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  “Does she want you to write notes? On the manuscripts?” Anna asked.

  “Yes, that’s what she said. And I’ll fax them in.”

  “Do you know how to do that?”

  “How to fax?”

  “No, how to write a report.”

  “Oh. Well, I—”

  “Make sure you put your name on it and the author’s name. And what the genre is. The genre’s very important.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”

  Anna turned toward Nora. “Don’t forget to give her the George proposal, Kelly,” she said.

  Kelly? Who was Kelly?

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Nora/Kelly, “did I get your name wrong? I thought it was Nora?”

  Nora/Kelly sighed heavily.

  “It’s my mistake,” Anna said, an air of smugness hanging around her like a low cloud. “Her real name’s Kelly, but we call her Nora. Lucy feels that Nora is a better name for her. So she’s Nora here. Sometimes I forget. Sorry.” Although she clearly wasn’t sorry at all.

  “I understand,” I said, although I didn’t.

  Nora/Kelly looked at me as if she’d like to vaporize me on the spot. “Here are a few random manuscripts from today,” she said through gritted teeth, “and here’s a copy of the George proposal.” She shot a poisonous glance in Anna’s direction. “You should keep them separate. You can give me a call before you fax them in. Or you can drop them off. But we’ll need them back pretty soon.” I could tell she’d delivered this drill before. The phones were ringing and Anna had managed, once again, to vanish.

  “I have to get that,” Nora/Kelly said. “Nice to meet you,” she added, and turned her attention to the phone.

  “Um, excuse me?” I heard the gray-suit-woman say. “I have an appointment?” As I walked past her to leave, I thought I could see desperation flicker across her face.

  When I opened the door and let myself out, the glare of daylight hurt my eyes. I hadn’t realized how muted the light had been inside the office, even with all that whiteness. I felt weak and a little dizzy. A headache was starting to throb at the back of my skull. I clutched the manuscripts under one arm and my purse under the other and headed for my car, stumbling in the brightness like a drunk.

  Lucy Fiamma

  Lucy Fiamma Literary Agency

  Dear Lucy,

  I don’t know if you remember me, but I came to the seminar you gave ten years ago at the college in San Francisco. Anyway, I’m writing to you because I have written a memoir and I would like you to represent it.

  The book is about me and my cat, Hairy, and the years we spent together, developing recipes. This may sound odd, but my cat spoke to me and told me what ingredients to use and then we made the dishes. Since he doesn’t have hands, I do most of the cooking, but he stands right there on the counter as we work. Together we developed many amazing recipes and stories. So I guess this is sort of a memoir/cookbook.

  I am enclosing one of the best recipes here for you to look at. The manuscript is completed (it is 527 pages long) and I can send it to you right away.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Sincerely,

  Clara Reynolds

  Hairy Mac and Cheese

  ½ cup macaroni (cooked)

  3 cups heavy cream

  1 can Tuna

  1 cup buttermilk

  1 cup 2% milk

  4 tbsp. melted butter

  Combine ingredients in large skillet.

  Sautee at medium-high heat for 20 minutes.

  Serve hot!

  Lucy Fimma Agency

  Att: Lucy Fimma

  Dear Ms. Fimma,

  I am writing as to inquiry on my fiction book manuscript entitled ONE DARK NIGHT. This is a mystery thriller set in modern times but has an antiquity feeling.

  I am looking for an agent to sell this book to publishers and I have read in the guide to literary agents that you have sold books of this type.

  I am enclosing the first fifty (50) pages of the book for you to read and a self-addressed-stamped-envelope.

  I have also sent this letter and the manuscript to ten other agents.

  Thank you,

  Robert Brownering

  ONE DARK NIGHT

  Chapter 1

  It was windy a dark night raining. The street was quite for now except for the cars that drove down it no one ever saw the body lying under the curb. He body was dressed ornately because in the subsequent years before this happened he had made a lot of money selling Memberships in a Secret Society sort of like Insurance Salesmen but with riddles. Now he was shot through the heart once there was a brown ring around the wound with silvery dust on the edges. The second clue was the stream of blue ink that was running from his pocket into the storm gutter. The ink forbore to slowly trickle with alacrity across the dry cobblestones.

  Above the street where the dead man laid was a late nite restaurant that served all the usual victuals to those who crept through its walls in the deepening hours that raced by in the dead of night. Two people were seated at the counter in the yellow glow. They looked a lot like that famous Hooper print from the 1920s The one person was a Cop and the other was a hooker prostitute, “Why don’t I give you a ride home?” the Cop asked the prostitute by the name of Sadie who told him “I don’t need a ride of the kind your going to give me.”

  They walked slowly outside into the warm dry night. The Cop looked into Sadie’s eyes were rich in opaqueness the color of coffee. He thought she was beautiful so he didn’t notice that as they exited the restaurant he stepped right over an important Clue to what would become the greatest act of subversion and to-

  TWO

  Lucy Fiamma

  Lucy Fiamma Literary Agency

  RE: PARCO LAMBRO (book proposal)

  Dear Ms. Fiamma,

  I am a well known Italian pastry chef living in San Francisco. I have been in this country since the age of 22 and I have taught myself English from reading books. The best books I have read are represented by you, especially Cold! by Karanuk. That book made a very big impression on me and it also made me realize that one man’s story can be understood and felt by many, even if the experience of the man is new to most people. I, too, have a story to tell and this is why I am writing to you. I was a heroin addict for many years before I left my country. Heroin was a very big problem for young people in Italy in the 1970s and it probably still is. I had a group of friends I spent time with during these years and we hung out together in a park called Parco Lambro in Milano. I was able to quit, but I had to leave my home to do so. My friends were not so lucky. Many bad things have happened to them since then. My story is about the years I spent in the Parco Lambro and about my friends. It is also about how I managed to give up the drug and become successful here in America. It is a memoir. I am enclosing some pages from the book for you to read. I have never written anything before, but this story is from my heart. I have come to you because I know what good work you do and because Fiamma is an Italian name. I know that you will understand what I am trying to say.

  Sincerely,

  Damiano Vero

  PARCO LAMBRO

  By Damiano Vero

  Everywhere there are lemons. Yellow rinds of lemons, old and new, rotting and fresh. Yellow pulp of lemons shining brightly on the green grass of the park. We need this fruit to clean our stuff. We only use the juice. Sometimes tourists come here and walk around, lost. They come with cameras in their hands and new shoes on their feet, looking for a photograph. They are confused by all the half-lemons squeezed out and left in the sun. If they look closer, they see more. Drinking fountains stained red with blood and the crunch of needles under feet, poking through the grass like an apocalyptic crop. This is when they leave the park, and maybe Italy too.

  “We had a terrible time in that city,” they will say when they return home. “It was not at all like the travel brochures say. You can’t imagine what we found in this park.”

  There are no strange
rs in the park today. We are here today as we are every day. We are sitting and standing and lying where we fall. Now we are gathered together in a loose knot, looking over the still body of a young man who has collapsed on the ground. We’ve dragged him to a shady place under a tree and he lies there, unconscious. His face is beginning to turn the blue color of death. He is Luigi, our friend. We whisper over him and sway a little. Our voices swim slowly through the air, coming up from the bottom of a narcotic lake. We are trying to decide if Luigi wants to be saved. Soon he will be dead.

  Soon is a changing concept in the park. Time is stretched differently here. It is elastic and free with a carnival shape. I have to sit down. The wet summer air is heavy with the sharp smell of lemons and it washes me down to the ground. I see someone moving towards Luigi, giving him something. But my eyes are closing and everything is moving very slowly. I can’t tell what is happening. The sun is red and yellow behind my lids. I am warm for the first time in days.

  When I open my eyes again, Luigi is sitting up, awake and angry. He wants to know who has come to his rescue and why?

  “You ruined my high,” he says. “Do you know how expensive that stuff was?”

  Nobody speaks. The colors around me get brighter and then fade away. Green grass, blue sky, yellow lemons. This is our postcard from Italy.

  FAX: 1 of 2

  TO: Lucy Fiamma

  FROM: Angel Robinson

  RE: Reader Reports

  Dear Lucy:

  I enjoyed meeting with you yesterday and very much appreciate the opportunity to interview for a position in your agency. I have prepared reader’s reports for the manuscripts that Nora gave me and plan to drop those off at your office by the end of the day. However, I thought I would fax the following report to you now, as I think this particular manuscript has some spectacular writing and shows a tremendous amount of potential.

  I look forward to speaking with you soon.

  With best wishes,

  Angel Robinson

  Title: PARCO LAMBRO

  Author: Damiano Vero

  Genre: Memoir

  Reader: Angel Robinson

  Author is Italian, living in S.F., and works as a pastry chef. This is his first book and he has no previous publishing credits. The story is a memoir about the author’s struggle with heroin addiction in Milan in the 1970s. He goes on to describe how he overcame this addiction when he moved to the U.S. I believe there’s much to recommend here. The author has an interesting way with language, which probably comes from his own internal translation of English. The pages we have here are very moody. The book opens with a gripping scene from the park of the title and goes on to describe the daily “habits” of the author and his group of friends; how they managed to support their addictions by stealing, etc. There are some great descriptions of Milan, and the author’s struggles are related in a very compelling way. It’s a sad story in many ways and definitely not how we Americans think of Italians. However, the second half of the story (at least how the author has described it) is much more hopeful—his hard-won success in this country, his efforts to help the friends he left behind, and so on. I think the writing is just great (I was hooked from the first sentence and didn’t want it to end) and I also think it would have excellent market appeal for all the reasons listed above. I’d give it a strong recommendation.

  I BEGAN MY JOB as assistant to Lucy Fiamma on Monday morning, five days after my interview with her. I walked into the office that day armed with nothing thicker or more durable than a sense of trepidation and the small cappuccino I’d purchased at the Peet’s conveniently located less than five minutes from Lucy’s office. I must have looked anxious because the girl making my coffee asked me twice if I wanted decaf and seemed almost troubled when I told her I had to have regular.

  As I clutched my extra-foam cappuccino and made my way to my desk for the first time, I realized I had no idea whether it had been my interview, my reader’s reports, or sheer desperation on Lucy’s part that had convinced her to hire me. Anna had been the one to call me to tell me I’d gotten the job and that I should plan to start immediately. I hadn’t even spoken to Lucy herself since the interview. I hovered over my paper-strewn desk for a moment and decided that it didn’t matter. The job was mine and it started now.

  “Hi, Angel!”

  I turned toward Nora/Kelly, who, after a full five minutes, had finally noticed my presence in the office.

  “Good morning,” I said, infusing my words with as much perkiness as possible.

  “How are you?” Nora/Kelly sounded almost hysterically glad to see me. She also looked hungrier than the last time I’d seen her.

  “Fine, thanks. I’m ready to go. Is Lucy here?”

  “She’s on the phone, but she left a note for you on your desk.”

  “Okaaaay,” I said, wondering how in the hell I was going to find a note from Lucy in that disorganized horror. Nora/Kelly returned her gaze to her own meticulously neat desk once again and started fiddling with loose Rolodex cards. Our moment of girlfriend-bonding was clearly over. I touched the edges of the files stacked highest on my desk. I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do with them or where they were supposed to go. I needed help. “Say, Kel—Nora, could you help me sort this a little?”

  “I’m really busy right now,” she said. “Lucy left you a note. And Anna will train you when she gets here.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “And can you please just call me Nora? I’m Nora here, okay?”

  “Okay, Nora.”

  Lucy had, indeed, left me a note. It was lying on the seat of my chair for lack of available desk space. I almost sat on it.

  Welcome, Angel!!!! We’re all so happy to have you on board! Your 1st task will be to sort through the papers on your desk and file them accordingly. Please try to have this done by noon. Anna is overloaded at the moment, but I’ve asked her to help you in this interim period. Try to use her as little as possible, though, and rely on your own smarts and organizational abilities to get started. I’d also like you to start making phone calls for me as soon as possible!!! Remember, NY is three hours ahead of us, so we need to make those calls by 2pm!! Anna can show you where my call list resides on the computer and I’ll expect you to update it as per my notes. As everyone can tell you, the phone is the lifeline of this office, so please keep your calls as brief as possible and limit personal calls to EMERGENCIES ONLY!!! Your 3rd assignment is to sort through last week’s rejections and get them sent back to the authors as quickly as possible. And at some point today, I’d like to discuss your notes on the Italian book. Again, WELCOME!!!—L.

  I made a place for myself on the chair and began sifting through the files. I stole a glance at Nora, who was busy trying to look as if she wasn’t looking at me. The phone was ringing. It shrilled three times before Nora said, “You need to answer that. Lucy wants you to answer the phones first. Just remember, don’t put anyone through to her unless it’s someone she wants to speak to.”

  And how, exactly, was I supposed to know who she wanted to speak to? I gave Nora a look that I hoped would wither her and picked up the phone.

  “Good morning,” I said, “Lucy Fiamma Lit—”

  “Is she there?” a tired man’s voice interrupted.

  “Ms. Fiamma is on another line at the moment,” I said. “May I ask who’s calling, please?”

  “Who is this?” Now he sounded irritated as well as tired.

  “This is Angel Robinson. I’m Ms. Fiamma’s new assistant.”

  “Another one,” he muttered. “Help me…How long have you been there, five minutes?”

  I looked at my watch. “That’s about right,” I chirped. “May I ask who’s calling, please?”

  “This,” he said, “is Gordon Hart. Of HartHouse Publishers. I am assuming you’ve heard of us?”

  “Oh shit,” I said, before I could stop myself. My first call was the head of one of the most well-respected publishers in the country. I bit my li
p hard, hoping he hadn’t heard.

  “I take it you have,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice. Lucky for me. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he continued, “would you mind very much putting Ms. Fiamma on the phone? No, no, on second thought, don’t bother. Just tell her I won’t be able to give her a decision today. She’ll know what I mean. Thank you, good-bye.” He hung up loudly in my ear and I felt a little sick.

  “Who was that?” Nora asked.

  “Gordon Hart,” I said miserably.

  “Oh my God!” Nora squealed. “Why didn’t you put him through?”

  “He didn’t want me to.”

  “No, no, you’ve got to put him through. Don’t you know that? You’ve got to go tell her. Go now, quickly!” Nora waved her skinny arms around wildly. She looked like an infuriated mouse. I couldn’t tell how much of her hostility was pure bitchery and how much was self-protection, but I made a mental note to sort it out as soon as possible.

  I had fever sweats and a hammering heart as I knocked on the door to Lucy’s office. Craig opened the door a crack and leaned his face out. He looked flushed and disheveled, as if he’d been wrestling with something. “Don’t knock,” he said. “Use the intercom in the future.” There was that teen idol voice again. If you put a large bag over Craig’s head, I thought, he’d be utterly irresistible.

  “I have a message for Lucy,” I said, and Craig ushered me in. Lucy was sitting behind her desk, talking on the phone, and gave me a broad smile as I walked in. She was dressed in a blood-colored pantsuit with shoes to match. Her wild hair was restrained in a small knot at the back of her head. A large pendant, which looked very much like an amulet with a crimson stone in its center, hung from her neck. She gestured for me to come sit in a chair opposite her.