Cover Girl. Nic Tatano
Читать онлайн книгу.
buzzer interrupted their conversation as a door opened and Bella Farentino made her entrance. She was more attractive in person than the photos he’d seen while doing research. If the woman was fifty-five, her face didn’t get the memo as she looked ten years younger. Maybe five-six, hourglass figure, black hair and large dark-brown eyes. Obviously Italian. He recognized her burgundy Chanel suit as one his roommate wore when she anchored a newscast, a single strand of pearls the only accessory. The agent’s face lit up as she locked on the woman next to him and moved toward her. Alex stood but Bella blew right past him and extended her hand to the woman. “Alex, so nice to meet you. Bella Farentino.” Her voice didn’t match the face, a two-packs-a-day wicked New York accent filled with a truck full of gravel.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Farentino, but I’m Jeanne Terry. I’m here to see Brad Deller.”
“Oh. Well, welcome.” Bella, now with her back to Alex, turned toward the receptionist. “Rachel, I thought you said Alex Bauer was here.”
The woman was on the phone, so she simply pointed at Alex.
Bella turned around and her eyes widened as Alex held out his hand.
“Hi, Alex Bauer.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m Alex. Author of Ring Girl. You wanted me to come by.”
Her face tightened as she folded her arms. “Is this a joke? Did Frankie send you over here?”
“I don’t know who Frankie is but I’m Alex Bauer. You know, the guy whose book kept you up till three in the morning?” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, flipped it open and showed her his driver’s license. “See?”
She looked at it, then studied his face. “But… you’re a guy.”
“Last time I checked, yeah.”
“You’re telling me that you actually wrote Ring Girl?”
He nodded.
“Did you start life as a woman?”
“Nope. Never had a sex change.”
Her jaw dropped as she shook her head. “Well, I’ll be a sonofabitch.” She took his elbow and led him toward the door as the receptionist buzzed them in. “C’mon, honey. I have a feeling you and I are about to embark on a very unique journey.”
Bella closed the door as Alex sat down opposite her desk. The floor-to-ceiling windows of the corner office offered a spectacular view of both Central Park and the Hudson. She moved behind her desk, sat down, folded her hands in her lap and smiled at him. “Okay, first I need to know is how in the world a guy wrote this. You gay?”
“Nope.”
“Bi?”
“Straight as an arrow.”
“Then how the hell did you get inside a woman’s head like this?”
“My best friend is a woman who happens to share a townhouse with me. I worked in television news, which is dominated by women who aren’t shy about talking sex in the newsroom. And I grew up raised by a single mom while my grandmother lived with us. I will confess my roommate helped with the shopping scene.”
“You worked in TV news?”
“Yeah, I was a reporter for ten years at the CBC network.”
“I watch that newscast. How come I’ve never seen you?”
“Because I was what is known as the ‘custom reporter’ for the network. When affiliates wanted a live shot for their station to make it look like they had a reporter stationed in New York, I would do it. ‘Reporting for Eyewitness News in Peoria, I’m Alex Bauer in New York.’ Like anyone would believe a station in Peoria actually had a New York bureau. Some nights I’d do fifteen live shots on the same story. New York City is the only place I haven’t been seen.”
“Huh. I didn’t know something like that existed. Learn something every day. So what’s your day job now?”
“Writing, though I still do some freelance research for the network. I’m also a part-time adjunct professor teaching journalism ethics.”
“No offense, but isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“No kidding. That’s why I left the network. Got sick of the bias and having half of my stories spiked. Anyway, I’ve always been passionate about fiction, was tired of TV news and had put aside enough cash to give it ten years. That was two years ago. But I was writing military thrillers.”
“I don’t even take new clients who write those. They don’t sell nearly as well as they used to and it’s really tough to break into that genre.”
“Don’t I know it! Anyway, I was at a writer’s conference and I overheard a romance editor say this was the easiest genre to crack. I mentioned it to my roommate and she reminded me of a short romantic story I wrote in college. Ring Girl is the fleshed out version.”
“Do you read a lot of romance books?”
“I never had until I started writing one and I was actually surprised how much I enjoyed them. I needed to get the feel for the genre.”
“Well, you certainly succeeded. Alex, it’s an amazing book, and as you probably know I don’t take on many new clients. Maybe one a year, if that.”
“So I’ve read. I’m really flattered you’re interested in me.”
“Trust me, Alex, you have no idea what you’ve got here and I know I can sell this. Anyway, here’s the deal. There’s no agency contract as I prefer to do things on a handshake. If you or I ever want to stop working together, a piece of paper shouldn’t prevent it. It’s old school and it works for me. Besides, my last name is Sicilian so no one would ever dare cross me.” She flashed a sinister grin as she narrowed her eyes. “I know people.”
“Well, a handshake is fine with me as well.” He leaned across the desk and they shook.
“Okay. Now this is quite a curve ball you’ve thrown me this morning and I will have to use a different strategy with this book.”
“In other words, you can’t let editors know I’m a guy.”
“Correct. I don’t want any preconceived notions. Some editors wouldn’t care but I know a bunch who would. And the ones who are open-minded might have a subconscious bias and look for reasons to turn it down. Or offer less money. They’re buying your voice and your words, not your gender. For all they know Alex is short for Alexandra or Alexis. And as far as marketing the book, best to let readers think the same thing. A lot of women wouldn’t buy a romance book written by a guy.”
“What do we do if there’s a book-signing?”
“Good question. To figure that out, Bella needs some time in her fortress of solitude.”
“You mean like Superman?”
“Yeah, but with a loud Italian family like mine, it’s basically a long hot bath with a bottle of wine and the door locked.”
“So what happens now?”
“Now,” she said, “I work the phones. By the way, you ever hear of Rose Fontaine?”
He nodded. “I love her work.”
“Funny, when I was reading your book it almost felt like she wrote it. And I know just the person who will think the same thing.”
SIX MONTHS AFTER THE DEATH OF ROSE FONTAINE, NO HEIR APPARENT IN SIGHT
By