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the project I hoped to bring up and went into the editorial meeting.
    I took a spot at the table next to my friend Meredith, our managing editor. She always supported my attempts to pursue a book, although in the past I’d gotten shot down every time. We were joined by Edgar, who handled arts and crafts. Kate and Charlie took the seats opposite. Harvey bustled in, scowling.
    “What’s on the bestseller list? What’s hot?” He fired his opening salvo.
    “Diet, sex, and woo-woo,” Charlie said, running a hand through his thinning hair. In his late twenties, he’d risen through the ranks by specializing in pop culture.
    “We need more of the first two categories and less New Age. At Esiness we usually had several blockbusters in the works.” Harvey always managed to bring up his glory days at the more commercial house, where he’d been fired for grabbing one too many young assistants. “Kate, what’s up?”
    “I have in a debut novel; it’s sex-and-shopping, but not badly written. Maybe Julia could give it a read,” Kate said. The stylish editor had been hired away from Hawtey Press, supposedly to bring in bestsellers.
    Harvey frowned. “What we need is another brand name. The only one in our lineup right now is Freeman Fyfe. You people have to work the phones more; come up with your own book ideas. Find out what the agents are hatching before they send it out to everyone else. At Esiness, I was always hounding people to give me a first look.”
    Meredith leaned toward me. “He was hounding them for a first look inside their knickers,” she muttered.
    “Was that something you wanted to share with the group?” Harvey asked.
    “Not at all,” Meredith replied blandly, polishing her half-rims.
    Anxiously I cleared my throat. “I have a project. It’s a proposal on how polluted the ocean is becoming.”
    “Who sent you that?” Harvey demanded.
    “I found it in the slush pile, but it’s really well-written. It’s shocking the way these factories are dumping their chemical wastes. The author has some credentials; he’s written for Science Times —“
    “But who’d buy a book about that?” Kate cut in.
    “And who reads Science Times anyway?” Harvey said.
    This was sinking faster than the Titanic. I decided to give it one more whirl. “I think people worry about the contaminants in fish.”
    “Some of these environmental books can do well if the writing is lively,” Meredith said.
    I scribbled THANKS!! on my notepad.
    Harvey shook his head. “Too much of a downer. Pass-ola!”
    Pollution project—ixnay .
    “Okay gang, I’m not hearing anything that’s rocking my world,” Harvey said. “You need to get some fire in your bellies if we’re going to put ourselves on the map. Oh, did anyone see that novel about the Italian monastery that went so high in auction last week? Something with ‘rose’ in the title.”
    The editors all shook their heads.
    “I can’t imagine it’ll sell in the provinces.” Harvey gathered his memos, the paper shivering in his stubby hands. “All right, class dismissed.”
    Sighing, I went back to my cubbyhole and resumed typing an endless pile of rejection letters.

 
     
     
Chapter 5
    One Bourbon, One Scotch, and One Beer
     
     
    The following Friday night as I headed home from work, I noticed something sticking out of my doorway. At first I thought someone had left their boots there, but then I saw they were attached to a ripped-up pair of jeans. A squarish bottle sat between the toes. Sure enough, the black car was idling further down the block. As a rill of anticipation ran through me, I told myself not to blow my cover.
    “Been a while since I sat on a girl’s stoop,” Jack said, gazing up at me. He wasn’t as rumpled as he’d been at the club; he had shaved, and his thick, dark hair was clean. In fact, he looked incredibly good. I had to remind myself not to stare at him.
    “If Mr. Iaccone was around, he’d make you move on. He doesn’t put up