Faking Life
Authors: Jason Pinter
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
80 Fifth Avenue, Suite 1101
New York, New York 10011
www.diversionbooks.com
Copyright © 2010 by Jason Pinter
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce
this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For more information, email [email protected].
First Diversion Books edition January 2011.
ISBN: 978-0-9829050-7-4 (ebook)
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Also by Jason Pinter
THE MARK
THE GUILTY
THE STOLEN
THE FURY
THE HUNTERS (ebook exclusive novella)
THE DARKNESS
Upcoming books for Young Readers
ZEKE BARTHOLOMEW: SUPERSPY!
THE GREAT DIVIDE
Author's Note
This book wasn't supposed to be published.
Wait, let me rephrase that.
I never thought this book was going to be published.
I began writing this book back in 2002, while I was a student at Wesleyan University. It began like how, I suppose many creative endeavors begin--a moment of inspiration combined with boredom. I was sitting in a not-too exciting class when I had the idea for a story. I was at the age when young men and women are supposed to be figuring out what they want to do with their lives, only I had no clue what I wanted to do with mine. And that's where the inspiration came in.
So I started writing--longhand at first--the story of a man whose life had come to a crossroads, only to find that life taking many unexpected turns, in part because of forces outside of himself. I don't want to give too much away, but I loved the story. Thought it was interesting and fairly well written and also spoke to a burgeoning, cynical trend in our culture that I'm sure you'll pick up on as you read.
I managed to land a literary agent for it, went through numerous titles and drafts, and finally began submitting to publishers. Despite numerous close calls, we weren't able to sell it. I was devastated.
Undaunted (ok, slightly daunted) I went out and wrote another book. It was called THE MARK. That book went on to sell hundreds of thousands of copies, was optioned for film, and has been published in a dozen languages.
Yet this book, this book you're about to begin, stuck with me. Something about it struck a chord with me then, and strangely the storyline is even more resonant now. After the James Frey scandal broke, I remember emailing my agent saying, “If only this book were out now…”
I don't really consider FAKING LIFE the evolution of my career, but a glimpse at an early work that I am proud of, despite its flaws. There's something ironic in that I began this novel at the age of twenty two, and now, at thirty one, I'm older than the character of John Gillis. For some reason, that makes me smile. And I'm happy that this book has finally made its way into the world.
I hope you enjoy FAKING LIFE.
Jason Pinter
January, 2011
a novel
by Jason Pinter
Contents
Book 1
Chapter One
“E
sther, what is this?” Nico Vanetti boomed from his office.
Esther had been waiting for over an hour, so her head perked up immediately. Tidying up the papers on her desk, she ran through the selling points in her head. She knew what questions to expect, and had to have answers ready on the spot. She wasn't going to let this one go. If her presentation wasn't up to snuff, Nico could dash her hopes quicker than it had taken her to slice open the envelope. This one was too important to be unprepared.
“Be right there.” She finished the last sip of her French Vanilla and smoothed her skirt. Entering Nico's office, Esther's heart drummed as she watched his eyes skim over a sheaf of paper. The paper she'd handed him that morning. He was sitting in his black leather chair, feet resting on his desk atop the latest manuscript from an old client. Coffee stains buttoned his otherwise brilliant white shirt.
Standing in the doorway, Esther smelled the stench of Nico's unbearably strong aftershave. She could almost see the individual Hugo Boss molecules. “So what's up, Nic?” Nico finished skimming and held up the pages for her to see.
A trim man with olive oil skin and gray hair sprinkled about his slicked back coif, Nico Vanetti was a man whose unbridled passion had mesmerized Esther four years ago when she joined Vanetti Literati. Since then, however, the impermeable aura had been cracked. His eyes no longer sparkled like they once did. Phone calls, how Nico spent a great deal of his working day, began with heavy reticence in his voice, as though the caller was interrupting some great pontification.
Nico Vanetti was a powerful agent by name, but his dwindling skills and fading glory had led to an even faster dwindling clientele. The mailbox used to overflow with letters from successful writers reaching for the next plateau, confident that Nico's abundant skills and resources would help them achieve success which eluded them with their prior representation. He dealt with only the most promising artists, hand-picking the best of the best.
Nico Vanetti had climbed to the top of the literary establishment by being both bold and clever, and his marketing savvy was better than any publicist Esther had ever known. Every submission glowed like antique china, and his contacts in Hollywood guaranteed film interest for anything he deemed worthy of the hype. Every client was a potential blockbuster waiting for the right editor to snap him up before they could reap huge profits for another house.
Esther had actively campaigned for the job of Nico's assistant after reading a glowing profile of him in a magazine. For the first few months, her resume submissions were ignored. Undeterred, she'd sent follow-up letters every other week until she'd literally badgered her way into an interview. Bold and clever. Just as the profile described Nico.
To her delight they clicked instantly. She was hired a week later, sure she'd found an employer and a profession that would keep her sated for years.
But since then, everything changed. She wondered if Nico had been on that path when they'd met. Whether she'd simply been blind to it. Perhaps it was just blissful ignorance.
Two years into her job,
New York
magazine ran a story detailing Nico's troubled marriage, a failure expedited by his allegedly incurable penchant for Guatemalan housemaids. It was the first time Esther had seen Nico in a personal light, and it scared her. Several clients took the moral high ground and severed their relationships. Most of his longtime clients remained, but their good will either slowed to a trickle or ceased altogether. Fruit baskets stopped coming after contract negotiations, and his birthday cards were perfunctory. Esther tried her best to keep her personal feelings about Nico separate from her professional life. She figured he'd made these people enough money over the years that they could forgive a slight marital infidelity because, when it came down to it, they knew their careers were in great hands.
The breaking point came a year and a half ago, when Esther's perception of Nico changed permanently. It involved Chester Peabody, a fantastically popular romance author who'd earned nearly four million dollars in royalties writing under the alias Brendan LaQuattro. Peabody wrote sweaty bodice-rippers, starring bored housewives and muscular he-men who whisked them away for grand adventures and fabulous sex. No time period—or sexual position—was sacred. Yet Peabody's dream, which he'd expressed to Nico on several occasions, was to write a space opera, a story that would put “Star Wars” to shame with its epic scope. Nico had discouraged this from the start. So when Chester finally put the pen to the paper for his first Sci-Fi opus, authored under his given name, he overnighted the manuscript to Nico, his trusted agent.
It was a risky departure for Peabody, Esther knew that, but one that could pay substantial dividends for both he and Nico Vanetti. The story was visionary, the writing poetic, and Esther recommended the book full-heartedly to Nico. Yet when she returned from lunch to find Chester Peabody's manuscript on her desk with a post-it note instructing her to return it with Nico's disapproval, Esther was heartbroken. The pages looked like they hadn't been touched. She stormed into his office, horrified that he would ignore her opinion and the dreams of a client with such indifference.
“Howcome you passed on the Peabody manuscript?” she'd asked.
Nico lifted his head from a pile of paper and removed his glasses.
“Est, I just don't see Chester's romance fans paying money for Sci-Fi. Very few people make real money in that genre. It's a real nitpicky audience and Chester doesn't have a name or reputation to stake it. It might sell, but likely not at the price he'd expect, and his romance fans would look elsewhere when he stopped producing” Noticing her astonishment, Nico added, “and Chester Peabody is the worst name for a writer I've ever heard. His name alone will drive people away.”
Later that day, Esther sat at her desk and listened as Nico explained his reasoning to Chester, who two days later terminated his contract. Within the month, Chester Peabody had a contract worth $1.1 million, the film rights sold for a cool $500,000 with Tobey MaGuire set to star. It was the mother of all “I told you so” moments, but Esther held her tongue. She resented Nico's inability to see the project's potential, but there was something redeeming about knowing her ability to recognize its quality. Although the end result was the loss of one of the agency's most profitable clients, it gave Esther the confidence to trust her instincts. And to not always trust Nico's.
So when she opened the package from John Gillis, spent two hours poring over every delectable sentence, she was determined not to let it go the route of Chester Peabody. She simply wouldn't settle for anything less than yes. Still though, it was Nico's agency and he had the final say.
“What is this?” Nico asked, holding up the paper-clipped sheaf of paper. The pages were facing away from her, but she knew what was written on them.
“Unsolicited query that came in today from a guy named John Gillis. There's definitely something there.” Nico stole a glance at the cover letter and took a deep breath.
“Who is this guy, John Gillis? What's he done before?”
“Well,” Esther said, trying her best not to sound like a child asking for permission to stay up late. “It's kind of a memoir. He's never written before, but I think that works to his advantage. It's unpretentious and doesn't pass the blame like most memoirs. He says that this is just the first chapter, but I like where it seems to be headed. It's a real breath of fresh air, and the 'everyday guy' really has appeal. Good publicity opportunities.”
Nico mumbled under his breath as he reread the cover sheet.