. Charlie sensed that she was hearing some of this for the first time. So was Charlie. He was making it up as he went. If he played his cards right, he might not have to tell her everything, especially the parts he guessed at.

“It’s about community property,” said Charlie.

“I don’t understand.”

“We have reason to believe,” said Charlie, “that a portion of this money was in fact earned during the course of my marriage to Abby, Ms. Chandlis. We have evidence that the funds were diverted to avoid a fair distribution at the time of the divorce.”

“We?” said Carla.

“I have a team of lawyers looking into this right now.”

It was Charlie at his bullshitting best.

“I see. But you didn’t have your lawyers call me. You came here yourself.” Carla had a well-trained nose for bullshit.

“I figured you’re an innocent third party. No sense getting you involved in a messy lawsuit.” Charlie looked at her to see if he was making a dent. “Unless it’s necessary of course.”

Carla just smiled at him. Her lawyers could eat him for lunch. That is, if she didn’t do the job first. Still, if this awful man knew Abby, maybe there was a silver lining here. Why be hasty?

“So you think your wife was hiding things from you during your marriage?”

Charlie made a face like this was a definite possibility.

Wait until he gets a gander at Jack, thought Carla. “We would have a certain interest in this. Actually Mr. Jermaine is our client. Our only contact with your former wife was through him.”

“I see. And you don’t know where she is?”

“We might have some information,” said Carla. She knew, of course, that Charlie’s story was gold-plated garbage. Publishers were up to their hips in friends, lovers, and former spouses, people who knew people, who were related to somebody who had a friend who wrote a big book. They came out of the woodwork with every hot novel. Charlie Chandlis had the classic look. His ex had gotten her claws into somebody who’d hit it big and Charlie now wanted a taste. He was probably jealous to boot. The whole thing smacked of sleaze, not the kind of publicity you wanted on a break-out book. She figured that’s what this Charlie was gambling on.

“I’d have to check our records. I’d want to talk to Mr. Jermaine first. And, of course, we could not cooperate in any way if it meant trouble for him. You understand that?” said Carla.

“Of course,” said Charlie. “I appreciate your position.” Charlie’s own position at the moment was on his hands and knees. He was willing to agree to anything. Abby had disappeared like a puff of smoke. He had no idea how to find her. Without help from the literary agent he was up the proverbial creek with a broken paddle. He had a theory as to what was going on, but he wasn’t willing to share it with Owens, not until he knew more. She might tell her client and Charlie would get zip. If nothing else, his theory had good nuisance value. And what was nuisance worth when you had a few mill in the bank, and a giant pain in the ass? Charlie didn’t know, but he wanted to find out.

“What exactly is your relationship with this Mr. Jermaine? I assume he’s an author?” said Charlie.

He measured Carla’s silence as assent.

“I suppose you wouldn’t be paying that kind of money to someone who wasn’t,” said Charlie. “What did he write?”

“That’s confidential,” said Carla. The use of a pen name made it awkward. If Chandlis really intended to make trouble and ended up suing Jack, it could look very bad; allegations of concealed money and an alias used on the book. There was probably nothing to it, but Carla wasn’t willing to take the chance.

“Are you staying in town long?” she asked him.

“Just long enough to find out where my wife is.”

The phone rang on Carla’s desk. Instinctively she knew what it was. She measured in her mind the next move.

“One moment,” she told Charlie. Carla picked up the receiver.

It was Jadra. “Mr. Jermaine is here. I’ve got him in the conference room. Do you need more time?”

“Ah. Yes. Hold him out there for a moment. I’ll be right out.” She hung up the phone and smiled at Charlie. “A matter I have to attend to. But if you can wait a moment, I’d like to talk to you further.”

“No problem,” said Charlie.

Carla quickly left the office and closed the door behind her. She headed down the hall. On the way she mussed her hair a little and took on a frantic appearance, so that by the time she reached the conference room out front she looked like someone had raped her, at least psychically. She opened the door and rushed through.

Jack was drinking a cup of coffee, one cheek up on the conference table talking to Jadra, who didn’t seem to mind the duty.

“Jack! Jack! God. I’m glad you’re here. Jadra, could you excuse us for a minute?”

The secretary stepped outside, and as soon as the door closed, Carla returned her full attention to Jack.

“We’ve got a major problem,” said Owens.

“What’s the matter?” Carla’s panic was becoming contagious. Jack’s eyes took on an anxious look.

“There’s a guy in my office. A lawyer. He says he’s married or was married to Abby.”

Jack studied Owens’s face.

“He says he’s looking for her. That he has a team of lawyers ready to bring legal action. That she’s been concealing community property from their marriage. He says his lawyers are looking at the present time to find out if you’re involved. He’s got some bank records. I don’t know what it’s all about, but it sounds serious. I shudder to think what Bertoli would do if he found out. This kind of scandal on the eve of publication. I don’t have to tell you.”

“Where is he? This guy?”

“He’s in my office right now.”

Before she could stop him Jack was out of the door. Carla was behind him like a shadow. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to him.”

“Wait.”

Jack turned and stopped.

“Let’s discuss this before we just blunder in there,” said Carla.

Maybe she was right. Jack listened.

“I don’t know exactly what your relationship is with Ms. Chandlis. And believe me, it’s none of my business. But we’re at a critical point. For the next several weeks we don’t need any problems, especially problems like this. My advice,” said Carla, “is to distance yourself. If there’s a problem between the two of them, don’t get in the middle of it. If you have to, stay in New York. We’ll arrange accommodations. Alex and I can provide cover. Think of your career,” she told him. “Let them sort it out. It’s their mess.”

“Right,” said Jack. “Good advice.” He turned and headed down the hall again like he hadn’t heard her.

For Carla it gave her the excuse she needed to drive a wedge between Jack and Abby. “I know what you’re thinking,” she told him. “You’re thinking he’s probably out to get whatever he can. He found out about your good fortune with the book and he’s using Abby to shake you down. You’re probably right. But there’s no reason for you to get involved. If you do, you could end up flushing the entire deal.”

“I want to talk to him.” Jack had a problem. He’d never met Charlie. Abby had talked about him a few times, but he had no idea if Charlie might know something. Maybe Abby had said something about the book, or worse about her plan to market it under a pen name from deep cover. If the truth about the book were leaked to Carla or Bertoli before publication, the book could be dead on arrival at the bookstores. Big-F might get nervous and pull the plug.

“What are you going to say to him?” said Carla.

“I don’t know. But I want to talk to him alone. Find out what the hell’s going on,” said Jack.

“You’re not going to hit him or do anything stupid?”

Jack looked at her over his shoulder like Who, me?

“Jack, use your head. Don’t do anything foolish.”

By the time they got to the door to her office, Carla was beginning to think that maybe she’d made a mistake. She managed to wiggle around him and get in front before they reached the door. Carla took the lead into her office. They caught Charlie standing up on the pedestal behind Carla’s desk reading her private papers.

“What are you doing?” said Owens.

“I thought maybe you might have an address for my wife,” said Charlie.

Carla started thinking that maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea if Jack was to hit him.

“Mr. Chandlis, this is Mr. Jermaine. I talked to him about your problem and he agrees that the questions that you raise are matters between your former wife and yourself. He’s willing to put you in touch with your wife so that you can obtain whatever information is required and this matter can be resolved. Now I think that’s reasonable.” She turned and looked up at Jack to see if this would be alright.

Jack let it stand.

“Fine by me,” said Charlie.

“First I want to talk to him alone,” said Jack.

“Listen, anything said here is in the strictest confidence,” said Carla.

“Alone,” said Jack.

Owens gave him a look like maybe she should pat him down first before agreeing to this. Jack seemed to calm down a little too quickly.

“You can talk right here. I’ll just step outside,” said Carla. “I’ll be right outside the door.” She made a point of it. “Call me if you need anything.”

“We’ll call.” Jack smiled at her. As soon as she closed the door behind her, Jack turned and smiled at Charlie, a big blustery grin.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” said Jack. “Abby’s told me a lot about you.”

“She has?”

“Oh yeah.” Jack extended a hand behind his broad smile and quickly closed the distance, climbing up onto Carla’s platform. The move made a handshake a measure of manhood, so that Charlie had no choice but to step around the desk. As soon as their hands met, it was like lightning. Charlie wondered where his arm went, what it was doing up behind his back, and why his nose was suddenly pressed into the in-basket on Carla’s desk.

“Now let’s talk.” Jack was up close in his ear, whispering so that Carla couldn’t hear. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to Abby.”

“She’s busy.”

“What the fuck is this? Ann!”

Jack used a little leverage on the arm.

“Keep your voice down or I’ll unscrew it and you can carry it home in a case.”

“Ahh.” Charlie whispered in pain.

“Now what is this about community property?”

“I had to say something,” said Charlie.

“So there’s no team of lawyers hatching a lawsuit?”

“No.”

“What else did you tell Owens?”

“Nothing.”

Jack pressed on the arm a little more.

“Ahh! Ahh!” Charlie sounded like he’d stepped on hot coals.

“I swear I didn’t tell her anything. I don’t know anything.”

“But you’ve got some educated guesses, right?”

Charlie didn’t say anything.

“Right?” Jack now had the back of Charlie’s right hand up against the nape of his neck, a move that only the double-jointed could make without severe pain.

“Right! Right!” said Charlie.

“Well? Tell me.”

“I figure either you wrote a book together or you stole the book from her. That Abby’s got a piece of it.”

“And what led you to that conclusion?”

“She’s always writing.”

“So?”

“I figure it’s a big book. Worth some money. That’s how she got all that money in the account.”

“What if I told you I wrote the book?”

“Then why did you give her the money?” said Charlie. “I know my wife,” said Chandlis. He was now breathing heavily, “She suffers insecurity. She might have you stand in. You know. To do all the public stuff.”

Charlie was right. He knew Abby. Jack had a problem.

“You sure you didn’t share any of this with Ms. Owens?”

Jack pressed on the truth lever a little more.

“No. No. I wouldn’t do that. Why would I do that?”

“So what do you want?”

“I just want to talk to my wife.”

“You want to ask her for a little money, right? Shake her down?”

Charlie’s head went sideways on the desk, just a little. It was the kind of shrug you might do if your face was pressed into the top of a desk and somebody was kneeing you in the ass.

“The thought had crossed your mind?”

“She had a lot in the bank. I thought I might talk to her.”

“And if she doesn’t want to give you any, what then?”

“Nothing,” said Charlie. “I just want to talk to her.”

“For old times’ sake?” said Jack.

“Yeah. Yeah. For old times’ sake.”

Jack slowly let him up. He thought about his options. He couldn’t allow Charlie to stay in New York. Carla and Bertoli would pump him for information.

As soon as his arm was released, Charlie swung it around like an empty sleeve and grabbed it with his other hand. He cradled it like it was broken.

Jack turned him around and straightened the lapel on his suit coat while he talked in his face.

“What are we gonna do with you?” said Jack.

Charlie looked at him. For the first time there was real fear in Charlie’s eyes. It was almost easier when he was in pain, looking the other way.

“Let me ask you,” said Jack. “Why do you think I would endorse all the money over to Abby if we co-wrote this book?”

Charlie hesitated, but he had a theory on this, too.

“I don’t know. Maybe you were hiding money from an ex. So you transferred it all to Abby?” Charlie looked at him, a question mark.

Jack didn’t say a word but just looked back.

Charlie figured he wasn’t far off the mark. It was precisely what Charlie would have done if he was in similar circumstances. As far as Charlie was concerned, it was a badge of honor. A male bonding thing, another way of cheating on your wife. All he wanted was a little piece of the action.

“I’ll tell you where you can find her,” said Jack. It was the only safe course open to him: Send Charlie down to the islands and let Abby deal with him. Maybe she could keep him quiet, or at least give them time to figure out what to do. In any case, Charlie would be out of New York, away from Bertoli and Carla. Jack would have to call Abby and give her a heads-up, that Charlie was on his way down.

He scrawled an address on a slip of paper from Carla’s desk and handed it to Charlie.

“Do you know where this is?”

Charlie looked at the paper and shook his head.

“The Caribbean. You fly through Miami. Do you have a passport?”

“Back at my office.”

“Have ’em send it overnight express to this hotel, make a reservation there for tonight.” Jack scribbled the name of a cheap hotel near the Miami airport. “In the morning you get your passport and you get your ass down there and you talk to her. You don’t bother her. You don’t make a pest out of yourself. Do you understand? And you wait there until I get back. Then we can all talk. There’s a place called the Buccaneer. You present yourself at the desk and give them my name. The manager’s a friend. He’ll get you a room. And if you’re smart, you won’t say anything to Ms. Owens or anybody else on the way out of the office.”

Charlie gave him a look like maybe he would and maybe he wouldn’t. He was still massaging his arm to get circulation flowing again, flexing his hand to see if he could get the feeling back into it.

“If you say anything you’re going to kill the goose,” said Jack. “There won’t be any more money for anybody.”

Charlie understood this.

Jack grabbed him by the ear like a schoolboy and led him to the door.

“Open it slowly,” said Jack. “We wouldn’t want Ms. Owens to topple over and break her nose.” He guessed Carla had her ear pressed to the keyhole.

“No, I think we can work this thing out.” Jack’s tone was suddenly warm and loud and very amicable, so Carla would have time to get up off her knees before the door opened.

“You go on down and talk to Abby, and I’m sure she’ll explain how the whole thing happened.”

As the door opened Carla was framed in it, trying to look casual. Jack made a play of harmony and took Charlie’s hand, shaking it while he looked at Owens. “All a big mistake,” said Jack. “Damn banks, they screw everything up. We’ll have to sort it out. I’m sure Abby will be able to get to the bottom of it.”

Charlie even smiled, something sinister. His game was never physical. Jack was a Neanderthal. Charlie would use his brain. With Carla in the picture, he now had leverage. Jack couldn’t afford to beat on him anymore, not in front of Owens anyway. There was something Abby and Jack didn’t want her to know. All Charlie had to do was figure out what it was.

“You’re not going to leave us so soon?” said Carla.

“He’s got a plane to catch,” said Jack.

“Can I show you the way out?” Owens wanted to get Charlie alone for a couple of more minutes.

Jack gave him a look to kill and Charlie declined her offer.

“I can find my way,” he said. “But it was nice to meet you. Maybe we can get together again sometime.”

“Absolutely,” said Carla. “Give me a call.”

“I’ll do that.”

Charlie would have the last laugh. He had found the point of control.