“That’s very exciting. Don’t forget to have some fun too. You should be having a good time in college.” She was, but mostly with her writing. She still hadn’t been on any dates, and didn’t really care. She had only one roommate this year, a girl from Mississippi who had just gotten engaged and was with her fiancé all the time, which gave Alex peace and quiet to write in her room. It worked well for her.
She called Bert Kingsley the following week, to give Rose Porter plenty of time to get in touch with him and send him the manuscript so he could read it. And when he answered, he seemed as though she’d woken him out of a sound sleep. She apologized profusely, and he didn’t sound happy to hear from her.
“Rose Porter called me. She sent me your book.” He didn’t say if he’d read it or not, and Alex was afraid to ask him.
“I’m writing my second one now,” she volunteered. “Rose just signed me on as a client.”
“So she said.” He seemed unimpressed and sounded like a cranky old man. Rose had called him a curmudgeon, which seemed about right.
“Rose thought you could help me edit,” Alex said cautiously.
“I’m retired,” he growled at her. “Editing young writers is a lot of work,” he complained. There was a long silence then while Alex didn’t know what to say to him. “Why don’t you come over on Saturday? I’ll have finished reading your manuscript by then,” he said grudgingly. He told her he lived in Cambridge, near the Harvard campus where he used to teach. She wasn’t looking forward to meeting him, he sounded disagreeable, but she didn’t want Rose to be angry at her either for not trying to meet him, so she bicycled over to his address on Saturday at the appointed time. He had told her to come at noon. And when she got there, he took forever to answer the bell. She was just about to leave when he opened the door. He was startled when he saw her, as though he’d forgotten she was coming, and then he nodded and stepped aside when she reminded him who she was. He didn’t say it, but he was stunned by how pretty she was and even younger than he’d expected.
She followed him upstairs to a large living room that would have been lovely if he tidied it once in a while. There were stacks of books everywhere, a pile of newspapers, a mountain of manuscripts on the desk, half-eaten food from the night before, and an empty bottle of red wine on the coffee table. He obviously lived alone and needed a housekeeper desperately. He was as disheveled as his living room. He had a long, unkempt beard, a mane of wild white hair that made him look like Albert Einstein, and was wearing jeans, a sweater with holes in it, and tennis shoes. It was hard to figure out his age, but he seemed to be about seventy, although Rose told her later that he was only sixty. But to Alex, he looked ancient. And she had a feeling he was hungover from the empty wine bottle sitting on the coffee table.
He pushed some papers aside and made room for her on the couch, and then sat in a big overstuffed chair with sagging springs across from her.
“I read your book.” He stared at her for a long time while she waited for him to tell her it was garbage and throw her out. She fully expected him to do that. “You need to simplify the beginning. And you need to slow down the last two chapters. You rushed them,” he said critically in a sharp tone, but she had suspected that herself.
“You get too complicated in the second chapter, that slows it down. You can tell them most of that later. Don’t interrupt the pace for your reader.” He picked up her manuscript and showed her several places where he thought she should move sections to later in the book, and as she read it with him, after his comments, she could see that he was right. They were simple changes, but they made a difference in the smooth flow of the book. He got right down to business with her, and had obviously read Blue Steel several times and made detailed notes.
She spent two hours with him. All the suggestions he made were valid, and he had a way of spotting the problems and telling her how to correct them and where to make changes that all seemed reasonable and helpful to her. What he said wasn’t complicated, but it was brilliant.
“Come back next Saturday, after you’ve worked on it. And I like your book, by the way.” It was high praise coming from him, and she was stunned. He hadn’t even offered her a glass of water while she was there. He only cared about the book. “Rose said you’re good. She’s right,” he said simply. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have seen you. She’s got an amazing eye for talent. See you next week, same time, and bring the outline for the new one,” he closed the door behind her. He seemed in a hurry to get rid of her, and had wasted no time on small talk. But she could tell that the work they’d done that afternoon would make the book much better. It was like giving her book a good cleaning so it shone, and a tune-up. Rose was right to make the suggestion that they work together. Bert was a great editor, and she was flattered that he liked her work. She was curious about him, but he had volunteered nothing about himself, nor asked about her. He was interested only in the book.
She made the corrections he suggested before they met again on the following Saturday, and she brought the new outline with her and a copy of the first chapter to leave with him. He read the changes she’d made to Blue Steel and said he liked them. And then he poured himself a glass of wine, didn’t offer one to her, and made another date for a week later, which was her cue to leave. And as weird as he was, she liked working with him. He really improved her book. She smiled at him, and couldn’t help wondering how he had gotten so rumpled and his house such a mess. He looked like he’d been shipwrecked for years.
Alex couldn’t resist saying something to Rose Porter about him when she called her on Monday to tell her that they had spent two Saturdays together and it had gone well. Alex told her she was sending her a copy of the changes to Blue Steel. Rose was pleased. Bert was the most talented editor she’d ever known and would help Alex hone her skills.
“How was he?” Rose asked, with a faint tone of concern, and Alex wasn’t sure what she meant at first.
“Gruff, cranky, like you said,” Alex said honestly. “But what he said about the book was terrific. All his suggestions made it better, even when they were really simple.”
“That’s why he’s the best editor in the business. Simple is almost always better. It’s about timing and balance and where to put something. His eye for that is uncanny.”
Alex agreed.
“Was he okay otherwise?”
Alex hesitated and then answered her question. “His house looks like a bomb hit it and so does he. But he likes the book and was fine with me. He wasn’t friendly, but he’s not mean or rude. And he’s very focused.”
“Did he get drunk?” Rose asked her bluntly, which startled Alex a little.