'And what's this book about?' said Sonia. 'It's '
'Some crazy kid shacked up with Grandma Moses. It's been done some place else. Tell me something new. Besides, it's dirty.'
'You're wrong, Hutch, you're so wrong. It's a love story, no shit. They mean something to one another. He needs her and she needs him.'
'Me, I need neither of them.'
'They give one another what they lack alone. He gets maturity, experience, wisdom, the fruit of a lifetime...'
'Fruit? Fruit? Jesus, you want me to throw up or something?'
'...and she gets youth, vitality, life,' Sonia continued. 'It's great. I mean it. A deep, meaningful book. It's liberationist. It's existentialist. It's...Remember what The French Lieutenant's Woman did? Swept America. And Pause is what America's been waiting for. Seventeen loves eighty. Loves, Hutch, L.O.V.E.S. So every senior citizen is going to buy it to find out what they've been missing and the students will go for the philosophomore message. Pitch it right and we can scoop the pool. We get the culture buffs with significance, the weirdos with the porn and the marshmallows with romance. This is the book for the whole family. It could sell by the '
Hutchmeyer got up and paced the room. 'You know, I think maybe you've got something there,' he said. 'I ask myself 'Would Baby buy this story?' and I have to say yes. And what that woman falls for the whole world buys. What price?'
'Two million dollars.'
'Two million...You've got to be kidding.'
Hutchmeyer gaped.
Sonia climbed back on to the bicycle machine. 'Two million. I kid you not.'
'Go jump, baby, go jump. Two million? For a novel? No way.'
'Two million or I go flash my gams at Milenberg.'
'That cheapskate? He couldn't raise two million. You can hawk your pussy all the way to Avenue of the Americas it won't do you no good.'
'American rights, paperback, film, TV, serialization, book clubs...'
Hutchmeyer yawned. 'Tell me something new. They're mine already.'
'Not on this book they're not.'
'So Milenberg buys. You get no price and I buy him. What's in it for me?'
'Fame,' said Sonia simply, 'just fame. With this book you're up there with the all-time greats. Gone With The Wind, Forever Amber, Valley of The Dolls, Dr Zhivago, Airport, The Carpetbaggers. You'd make the Reader's Digest Almanac.'
'The Reader's Digest Almanac? said Hutchmeyer in an awed voice. 'You really think I could make that?'
'Think? I know. This is a prestige book about life's potentialities. No kitsch. Message like Mary Baker Eddy. A symphony of words. Look who's bought it in London. No fly-by-night firm.'
'Who?' said Hutchmeyer suspiciously.
'Corkadales.'
'Corkadales bought it? The oldest publishing '
'Not the oldest. Murrays are older,' said Sonia.
'So, old. How much?'
'Fifty thousand pounds,' said Sonia glibly.
Hutchmeyer stared at her. 'Corkadales paid fifty thousand pounds for this book? Fifty grand?'
'Fifty grand. First time off. No hassle.'
'I heard they were in trouble,' said Hutchmeyer. 'Some Arab bought them?'
'No Arab. It's a family firm. So Geoffrey Corkadale paid fifty grand. He knows this book is
