The Salinger Contract Read Free Page B

vintage Montreal Expos baseball cap, dragon tattoos on his shoulders, and an iPod, reading a copy of XXL ; an Asian girl with a mug of coffee was studying for the SATs and leaving coffee rings on her test-prep book. None of them seemed to know who Conner was. Maybe some had seen the straight-to-DVD movie of Devil Shotgun (pretty good performance by Mark Ruffalo in the lead role of Detective Cole Padgett if you feel like streaming it on Netflix), but they didn’t seem aware the author was in the store. The other customers in Borders were either purchasing coffee, reading books and magazines they hadn’t paid for and weren’t intending to pay for, or buying discounted books by James Patterson, Stephenie Meyer, or Margot Hetley.
    Conner, wearing his traditional getup of a good heavy sport coat, jeans, and a light-blue button-down shirt, was adjusting the microphone at his podium and studying a sheet of prepared remarks through a set of half glasses. Those glasses were the only sign he had aged at all since I had last seen him. Otherwise, he looked eager and energetic, smiling all dimples at the women in the front row seated next to the homeless guy. Conner smiled as if he didn’t notice how small the crowd was, or as if he felt flattered that anyone would go out of his or her way to hear him speak. The humility I have always worked so hard to affect seemed to come naturally to Conner.
    I didn’t know whether I would be doing Conner more of a service by sitting up front and making the crowd look bigger or by sneaking out and pretending I hadn’t noticed how few people were there. But before I had decided, Conner caught sight of me by the best­sellers shelf, where I was flipping through The Fearsome Shallow —the eighth book in Margot Hetley’s Wizard Vampire Chronicles series. I was wondering how Ms. Hetley, who seemed to occupy just about every slot on the New York Times hardback, paperback, and e-book bestseller lists, had managed to wring eight five-hundred-page installments out of the concept of wars between rival gangs of vampires­ and wizards when it seemed obvious to me that all a wizard would have to do to kick a vampire’s ass was pounce on it during the day while it was sleeping. How could anyone take this stuff seriously, I wondered. Hetley’s graphic depictions of wizard-­on-vampire sex, which was creating a bloodthirsty, mutant race of evil, soulless “vampards,” seemed absurd. I was still scanning Hetley’s book when Conner’s voice boomed out, as loud as if he had been speaking over the public address system.
    â€œI was wondering if you’d come out of hiding, buddy; I was thinking maybe I was gonna hafta track you down,” he said with a laugh. I put down the Hetley book as Conner bounded over and pulled me into a hug. He smelled like dry-cleaned sport coat and he-man cologne, the musky sort that an old-time ballplayer might have worn for a night on the town. He kissed my cheek and I could feel his stubble. “What’re you doin’ afterwards, bud?” he asked. “You got some time to hang out?”
    I told him I didn’t have plans, but since I hadn’t called to tell him I would be there, I would understand if he were too busy to have more than one drink.
    â€œDo I look too busy?” he asked. “I’ve been in this town all day and just about all I’ve seen is the inside of my hotel room, the quad, and the frickin’ food court. It ain’t like the old days, my friend; writing books is a tough way to make a buck.”
    â€œWhen were the old days?” I asked.
    â€œâ€™Bout six years ago,” he said. “Maybe a little more.”
    I nodded. “Yeah. That’s probably about when my magazine folded and Sabine and I moved here. But haven’t you at least done a couple of interviews? Maybe a photo shoot?”
    â€œNot even one, dude.”
    â€œWell, it’s a sleepy