in March she reported that Helen’s Promise had been picked as one the Literary Guild’s main selection for August, the other half a legal thriller by Steve Martini, another veteran of the eight-tosegment of the 5’mes bestseller list. And my British publisher, loved Helen, was sure it would be my “breakthrough book.” ’ British sales had always lagged.)…Promise is sort of a new direction for you,” Debra said. “Wouldn’t you kind of thought it was,” I confessed, and wondered how Debbie respond if I told her my new-direction book had been written a dozen years ago.
il’it’s got… I don’t know… a kind of maturity.”
I think the connection’s going. You sound muffled.” I did. I was biting down on the side of my hand to keep from with laughter. Now, cautiously, I took it out of my mouth and. bite-marks. “Better?” lots. So what’s the new one about? Give me a hint.” know the answer to that one, kiddo.”
“"You’ll have to read the book to find out, Josephine,’”
“Right?”
“Yessum.”
“Well, keep it coming. Your pals at Putnam are crazy about the way you’re taking it to the next level.” I said goodbye, I hung up the telephone, and then I laughed wildly for about ten minutes. Laughed until I was crying. That’s me, though. Always taking it to the next level.
During this period I also agreed to do a phone interview with a Newsweek writer who was putting together a piece on The New American Gothic (whatever that was, other than a phrase which might sell a few magazines), and to sit for a Publishers lekly interview which would appear just before publication of Helen’s Promise. I agreed to these because they both sounded softball, the sort of interviews you could do over the phone while you read your mail. And Debra was delighted because I ordinarily say no to all the publicity. I hate that part of the job and always have, especially the hell of the live TV chat-show, where nobody’s ever read your goddam book and the first question is always “Where in the world do you get those wacky ideas?” The publicity process is like going to a sushi bar where you’re the sushi, and it was great to get past it this time with the feeling that I’d been able to give Debra some good news she could take to her bosses. “Yes,” she could say, “he’s still being a booger about publicity, but I got him to do a couple of things.” All through this my dreams of Sara Laughs were going on—not every night but every second or third night, with me never thinking of them in the daytime. I did my crosswords, I bought myself an acoustic steel guitar and started learning how to play it (I was never going to be invited to tour with Patty Loveless or Alan Jackson, however), I scanned each day’s bloated obituaries in the Derry News for names that I knew. I was pretty much dozing on my feet, in other words. What brought all this to an end was a call from Harold Oblowski not more than three days after Debra’s book-club call. It was storming out-side—a vicious snow-changing-over-to-sleet event that proved to be the last and biggest blast of the winter. By mid-evening the power would be off all over Derry, but when Harold called at five P.M… things were just getting cranked up.
“I just had a very good conversation with your editor,” Harold said.
Very enlightening, very energizing conversation. Just got off the in fact.”
“Oh?”
“Oh indeed. There’s a feeling at Putnam, Michael, that this latest of yours may have a positive effect on your sales position in the It’s very strong.”
“Yes,” I said, “I’m taking it to the next level.”
“Huh?”
“I’m just blabbing, Harold. Go on.”
“Well… Helen Nearing’s a great lead character, and Skate is your villain ever.” I said nothing. “Debra raised the possibility of making Helen’s Promise the opener of a book contract. A very lucrative three-book contract. All without prompting from me. Three is one more than any publisher has to commit to ’til now.
I mentioned nine million dollars, three per book, in other words, expecting her to laugh… but an has to start somewhere, and I always choose the highest ground I I think I must have Roman military officers somewhere back in r family tree.” Ethiopian rug-merchants, more like/t, I thought, but didn’t say. I felt the do when the dentist has gone a little heavy on the Novocain your lips and tongue as well as your bad tooth and the patch surrounding it. If I tried to talk, I’d probably only flap and spit. Harold was almost purring. A three-book contract for the mature Michael Noonan. Tall tickets, baby. time I didn’t feel like laughing. This time I felt like screaming. went on, happy and oblivious.
Harold didn’t know the book-tree had died. Harold didn’t know the new Mike Noonan had shortness of breath and projectile-vomiting fits every time write. want to hear how she came back to me, Michael?” it on me.”
“Well, nine’s obviously high, but it’s as good a place to start as any. We feel this new book is a big step forward for him.” This is extraordinary. Extraordinary. Now, 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.