"Julia, that won't work," Caroline said, sounding grim.
Julia looked at her sister. "Do you have a better idea?"
"No, but I can promise you that knocking on the door isn't the way to go. Steve tried talking to her, remember? The woman is a few dishes shy of a load. Right now, she thinks it's just our trash. I can't imagine what she'd do if she knew it was something we really wanted."
Silence came again. Lance tried to remember his life before crawling into that cab with Julia, but he couldn't. His apartment, his friends, they all seemed like a long-forgotten dream. He looked at Julia, the woman who had made a name and a life for herself by telling the world that romance wasn't the requisite for happiness, and he remembered that it had taken lust one scandalous lie to throw her whole world out of balance. Lance didn't want to imagine the power of a juicy piece of truth.
Nina said, "We could break in," as if, in the silence, her idea would fall on more favorable ears.
"No," Lance said, and Nina let it drop.
"I've got it," Caroline said, a light bulb shining brightly above her head. "We could say it's a book you brought home to edit, and it got mixed in with some of your stuff. Doesn't mean you wrote it. It's a mistake," she finished.
Julia was shaking her head. "It's going to have my name and address at the top of the cover sheet and my handwritten notes all over the text. It's covered with my fingerprints—literally and figuratively." She took a deep breath and added, "That's the bad news. The good news is that the Veronica is at the bottom of the box. With any luck, we've got some time."
Do you ever get too old or successful to hide in the bathroom? Julia wondered as she sat on the toilet lid of what Caroline liked to call "the pool bath." Of course, Steve and Caroline didn't have a pool, but they had the bathroom for one—just in case—a fact that had seemed ridiculous to Julia until she went searching for someplace far away from the noise of the vacuum cleaner and the Dora the Explorer videos.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Julia saw past and future collide. She got up and leaned into the light, wanting to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her, but nope, there it was, a zit right next to a wrinkle.
This is officially the worst day of my life.
Julia's cell phone lay beside the sink, but it felt a hundred miles away. She stared at it longingly, daring herself to pick it up and dial. She knew the number by heart. She had free long distance. She wasn't in roam. Really, there wasn't a reason in the world to keep putting it off, but the phone lay on the counter like nuclear waste, and Julia stared at it, as if expecting it to sprout legs and scamper off and make her decision for her.
She leaned closer to the mirror, tilted her head, and practiced what she'd say. "Hi, Abby, it's Julia James. ..."
No good, Julia thought. She straightened her back and tried again, this time aiming for "time-crunched-career-gal."
"Abby, Julia James here."
No, I have to sound nice, she reminded herself, so she smiled, turned up her accent, and did her best version of "everyone's favorite girl from Oklahoma."
"Hi, Ms. Warner, this is Julia James. Could I have a minute of your time?"
Still, the greeting didn't convey the sense of urgency that Julia felt. She gripped the stone countertop, squinted her eyes, and sunk into "desperate, almost-middle-aged has-been."
"Candon Jeffries screwed me over. Wanna make him pay?"
Julia stopped for a second to ponder whether or not she was doing the right thing. It might be easier on her mind and her ego just to jump ship, take her future books to any of Eli-Winter's rivals. But, like it or not, her first three books already belonged to them, and she didn't feel like leaving her firstborn behind. Still, she knew the only way she could bring herself to stay with Eli-Winter was if Abby Warner was on her side. Abby was the grande dame of nonfiction, the woman with nine of the top ten bestsellers of all time to her credit, the person with the power to crush Candon like a bug—assuming she wanted to. No one gets as successful as Abby Warner without knowing the power of a buck, and Julia knew that however much it pained her, the "Lance Collins situation" had been very good for business.
So she took a deep breath, picked up her cellular phone, eased herself down on the closed lid of the toilet, and dialed her publisher's main phone number. A switchboard operator came on the line, and Julia asked to speak to Abby Warner.
"I'm sorry," a well-trained male secretary said once she'd been transferred. "Ms. Warner isn't available at the moment." Julia was fluent in the language of the publishing industry, and knew this translated to "Go away, loser, we don't accept unsolicited trash."
It's now or never, Julia thought, holding her breath. "Will you see if she's available for Julia James?"
A pause from New York City. Then the man asked, " Miss James?"
"Yes," Julia said. "I'll hold."
It seemed like a lifetime as she waited. A dozen horrific scenarios ran through her mind, the worst of which consisted of her being transferred to Candon and told that she shouldn't forget whose author she really was. What if Abby Warner hated her books? What if Abby Warner hated her? What if the most influential woman in modern publishing thought she was a hack, a wash-up, a dud?
Then Abby came on the line. "Sweetheart, are you okay?" The woman gave her no time to answer before she jumped in again. "Everybody's talking about it. Now why don't you tell me what's really going on?"
"It's not true, Abby. None of it."
"Oh, honey. I can't tell you what a relief that is."
"It is?" Julia asked, amazed that Abby was seeing her side of it. "Candon was thrilled. Sales are through the roof—"
"Candon wouldn't know integrity if it bit him on his ass. So I guess you want to come over to me," Abby said, but before Julia could answer, the editor blew right past her. "Of course I want you! Consider it done. And what's this I hear about a baby?"
"Completely untrue."
"Listen, Jules," Abby said. Very few people called Julia "Jules," but she made the split-second decision that if Abby Warner wanted to be one of them, all the better. "What's this agent's name, the one whose face is in front of all the cameras?"