so … and I’d say, ‘Buy this now and I can keep it off the storyboard circuit. Let us walk out of here and we’ll have ten competing bids by tomorrow. You’ll never get this back!”’
She put her fork down and let him continue.
“They’d pause for a moment. See, they’d already prepared for this. Their outside attorney would lean in, fold his hands, and say, ‘To resolve this matter, we are willing to put X’—call it whatever you want for purposes of this conversation—‘on the table. Total residual rights. We publish it or bury it at our discretion. You and your clients walk away.’”
“And right then and there we have them. Now, as they say, we know what they are and the only question is the price. Plus a few other terms, of course, like them paying my outrageous fee separately.”
Cadence put down her fork.
“Mel, you really do live inside your own movie. Do you write the script dailies up every night?”
“No, butterfly, I make it all up as I go.”
“Well, the bad news is that the original documents are gone, I’m sure of that. Want the good news?”
“There is some?”
“We got a package. No return address.”
“Wait. I got it. From your Mr. Osley. The Figment. Another magically there and gone again character.”
“Figment? He was real as you are, Mel. But no, not from Osley. Listen, you called me, scared as a puppy. Peeing all over yourself about the mysterious offer. I still don’t buy all you’ve been telling me.”
“It wasn’t very magical. Just a nasty squeeze. Dressed up as business but the menace and the message came through, all right. I’d say it was the Mafia but they don’t care about books and they don’t play with riddles. Your lives were threatened, which I was considering, and then mine, whereupon I immediately took action.”
“And one more time, who was saying this to you?”
“It was all by phone, and the message by courier. The voice, he knew the industry well enough to pull off some lines. Clunky and borrowed, like he watched
“Any accent, odd figure of speech?”
“The speech was, oh, imagine a Bulgarian that learned English from watching American TV. It wasn’t just a crank. Like I said to myself, when it’s your ass, you gotta believe. So anyway, what was in it? The package?”
“Ah, that’s what’s interesting. Not the Tolkien documents. Not the originals. But all of the translations.”
“So, the original stash of documents, the invaluable for-sure-Tolkien-owned-it stuff, the ones pretty much verified by Mr. Bois-Gilbert and his Inspecteurs, the ones I saw here at this table? Gone?”
“Yes.”
Mel sighed and put his chin on his fist, dejected.
“What’s so wrong? There’s still the story. If that’s the thing, and all stories continue, who cares who wrote it? She, Ara, was really real.”
“What, you’re believing your own soup now, Cadence? What’s missing is the proof. The Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval that makes it all sellable. Let me boil it down for you: It’s not the story, it’s the sales.”
“I disagree. In fact, that, right there, is where I learned we are very different. I don’t give a damn about money except to fix something broken in my life. But you, you do.”
He waited.
“So that’s why I’m going to give you one last chance. I want you to set up that meeting with the publisher.”
“There’s nothing to go on. No one will take the meeting.”
“I don’t believe you for a second, Mel. You know deep down that this is a real thing. Like you said, people want to know. And the most important part, the story that’s just as magical, is the bigger part about how it came together. Me. My grandfather. Osley. Even you. See, Mel, when this gets written, you’ll be in it. You’re an aspiring author yourself. Come on. You’ll love it.”
She pulled her keys from her purse, signaling an end to the lunch. A large tooth was attached to the keychain.
“That’s some tooth. You grow that yourself?”
“I found it, lost it in a way, and then re-found it. It’s a good-luck charm, but only if you believe. Otherwise it’s bad luck. I carry it, because, in a way, you taught me something.”
“What’s that?”
“About stepping up and betting your life on things. Take your cynicism, Mel, your greatest asset. I would hedge your bets before relying on that.”
Before he could speak, she stood and offered her hand. He rose and they shook hands.
“Goodbye Mel.”
She turned and walked down the hallway toward the foyer, thick with an exuberance of orchids in Sevres vases.
Mel’s iPhone buzzed angrily. He let it ring.
Chapter 45
SUITS
The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the thirtieth floor conference room looked south, across Century City. It was hazing quickly in the L.A. smog, suggesting the low, boxy outlines of the Twentieth Century Fox studios.
The conference table was massive in breadth and length, done in some obscure, threatened rainforest wood. It boasted seating for twenty in chairs finished in some obscure, threatened animal hide.
Like many expressions of opulence, this combination of window, light, rare wood, and rare leather was hardly intended for meetings. It was an instrument of intimidation.
Cadence and her grandfather had been ushered into the room alone and left waiting. To stew. To take in the power.
The door opened and in came the suits, two men and one woman. First came the legendary publishing executive, tall, immaculate, with a full head of gray hair coifed to slightly long, Hollywood-irreverent length. Flanking him was the grim senior law partner. Next came the shark-like associate, the ace, the lady attorney with Ivy League training and acid for blood. Behind them, looking rumpled despite his fifteen hundred dollar Armani suit, came Mel. In this crowd, he looked like a used car sales associate hovering around for his commission.
The suits worked the introductions, graciousness overplayed because they held the cards. They all sat down, each side arrayed across from the other.
“Ms. … Grande.” The delay was calculated as the senior partner glanced down at their clothes, their status, then continued, “I want to thank you for coming here. My clients have reviewed Mr. Chricter’s query regarding certain … uh … supposedly lost documents owned by Professor Tolkien.”
A long pause as he studied them.
“We suggested this meeting to avoid any … misunderstanding.”
More pause.
Here the executive calmly put his hand on his trusty counsel’s arm, and leaned over. “Paul, let me step in here.” He looked engagingly across the table and folded his hands, pre-announcing the finality of what he was about to say.
“Ms. Grande, Mr. Grande, our position, to be frank, is that we will not allow publication of these materials. Nor will we allow you to keep any of the originals, wherever they are. As our attorneys can no doubt explain fully to you or your counsel, we will do all within our power to prevent their publication.”
To Cadence, despite his lack of pointy hat and a wand, his look could not have been more wizard-like. She knew, deep down, just what he was. “Sir, you may think you can secret away the truth. And in part your people,” she left a long, deliberate pause here, “have already stolen back much of this. But not all. I can’t prove the authenticity of the words anymore. But you can’t disprove them either.”
