“Have a good day,” Benjie called out to her as she got into her Uber and he headed for the subway. She wasn’t madly in love with him, but they had a good time together and shared some of the same interests. They didn’t want to live together but saw each other a few times a week on an exclusive basis, which meant that neither of them was dating anyone else. It suited both of them. They had dated briefly in college at UCLA and were enjoying a replay of it now. It made being in New York more enjoyable, having someone to share it with. Benjie had had a serious relationship in business school, but they broke up when he graduated and moved to New York. Jane had never been seriously in love, and she didn’t regret it. She wanted to get her career off the ground first and stay focused on that. Her work was important to her, more so than romance at the moment.
It took her half an hour to get uptown in morning traffic, while she read The New York Times online in the back seat of the Uber. They arrived right on time, and she followed a mass of people into the building where Fletcher and Benson occupied two floors. She went straight to the executive floor, gave her name to the receptionist, as she’d been told to do, and was about to head for a seating area, when a tall, heavyset man with white hair nearly collided with her, and then looked her over appreciatively. She didn’t know who he was but felt instantly uncomfortable at the way he stared at her. His eyes went straight to her chest, and then took in the moderately short skirt, and glanced past her legs and then back to her face again. He stood in her path like a boulder in a stream, and she had to walk around him to get away from him. He didn’t step aside and continued staring at her.
“Are you here for an interview?” he asked her in a deep, gravelly voice. “You can come and work for me if you like.” As he said it, the receptionist met Jane’s eyes with a knowing look and shook her head almost imperceptibly.
“I’m starting a job today,” Jane said in a subdued voice. She didn’t want to be rude, not knowing who he was, although she thought his behavior was crass and unacceptable.
“Receptionist?” he asked, making a very broad assumption that if she was a woman, she must have a low-level job. He was out of step with the times.
“In Ms. West’s office,” she said quietly.
“That’s good news,” he said. “Well, welcome aboard.” And with that, he headed down a long hallway, and Jane took a seat to wait for Hailey West’s executive assistant, who appeared a moment later. Julia Benning smiled at her warmly in welcome. She was a pleasant-looking woman in her late forties or early fifties. She took Jane first to the office of Francine Rivers, the head of the literary department. She explained on the way that the heads of both the literary and dramatic departments wanted to see Jane again to welcome her. Julia said that it was customary for them to see the new hires who were going to be working in the executive offices. She left Jane outside Francine’s door, and told her she’d come and get her after Jane met with Francine and Allie Moore, the head of talent. Jane had met both women previously during her interview.
Standing there alone a minute later, Jane felt a rising wave of panic seize her as she knocked on Francine Rivers’s door. Jane could see her through a wide glass panel: a stern-faced woman in black slacks, a black blazer, and running shoes, with her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. She was frowning as she concentrated on her computer. She turned when she heard Jane knock and signaled for her to come in, then waved her to a chair. Jane realized then that Francine was speaking to someone on speakerphone and looking at a book cover on her screen.
“It looks all right to me, Elliott. If they make your name any bigger, there won’t be room for the title on the cover. And I think the red foil makes your name really pop. I like it.”
“The whole thing looks off-balance to me,” a disembodied voice came from the speakerphone. “The British cover was much better.”
Francine Rivers looked irritated but tried not to sound it when she responded. “Do you want them to make the title smaller?” she asked, only half in jest, and the male voice at the other end answered immediately.
“Yes, I do. Tell them to try that.”
“I’ll take care of it right away,” she assured him, and ended the call and then turned her full attention to Jane.
“I’m sorry. One of my badly behaved ‘children.’ ” She smiled a wintry smile at her. “Hell hath no ego like a narcissistic author. He won’t be happy till his name fills the whole cover.” She looked closely at Jane then, as Jane noticed that Francine had dark, serious eyes and a slightly sour, jaded expression when she wasn’t smiling. “I get all the problem ones. Some of our big authors are challenging. They can be very insecure, like children, and jealous of their competitors. Don’t worry. Hailey gets all the nice ones. But she’s friendlier than I am, and has more patience,” she said, almost smiling. “So welcome to the mother ship. We’re delighted to have you join us.”
She had seen Jane’s grades from business school and was duly impressed. Bob Benson had already told her that Jane was the daughter of an old friend of his from Princeton. And he had told Francine who Jane’s father was. She recognized the name, of course. Jane was obviously bright and had a good education, so there was justification for hiring her, and not just because of a college friendship between her father and the head of the agency. She had gotten the job on her own merits. Her contacts had merely gotten the door open, not landed her the job. “What made you want to work for a literary agency? Do you write?” Francine asked her. That was frequently the reason bright young people applied for jobs at the agency. They somehow thought that if they worked for an agent, their own writing would be discovered, which wasn’t how it worked. And most aspiring writers never made a career of it anyway. They didn’t have the persistence or the talent. Even after all these years as an agent, it still amazed Francine how hard it was to find a good new writer, especially one who had more than one book in them.
“No, I don’t write,” Jane answered her. “I want to learn more about publishing,” she said naïvely, still feeling nervous and sensing the tension around her. Francine was her big boss and seemed very serious to her, as the head of the literary department at the agency. “And being an agent is part of it,” Jane said as an afterthought.
“We’re problem solvers,” Francine explained. “Most writers want a mother or a nanny, and need one. That’s basically what we do—we nurture them, in addition to getting them book contracts and negotiating for them. We’re their advocates and translators and liaisons between the writers and their publishers. Some of the problems are ridiculously small, and others are enormous and harder to solve. You’ll see it all firsthand in Hailey’s office. She’s gentler with her writers than I am. Occasionally I lose my temper and scare the hell out of them. It whips them into shape, though.” She smiled a tired smile. “I do that with the publishers too. Being an agent is like being a referee at times. At other times, you need a gentle touch to close a deal, or so I’m told. I prefer threats, leverage, and force, myself. It always works for me,” she said, and laughed. She looked as strict as she said she was, and as dedicated to her job. Jane readily believed her. “This is not a playground. It’s hard work,” Francine added for emphasis. She seemed like a take-no-prisoners kind of person. Jane wouldn’t have called her bitter, but there was something cold and unhappy about her.