“But why did he go after you, Lila?” Franklin wanted to know. “He was supposed to pitch to Jude, so you couldn’t have caused him offense.” He turned to Jude. “Do you know anything about Mason’s pitch?”
Jude consulted his legal pad. “Only from a proposal he sent to the office. His thriller-suspense intrigued me, and I had really hoped to speak to him.” He shook his head. “It certainly held a lot more promise than the last pitch I heard. The story was your run-of-the-mill serial killer stuff, full of graphic detail with no character development.” He frowned in distaste. “The killer’s signature was that he pierced a body part on all of his victims with a safety pin. The author was more than happy to describe all the gory details, but I wasn’t hooked.”
“As fascinating as this discussion may be,” Bentley said in a tone that belied how she truly felt about the topic, “I would like to review the highlights of the day.” She gave a regal wave of her hand, indicating that she was ready to make a toast. After praising the agents and Vicky for their hard work, Bentley ordered a sampling of the most decadent food on Voltaire’s leather-bound menu and the waiter scurried off to the kitchen. Another waitress materialized with loaves of warm baguettes and a sun-dried tomato cheese spread and presented Bentley with the wine list.
Later, after sampling indulgent appetizers like brandy and peppercorn steak tartare, butter-basted sea scallops, and artichoke hearts with shitake mushrooms in a white wine garlic sauce, we went around the table and shared some of the most memorable moments from our pitch sessions.
“I’ve got one for the history books,” Franklin declared. “Hold on, I need another gulp of vino to bolster my courage.” He took two long swallows and then cleared his throat. “Well, then. I actually had a gentleman propose that I represent his how-to book on the alternative uses of, ah, prophylactics.”
“Someone pitched a book on what to do with a condom?” Zach asked and began roaring with laughter before Franklin had the opportunity to answer. “How many pages could that take?”
Jude grinned. “Perhaps there are meant to be dozens of colorful illustrations.”
“No, no, you misunderstand the young man’s intent,” Franklin interjected, his cheeks flushing the same hue as the velvet on his chair. “His book centers on nonsexual uses. For example, a few hundred can be stitched together and dyed to make a fashion-forward dress. They can be turned into balloon animals at children’s birthday parties, swimming gloves, replacement rubber bands, Christmas tree—”
Bentley stopped him with a stern look.
When the laughter had died down, Flora told us that her most memorable appointment had been with a twelve-year-old girl. “This young lady showed me a picture book filled with skull-splitting trolls and killer vampires and fairies ripping one another’s wings off. Her mother told me all she ever does is closet herself in her room penning these extremely violent fantasy stories.” She shook her head. “I believe it’s all the child does. She was as pale as my napkin. Reminded me of that strange little girl from the Addams Family.”
“Was this a case of age discrimination?” Jude teased.
Flora put a hand over her heart. “Certainly not, but the girl’s books are far too frightening for the intended age group. I suggested she focus her attention on middle grade fiction.”
“Hey, the average sixth grader could have run circles around my worst pitch of the day,” Zach said. He’d eaten everything on his plate with gusto and was now reaching for a second hunk of bread. “I met with this retired high school football scout who wanted me to represent his tell-all on the dark side of recruiting. The subject was awesome, but the guy could barely string two words together. When I told him he’d have to give me a few examples, he had the gall to say that he wasn’t going to speak a word until I coughed up ten grand in advance!”
Bentley let loose a nearly inaudible snort, and her eyes gleamed with amusement. “That’s all? And were you supposed to write him a check then and there?”
“Totally!” Zach bellowed in theatrical indignation. “I tried to explain that I wasn’t buying anyone’s book, but this meathead could not be made to understand how the publishing world works no matter how simple my vocabulary was. Man! He was thicker than a two-by-four. Stormed out when I wouldn’t pay up, too!”