JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 29 из 425He’d had lunch with Debra Weinstock, my editor, the day before, and they had gotten talking about the fall of 1998. “Looks crowded,” he said, meaning the fall lists, meaning specifically the fiction half of the fall lists.
“And there are some surprise additions. Dean Koontz—”
“I thought he usually published in January,” I said.
“He does, but Debra hears this one may be delayed. He wants to add a section, or something. Also there’s a Harold Robbins, The Predators—”
“Big deal.”
“Robbins still has his fans, Mike, still has his fans. As you yourself have pointed out on more than one occasion, fiction writers have a long arc.”
“Uh-huh.” I switched the telephone to the other ear and leaned back in my chair. I caught a glimpse of the framed Sara Laughs photo over my desk when I did. I would be visiting it at greater length and proximity that night in my dreams, although I didn’t know that then; all I knew then was that I wished like almighty fuck that Harold Oblowski would hurry up and get to the point. “I sense impatience, Michael my boy,” Harold said. “Did I catch you at your desk?
Are you writing?”
“Just finished for the day,” I said. “I am thinking about lunch, however.”
“I’ll be quick,” he promised, “but hang with me, this is important. There may be as many as five other writers that we didn’t expect publishing next fall: Ken Follett… it’s supposed to be his best since Eye of the Needle… Belva Plain… John Jakes…”
“None of those guys plays tennis on my court,” I said, although I knew that was not exactly Harold’s point; Harold’s point was that there are only fifteen slots on the Times list. “How about Jean Auel, finally publishing the next of her sex-among-the-cave-people epics?” I sat up.
“Jean Auel? Really?”
“Well… not a hundred percent, but it looks good.
Last but not least is a new Mary Higgins Clark. I know what tennis court she plays on, and so do you.” If I’d gotten that sort of news six or seven years earlier, when I’d felt I had a great deal more to protect, I would have been frothing; Mary Hig-gins Clark did play on the same court, shared exactly the same audience, and so far our publishing schedules had been arranged to keep us out of each other’s way… which was to my benefit rather than hers, let me assure you. Going nose to nose, she would cream me.
“And there are some surprise additions. Dean Koontz—”
“I thought he usually published in January,” I said.
“He does, but Debra hears this one may be delayed. He wants to add a section, or something. Also there’s a Harold Robbins, The Predators—”
“Big deal.”
“Robbins still has his fans, Mike, still has his fans. As you yourself have pointed out on more than one occasion, fiction writers have a long arc.”
“Uh-huh.” I switched the telephone to the other ear and leaned back in my chair. I caught a glimpse of the framed Sara Laughs photo over my desk when I did. I would be visiting it at greater length and proximity that night in my dreams, although I didn’t know that then; all I knew then was that I wished like almighty fuck that Harold Oblowski would hurry up and get to the point. “I sense impatience, Michael my boy,” Harold said. “Did I catch you at your desk?
Are you writing?”
“Just finished for the day,” I said. “I am thinking about lunch, however.”
“I’ll be quick,” he promised, “but hang with me, this is important. There may be as many as five other writers that we didn’t expect publishing next fall: Ken Follett… it’s supposed to be his best since Eye of the Needle… Belva Plain… John Jakes…”
“None of those guys plays tennis on my court,” I said, although I knew that was not exactly Harold’s point; Harold’s point was that there are only fifteen slots on the Times list. “How about Jean Auel, finally publishing the next of her sex-among-the-cave-people epics?” I sat up.
“Jean Auel? Really?”
“Well… not a hundred percent, but it looks good.
Last but not least is a new Mary Higgins Clark. I know what tennis court she plays on, and so do you.” If I’d gotten that sort of news six or seven years earlier, when I’d felt I had a great deal more to protect, I would have been frothing; Mary Hig-gins Clark did play on the same court, shared exactly the same audience, and so far our publishing schedules had been arranged to keep us out of each other’s way… which was to my benefit rather than hers, let me assure you. Going nose to nose, she would cream me.