Blind Submission (40 page)

“It's so late it's early,” I said then, looking out the window at the violet lines starting to break in the sky.

“You should sleep,” he said, and led me into his bedroom. In the center of the room was a king-size bed covered with a simple olive green comforter and two large pillows in matching fabric. There was one bedside table with a lamp and a shallow dish of change. On the far wall, there were three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books of every size and shape in English and Italian. I wanted to study them right then, to look at every title, but I was suddenly so weary I could barely stand up.

Damiano sat me down on his bed and leaned over to take off my shoes.
“Vieni qua,”
he said, patting a pillow. “Lie down, Angelina.” I did and he lay down next to me, taking me gently in his arms and resting his head close to mine. I was asleep in seconds. When I woke up the window was flooded with daylight and Damiano was smiling at me.

“Shall I make you breakfast?” he asked me.

“No,” I said. “Make love to me.” And then neither one of us spoke again for a very long time.

Much later, the two of us ate dinner together by candlelight.

“So, of course I am going to fire her,” Damiano said. “Don't you think?”

“You can't fire her, Dami. I mean, you
can,
but she'll always be the agent on
Parco Lambro.
She sold it. It's hers.”

“No,” he said. “It's your book as much as mine.”

“It doesn't matter,” I told him, covering his hand with my own. “There will be other books. She doesn't own the rights to
you.
Or to me.”

“But I have to do something,” he said.

“I have a plan, Dami,” I told him. “But let's not talk about that now. Let's…I'm sure we can find better things to do until I have to leave in the morning.”

“È vero,”
Damiano agreed. “I think we can.”

I SIGHED CONTENTEDLY
as I followed Highway 101 to the San Rafael exit. I could still feel the touch of his fingertips stroking my face and could still smell the faint scent he'd left on my skin. Neither one of us had gotten very much sleep the night before, but I felt as refreshed as if I'd gotten a full eight hours. When I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror, I saw that my skin was fresh and glowing, as if I'd spent the day in a spa.
But love can do this, too,
I thought, and wondered where I'd heard the line before. It took me a minute to realize that it came from Shelly Franklin's novel.

As I wended my way through the streets of lovely San Rafael, I felt the familiar flip in my stomach that I got every time I got close to Lucy's house. But this time it was anticipation, not fear, that was giving me butterflies.

I pulled in to Lucy's driveway and saw that I'd judged my time well. I was the first to arrive. I took a moment to gather my wits and take a few long, deep breaths, and then I picked up my things and went inside.

The office was cool and much neater than we'd left it on Friday afternoon. Lucy had obviously spent some time over the weekend going through everybody's desk. Periodically, she was wont to do this kind of “cleaning up” after we left for the day, and we'd come back to our desks in the morning to find them completely rearranged. It was another way of letting us know that everything in her domain, including her staff, was controlled by and belonged to her alone.

I had a flash of my first day in the office, a visceral memory of how I felt in those initial moments. I felt again the fight-or-flight response I'd had standing there, surrounded by the sound of telephones and voices and the silent, pressing demands of all those words, written, typed, and printed, coming at me all at once. I'd thought I was in over my head then, like Alice falling into Wonderland. Alice. There was that name again. It turned out I'd been closer to the truth then, on that first day, than I would get until this moment.

I walked past my desk and went straight to Lucy's office. Her door was open and I stood at the threshold, looking in. She wasn't there, but the lights were on and a cup of still-steaming coffee sat on her desk. Behind it, the door that led into the main part of her house had been left ajar. I looked at the slice of white light coming through the crack and realized that never once had I seen Lucy leave this door open. I walked over to Lucy's side of her desk and sat down. She'd see me as soon as she walked in, but I would see her first.

I didn't have to wait long.

“Angel!”

I'd expected her to jump or startle at the sight of me, and I was slightly disappointed that while I'd certainly caught her unaware, my sudden presence in her office hadn't given her any kind of fright.

“How nice to see you here so early,” she said. “At my desk, too. Very industrious of you. I hope your colleagues don't think you're trying to kiss up to the boss, hmm?”

“Hmm,” I answered. Lucy sat down in the chair opposite me, the chair that I normally sat in, and reached over for her coffee. She took a sip. I noticed that she hadn't taken the time to style her hair this morning. It was pulled back and pinned up behind her, giving her face a severe, slightly strained effect. She was wearing a black catsuit, the kind that had become so popular in yoga studios of late, over which she'd thrown a filmy white duster that tied in a bow at her décolletage. Her feet were clad in a pair of shiny silver ballet flats. All in all, a ridiculous outfit, I thought. Classic Lucy.

“Well, I assume that you've been checking my call list for the day,” she said, “since you're sitting at my desk.” She gave me a pointed look tinged with curiosity. “Shall we discuss?”

“Actually,” I said, “what I'd really like to talk about is the reading I did this weekend.”

“Oh?” Lucy leaned back in her chair, an enigmatic smile spreading across her lips. I couldn't tell what she meant by it. My heart was beating wildly and my mouth felt dry. I lifted my hand to my throat and ran my fingers across the angel. I could feel warmth and confidence returning to me. The gesture caught Lucy's eye and she said, “That's an interesting little charm, Angel. Is it new?”

“Yes,” I said, and I could hear new strength in my voice. “A friend gave it to me when he came back from the dead.”

Lucy's eyes narrowed to emerald slits as she studied me, waiting to see what I'd come up with next.

“I found a fascinating little book over the weekend,” I said. “A real gem.” I leaned over, reached into my purse, and pulled out
Flaming Heart.
I held it up for her to see.
“Les jeux sont faits,”
I said. “
You're
the author of
Blind Submission.
”

Lucy's face was a study in conflict. Surprise, discomfort, relief, and excitement all battled one another in her eyes. She started to speak several times but kept stopping herself, the words dying in her throat before they had a chance to escape her mouth. For the first time since I'd met her, she was tongue-tied. I knew it couldn't last long because, surprise or no, Lucy was still Lucy, and so I stayed silent, savoring the moment, until she folded her arms across her chest and said, “Well, I must say, it took you long enough, Angel.”

“That's true,” I said. “There were enough clues along the way, but I suppose I just chose to ignore them. It was so much easier to believe that Malcolm had set this all up, but I know now that I was giving him much more credit than he could ever deserve. At one point, I even thought that
Anna
had authored the book, if you can believe that.” I took a breath and went on. “The tattoo was a nice touch, Lucy.” I raised my hand reflexively to my breast. “I suppose you saw mine that night at your party. Unless Malcolm told you…” I shuddered at the grotesque images that appeared in my mind's eye and went on. “It was the
why
of it I didn't get, though. Why me? Why paint
me
as Alice when Alice is so clearly you?”

Lucy regarded me with interest so intense it bordered on lust. “And?” she said, expectantly. “You worked it out?”

“Your dedication in this book is what did it,” I said, holding up
Flaming Heart.
“‘For the Eden in every woman,'” I read, and gave Lucy a long, searching stare. “Alice is both of us, Lucy. You needed me in order to write her and I needed you in order to become her. No, to become the
better
part of her.”

“The better part of her?” Lucy asked.

“Well, I'm not a writer,” I said. “If you think about it, that's what really screws Alice up, isn't it? That's her fatal flaw.”

“You're more like Alice than you know,” Lucy said. “You've been shaping her in your own image.”

“I'm not you, Lucy,” I fired back.

Lucy's eyes were glittering. She placed her hands, palms down, on her desk and pushed herself up to a standing position. “And I'm no
angel,
is that it? Let me tell you something, my dear, you can't get to where I am by being a sweet little angel. Success isn't about being
liked,
it's about being tough. If you haven't learned that by now, you never will.” Lucy leaned over me, her face darkening. “This has all been very illuminating,” she said, “but it's time to get to work. Unless you've got something else you want to say?”

I stood up and walked around to meet her on the other side of her desk. “I'm not going back to work for you, Lucy.”

“Really?” Lucy didn't sound at all surprised. This was something she'd prepared for. “You're so morally outraged that you're going to quit? Planning to take off into the sunset with your Italian man—yes, I know all about it—and live happily ever after on his royalties?”

“Not quite,” I said.

“I'm very disappointed, Angel, but then I'm often disappointed in people.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “So be it,” she said. “You'll owe me some money, of course, as per the terms of your contract. You can see Craig about that. And I expect to be paid immediately. In addition, you may not use any of the contacts you've made in this office in the future. If you think you're going to continue your relationships with any authors or editors you've met through me, you are mistaken. I will sue you, Angel. I will ruin you. In fact, if I were you, I would consider an entirely new career because it will be
impossible
for you to work in publishing again.” Lucy paused to let her words take effect. “But,” she said, “I am a magnanimous person. I'll allow you to reconsider, Angel. Do you want to change your mind?” Lucy gave me a big smile. She was expecting that I'd fold in fear and awe. No, she was
counting
on it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see two figures in her doorway. Jackson and Anna had come in and were hovering, listening to every word.

“No,” I said, “but I'll allow
you
to reconsider.”

“What?”

“
Blind Submission,
” I said. “I've finished it. It needs a lot more work, Lucy, but I can get it to where it needs to be. It could sell now, but you and I both know that it wouldn't be the kind of success you want it to be. It can be a great book, Lucy, but not without
me,
and you know it.” I picked up
Flaming Heart
and held it in front of her. “Of course, you could always write a sequel to
this.
But I don't think that's what you want. I don't want your authors, Lucy, or any part of your”—I gestured to the expanse of white in her office—“empire. I only want what's mine. You're going to release me from that contract and you're not going to stand in my way.” I heard a quick gasp coming from the doorway.

“Is that so?” The color had drained from Lucy's face, but her voice was still strong and vibrating with anger. “And what makes you think I'll do that?”

“Because you need me, Lucy. And, as a gesture of goodwill, I'll even help Karanuk finish
Thaw.
”

“You can't touch Karanuk!”

“I don't want to touch him, Lucy. I said I'd help him—help you.”

“Clearly, I'm going to have to think about this,” Lucy said.

“I really need to know now,” I answered.

Lucy clenched her fists and set her jaw. She strode over to her desk and fell heavily into her chair, slamming into her desk and rattling her collection of pens and notepads. “Well, then, you'd better get over here now, Angel, so we can work out the terms of this—whatever this agreement is.”

A faint but unmistakable sound of soft clapping came from the doorway. Lucy and I turned our heads to look at the same time, but they'd vanished into the recesses of the outer office. Lucy turned to me and glared.

“When did you become this
person,
Angel?” she asked. “How did you get the nerve?”

I walked over to her desk and sat down opposite her. “Like I told you before, Lucy, I had an excellent teacher.”