JК
Bag of Bones :: Кинг Стивен
Страница: 41 из 425Now, I haven’t given anything away, wanted to talk to you first, of course, but I think we’re looking at seven-point-five, minimum. In fact—”
“No.” He paused a moment. Long enough for me to realize I was gripping the phone so hard it hurt my hand. I had to make a conscious effort to relax my grip. “Mike, if you’ll just hear me out—”
“I don’t need to hear you out. I don’t want to talk about a new contract.”
“Pardon me for disagreeing, but there’ll never be a better time. Think about it, for Christ’s sake. We’re talking top dollar here. If you wait until after Helen’s Promise is published, I can’t guarantee that the same offer—”
“I know you can’t,” I said. “I don’t want guarantees, I don’t want offers, I don’t want to talk contract.”
“You don’t need to shout, Mike, I can hear you.” Had I been shouting? Yes, I suppose I had been. “Are you dissatisfied with Putnam?
I think Debra would be very distressed to hear that. I also think Phyllis Grann would do damned near anything to address any concerns you might have.” Are you sleeping with Debra, Harold? I thought, and all at once it seemed like the most logical idea in the world—that dumpy, fiftyish, balding little Harold Oblowski was making it with my blonde, aristocratic, Smith-educated editor. Are you sleeping with her, do you talk about my future while you’re lying in bed together in a reom at the Plaza? Are the pair of you trying to figure how many golden eggs you can get out of this tired old goose bejre you finally wring its neck and turn it into paltg? Is that what you’re up to? “Harold, I can’t talk about this now, and I won’t talk about this now.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you so upset? I thought you’d be pleased. Hell, I thought you’d be over the fucking moon.”
“There’s nothing wrong. It’s just a bad time for me to talk long-term contract. You’ll have to pardon me, Harold. I have something coming out of the oven.”
“Can we at least discuss this next w—”
“No,” I said, and hung up. I think it was the first time in my adult life I’d hung up on someone who wasn’t a telephone salesman.,I had nothing coming out of the oven, of course, and I was too upset to think about putting something in. I went into the living room instead, short whiskey, and sat down in front of the T. I sat there: almost four hours, looking at everything and seeing nothing. Outside, storm continued cranking up. Tomorrow there would be trees down over Derry and the world would look like an ice sculpture.
“No.” He paused a moment. Long enough for me to realize I was gripping the phone so hard it hurt my hand. I had to make a conscious effort to relax my grip. “Mike, if you’ll just hear me out—”
“I don’t need to hear you out. I don’t want to talk about a new contract.”
“Pardon me for disagreeing, but there’ll never be a better time. Think about it, for Christ’s sake. We’re talking top dollar here. If you wait until after Helen’s Promise is published, I can’t guarantee that the same offer—”
“I know you can’t,” I said. “I don’t want guarantees, I don’t want offers, I don’t want to talk contract.”
“You don’t need to shout, Mike, I can hear you.” Had I been shouting? Yes, I suppose I had been. “Are you dissatisfied with Putnam?
I think Debra would be very distressed to hear that. I also think Phyllis Grann would do damned near anything to address any concerns you might have.” Are you sleeping with Debra, Harold? I thought, and all at once it seemed like the most logical idea in the world—that dumpy, fiftyish, balding little Harold Oblowski was making it with my blonde, aristocratic, Smith-educated editor. Are you sleeping with her, do you talk about my future while you’re lying in bed together in a reom at the Plaza? Are the pair of you trying to figure how many golden eggs you can get out of this tired old goose bejre you finally wring its neck and turn it into paltg? Is that what you’re up to? “Harold, I can’t talk about this now, and I won’t talk about this now.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you so upset? I thought you’d be pleased. Hell, I thought you’d be over the fucking moon.”
“There’s nothing wrong. It’s just a bad time for me to talk long-term contract. You’ll have to pardon me, Harold. I have something coming out of the oven.”
“Can we at least discuss this next w—”
“No,” I said, and hung up. I think it was the first time in my adult life I’d hung up on someone who wasn’t a telephone salesman.,I had nothing coming out of the oven, of course, and I was too upset to think about putting something in. I went into the living room instead, short whiskey, and sat down in front of the T. I sat there: almost four hours, looking at everything and seeing nothing. Outside, storm continued cranking up. Tomorrow there would be trees down over Derry and the world would look like an ice sculpture.