Authors: Tom Winton
I was having a typically unremarkable Saturday afternoon at Searcy's. It was maybe three o'clock when the office manager's blanched voice announced over the loudspeaker, "Mister Cassidy, line two … Mister Cassidy, line two." When I picked up the phone and heard Maddy screaming, "Dean! Dean," it scared me to death. I thought I'd pop a rib or two the way my heart started bouncing, pounding, flipping around in there. Both my arms heated instantly with a flush of adrenaline, and the short hairs on the back of my neck stiffened like bristles. I thought,
oh shit, something's happened to one of the kids.
You see, Maddy was always, and I mean always, low key. That's her nature. I'm the excitable one. The way she was acting on the phone I thought for sure there had been some kind of family tragedy.
"What is it Maddy? What's wrong?" I pleaded, rushing the words out of my mouth so I'd get an answer faster.
Fighting to contain her excitement she said, "I just got a phone call from New York, from a publisher. She said she loved your story. DEAN, SHE WANTS TO PUBLISH YOUR BOOK!"
I got instant chicken skin. Shit, this was better than Ed Mcmahon and his entire entourage, balloons and all, coming to the door with a giant check. Knocked for a loop, almost winded, I said,"No shit! What publisher? Nobody except that small house in Jersey even asked..."
"Yes they did, honey … I'm sorry, but I didn't tell you. I was afraid you'd get more depressed if they shot it down. After that last rejection, I sent out a few more queries. I didn't tell you these people wanted to see the first three chapters because I didn't want you to get your hopes up. After they read them they wanted to see the rest. God, Dean, you have no idea how hard it was for me not to tell you. But, Dean, none of that matters anymore, this-lady-wants-you-to-call-her!"
"When? Right now?"
"Yes! Right now!" she said, her voice still hurried but suddenly choking with emotion. "She said she normally doesn't work Saturdays but that she had to do some things in her office today. She'll be there about another half hour."
My arms were still covered with those goose bumps and, hearing my wife now, this sure-to-be-canonized saint who had put up with my screwy antics for so long, crying with joy, brought tears to my own eyes. For a few moments we savored this positive news together. We basked together in the bright rays of happiness it brought, a level of happiness so pure (and alien) that I had to dilute it. Just a little, mind you. It’s got to do with my pessimistic nature. I remember thinking
keep your guard up man
.
Good stuff like this just doesn't happen to people like you. This can't last, something's got to go wrong.
But the apprehension had a short life and I quickly got back into the moment with Maddy.
A few minutes later, after our feet were back on terra firma, we hung up and, with trembling fingers, I dialed the publisher's number. I'd been so excited when I scrawled it I could barely decipher it now. I wasn't sure if the twos were twos or sevens. Twice, mid-dial, I hit a wrong digit and had to hang up and try again. The third time, I got it right. The phone rang four times and, with each ring, my heart sunk a little deeper. Had she gone home already? God, I hoped not. The anticipation would kill me if I had to wait till Monday morning.
But I didn't. Someone picked up. "Olympus Books, Fran Danforth, may I help you?"
The words felt heavy and awkward coming from my mouth. "Hello …er … Ms. Danforth? This is Dean Cassidy returning your call."
"Yesss, Mister Cassidy, how do you do?"
"Fine, just fine, please … call me Dean."
"Alright, Dean, if you'll call me Fran." Her voice was astute but not the least bit frosty, friendly in a kind of a semi-formal way. "As I explained to Mrs. Cassidy … and, by the way … she sounds like a lovely lady ….. "
"Oh thanks, she's got to be the best to put up with me."
Ms. Danforth chuckled once, then said, " … well, as I told Mrs. Cassidy, we at Olympus would like to publish 'Look What They've Done To Our Dream'. Our selection committee feels the story is beautifully written, perfectly plotted and also timely. The characters are so convincing that they, as Mister Wainscot himself put it, 'leap off the pages and take you hostage.' We all feel that your voice is very, very strong, yet sensitive and intelligent. You've conveyed the theme meticulously, yet the narrative remains bipartisan. Your writing is terse and the dialogue is as good as any we've seen in some time. Dean, we would like to have you sign on with us. We would like to release your book early next spring, either March or April."
I said, "Everything sounds great so far." Purposely, I avoided saying too much, fearful that if I did, she might realize I'm not all that smart and possibly retract the offer. I knew this was a stupid thought and wondered why I did ignorant shit like that to myself. I was so excited I could see my heart pounding, no, dancing, beneath my shirt. I thought I might be having the big one right then and there.
"Terrific," Fran Danforth said, "because we are obviously very impressed with your work. So impressed that after reading your manuscript, we all wondered where a talent like yours has been hiding. You see, we are constantly on the lookout for promising new writers. It's a never-ending vigil in the publishing business. We scour the literary magazines, reading short stories, always hunting for new talent. And, every so often, we find a piece that we think is exceptional. When we do, we try to contact the writer to let him or her know we have an interest in their work. We encourage them to write a novel, and oftentimes they do and a marriage takes place. We have signed some of our top authors that way. But none of us recall ever have seeing any of your work or surely we would have contacted you."
"Well, to be honest with you Ms. Danforth ... I mean, Fran, 'Look What They've Done To Our Dream' is the first thing I've ever written. I've never done any short stories or anything. You see, when I got the idea for my story, I knew I wouldn't be able to tell it in just a few thousand words. I knew it had to be novel length."
"Well, no matter how many or how few your credentials, we at Olympus loved it, Dean, so much so that we would like to Fed Ex a contract to you first thing Monday morning." She paused a moment and I heard some papers being shuffled. Then she said, "I would like to give you a quick rundown, now, of what Olympus Books is willing to offer you … if that's OK, if you have a minute or two."
"Sure … sure, go ahead, Fran. I've got time." Like the rest of my life if that's what it takes ….
"OK. Good. First of all, Dean, we feel your story has better than mid-list potential, and we can assure you that if you opt to go with us, we will promote it. Now let me see here … " There was another short pause and she hummed to fill it. "OK, here it is. I've been authorized to offer you fifteen percent of all royalties and … ahhh … an eight-thousand-dollar advance, which we would send to you as soon as we receive the signed contract back, if everything in it is to your liking of course. The stipulations are pretty standard but, if you'd like, by all means have an attorney look it over."
A minute later, after we'd hung up, I thought,
Myyy Goddd, an advance, too, e-i-g-h-t t-h-o-u-s-a-n-d d-o-l-l-a-r-s!
Sure. I knew upfront money was often part of such deals, but this news all came so quickly. I had been so overwhelmed by the thought of getting published, that I hadn't had time during our conversation to even think about advances. All the good news had come so quickly. I was so happy, so authentically happy that for the second time in five minutes I was afraid something would go wrong and spoil it all. One of my father's pessimistic aphorisms passed through my head. If he ever taught me anything that turned out to be true it was "Don't ever, and I mean ever, count on anything until it's in your hand. Until you're holding it, you ain't got shit." All my life I'd calloused my most joyous occasions with this profound advice. And, luckily so, because many times over the years my father's way of negative thinking helped insulate me from major disappointments.
Despite my apprehension, this was one of my life's most exciting events, an experience that, for the first time in twenty-odd years, allowed me a few minutes of absolute happiness, that rarest strain of uncut bliss, a euphoria that I'd long before learned to revel in the few times fate happened to sprinkle it my way. God, I was ecstatic now. I couldn't wait to get home and see Maddy and the kids.
Of course, I called Maddy Frances back as soon as I'd hung up with Fran Danforth. I told her the contract was being sent out Monday, and that I'd be getting a fifteen percent royalty on every book sold. But I also attached a little white lie to this double-good news. Well, not really a lie, more like a sin of omission. Well, I guess it was both. I fibbed that I had customers waiting for me, that they were growing impatient, and I had to get off the phone when, in reality, I wanted to cut the conversation short so I could save the part about the advance until I got home. I felt a little greedy holding out on her, but I needed to experience firsthand Maddy's and the kids' reactions to this grand surprise. I just had to be there, had to see my wife's face light with joy. God knows, she deserved some genuine good news after putting up with my foul moods and depressions for so long.
Needless to say, the rest of the afternoon dragged. Every time I checked my Timex, I swore the hands had moved backwards. But eventually, six o'clock did lumber around, right on schedule, and I was out of there.
It was about twenty minutes later when I steered the van onto our oil and rust-mottled driveway. And, when I did, an alien expression commandeered my face. Uncontrollably, reflexively, my facial muscles pulled my mouth's corners in an unfamiliar direction, up, when I spotted the makeshift banner Maddy and the kids had tacked to our garage door. On an old sheet, yellowed by countless washings in our iron-ladened well-water, the big blue painted letters shouted: WAY TO GO DAD, WE KNEW YOU COULD DO IT! I was smiling alright, but at the same time I felt like bawling. It was a great feeling.
Just as I rolled to a stop, even before I could shift into park, Maddy came flying out the door. She dashed across our parched, weedy lawn and flung her arms around me. She bear-hugged me, tight as she had on that darkest of days, a year earlier, when she'd found me unconscious inside the garage.
With a cheek all mushed against my shoulder, she said, "Oh, Dean, I'm so thrilled for you."
My empty lunch box in hand, I hugged her back, just as tightly and lifted her off the driveway.
"What do you mean your thrilled for me? This is for US, honey. You never stopped encouraging me. You're the one kept sending out queries after I gave up.
We
did it, not just me."
"I love you, Dean. I'm sooo proud of you."
She took my lunch box, then my arm, and together we floated over the weeds and brown Bahia grass to the open front door.
Inside the house, I said, "Your gonna love me even more when I tell you something else.”
Tugging at my arm like an impatient little girl, she asked, "What? Whaaat? More good news?"
"Yupper, but first, are the kids home?
She said, "They're in their rooms," then she called them out.
"Yeah, yeah, what is it?" Dawn asked trying to be cool. "Mom already told me you're story is gonna be made into a book."
"Way to go, dork." Trevor said affectionately, as he ambled out of his little bedroom with that terrific trademark smile on his boy-man face.
Both my kids stood there, hands on hips, thumbs out, the rest of their fingers pointing back, a stance they'd inherited from Maddy. Looking at the three of them now, all postured that same way, I could only shake my head. I had never felt more connected to my family than at that moment. Jesus, I thought, I'm lucky to have them.
"Wellll … O KKKK," I said, alternating looks at the kids, "Mom told you guys the good news but there's a little more to it.” I turned my eyes to Maddy and asked, "You ready for it?"
"C'mon, c'mon Dad," coaxed Dawn the Impatient. She might have been closer to her mother, but she was just like her old man.
"OK, here it is. Not only is the book going to be published, but I ... or I should say ... we … are getting a cash advance on it also!"