could.
âWell, itâs not true,â Nina said. âOur fee structure is set.â She tried to stop herself from adding, âExacting or not,â and almost did. Maybe after a few more birthdays sheâd be able to.
Brenda and M. were looking at each other again. Silently and quickly they came to a decision. Nina saw how they worked: like a good lion tamer act. M. made trouble and Brenda ran the show.
âItâs a deal,â Brenda said.
âThe clock is ticking,â M. added.
Nina turned to her. âOne. The manuscript is badly written. It doesnât have to be art, but it has to be better than this. Thatâs your territory. Two. Thereâs not enough anecdotal material, especially in the first two chapters. Theyâre too theoretical, too boring. Thatâs where you need the personal stuff, up front. Three. Youâve got to have an introduction, written by somebody whoâs well known and as mainstream as possible. Preferably a man.â
âA man?â said M.
âFour. Tell the author to lose that Tolstoy parody or whatever the hell it is at the beginning. Itâs unnecessarily off-putting and it begs comparison with the big boys, comparison that reviewers wonât find in her favor.â
Brenda glanced at M. Faint pink patches appeared on M.âs face.
âHaving said that,â Nina went on, âthere may be a market for this book. Demographically. There are lots of women in the boat she describes and they read books. Youâve got to sell them on the âand loving itâ part. That aspect of the book has to be completely rethought. Then, supposing you can make these changes, it will come down to two thingsâthe personality of the author, thatâs the main one, and the package, important but secondary.â
Brenda was writing rapidly in a notebook. M. was sitting very still, her jaw jutting out a little.
âIs Dr.ââNina glanced down at the manuscriptââDr. Filer married, by any chance?â
âOf course not,â M. said.
âGood. Any children?â
âNo.â
âWhatâs her Ph.D. in?â
M. looked at Brenda. Brenda looked at M. M. said: âIâm not sure. Sociology, maybe. Does it matter?â
âOf course it matters,â Nina said. âIf itâs in metallurgy you might as well bag it now.â
Silence. M. looked at Brenda. Brenda said: âI understand you know people on the Donahue show.â
âThatâs right. But they donât do me any favors, and I donât try to sell them anything thatâll make Phil look like a jerk.â
âDo you know him?â Brenda asked.
âIâve met him. I donât know him.â
M. stuck her jaw out a little farther. âBut you called him Phil.â
âJesus. It would be a bit silly to call him Mister Donahue, wouldnât it?â
Jason came in, balancing three cups on a tray. âCoffee, tea, or me?â he said. Brenda looked at him blankly; M. with a stone face; Nina laughed.
They drank coffee. It was excellent, with a slight taste of walnut. Jason wasnât capable of making coffee like that; Nina knew he had sent out for it. Brenda and M. seemed to relax a little on the couch.
âIâd like to meet the author,â Nina said.
Brenda smiled; a nice smile, not as dazzling as Jasonâs, but warm, and Nina sensed they could be friends. âWe thought you might. She should be here any minute. I hope you donât mind.â
âNot at all.â
The phone buzzed. Nina picked it up. âHello,â she said.
âMummy?â said a little boy. He was crying.
âMummy?â said Nina.
The little boyâs voice broke. âThe man said my mummy was there.â
âJust a minute.â Nina looked up. âThereâs a child on the phone. Do either of youââ But Brenda was already up. She took the phone.
âItâs