Chapter 22

Dave often was drawn to the memory of a rather beery afternoon at John Engler's parent's lake cottage with several '88s. He must have been sixteen or seventeen at the time, when John made the rather cynical statement that there were girls who Did, and girls who Didn't. If you wanted action, you'd do a lot better if you messed around with the ones who Did and not waste your time trying to convert one who Didn't. Since John was the chief horndog of the Bradford Class of '88, this was taken as gospel by the rest of the guys, Dave among them. Ever since then, even in the tightest days with Julie, Dave had often been tempted to evaluate a woman as a Did or a Didn't.

His first impression of Larissa Hamilton was of a Didn't, but one most guys who met her earnestly wished she Did. Simply speaking, Larissa was a babe -- tall, long, full black hair, a very pretty face, a nice body -- a very nice body, especially in the chest. She had nicely shaped breasts, just inside the limit of being disproportionately large. What's more, she knew it -- there was no covering those hooters up with a heavy sports bra -- her tight sweater just helped show them off.

Dave knew, of course, a lot of men tended to evaluate by the breasts, rather than the woman behind them -- he'd been known to at times himself, so this put him on guard with her. But, he knew too, that women who showed off breasts like Larissa did often used them to hide something, like how dumb they were -- or, as it soon proved in Larissa's case, how smart she was.

Rob's office was a little larger than the rest in the makeshift quarters in the Ford building but hardly less cramped or cluttered than anywhere else. Dunlap and Fyre often used the insurance company conference room for such meetings as this, if it was available, but it wasn't today, so the five of them gathered the best they could around Rob's desk. Dave and Michelle were seated on rickety folding chairs that likely had been liberated from a dumpster somewhere.

"Larissa," Rob began, "As you know, we're here to make some sort of decision about Swordsman of Atlantis. Here's the thing: however it happened, a commitment was made to you for us to buy the book. We did, and you've been paid an advance for it. However, the opinion of our editorial staff is the book's quality is marginal. That's not saying that we won't publish it, since a commitment was made to you. It does mean we may not promote it very heavily, if at all."

"Yes, sir," she said respectfully. "I was afraid you were going to say something like that."

"Larissa, you may not understand quite where I'm coming from," Rob continued. "So I want to approach it from your viewpoint. Are you more interested in getting a book into print so you can say you've done it, or are you looking at a career in writing?"

"I want to get a book into print," she said slowly. "But I want it to be a first step toward a career." She let out a sigh and continued, "It's so damn hard to break in. I've had so many rejections on Swordsman and other books that, when Ron made his offer, I guess I knew it was too good to be true, but it seemed like a way to get my foot in the door."

"That's one of the things we're unclear on," Dick spoke up. "Just what did he offer you?"

"Well," she sighed sadly, "I guess I have to say it, even though I'm just as ashamed as I can be to have to say it. Ron said if I'd spend the weekend with him he'd make sure that Swordsman got published. I ... I wanted to get my foot in the door so badly that I took him up on it."

Dave glanced at Rob, who glanced back at Michelle, who had been glancing at Dick. Nothing was said but Rob's "Ummmmmm-hum," but it was everything needed between the four of them.

"I knew there was a reason I was glad to see him gone," Dick said after a moment.

"Look," Larissa said, "I know you don't think Swordsman is good enough to print, so I won't force you to do it. I want my first book to be something my dad could have been proud of. I, uh, I don't still have all the advance money, but I can give you back what I have and pay you the rest when I can."

"No," Rob said. "You can keep the money. It was a legal contract."

"It may have been a legal contract," she snapped, "But if the book isn't printed, then what it comes down to is I'm taking money for sex. That makes me a whore, and I don't want to be a whore. I didn't want to have to go to bed with him, but God, it gets so frustrating! I really hoped it would be worth it. I guess it wasn't."

"There's no reason we can't publish the book," Rob said. "Really, it's your choice. However, publishing it as it stands may not be your best career move. I mean, it tends to work better if you can have a nice, solid start, rather than something marginal, or a possible dud."

"And you think it's a dud," Larissa sighed. "I guess I should have expected it. I know there are flaws. I shopped it around in hopes it would hit somewhere. I'm actually quite a bit happier with the one I'm working on now, but after this embarrassment I doubt you'd want to look at it." She shook her head. "At least I can say my dad died knowing I had a book in press, even if I really didn't. That's something. It's been so hard since he went down in the north tower, I can barely get along some days. You just don't know what it's like to lose someone like that."

There was an awkward silence in the room in response to her statement. Rob started to reply, but Dave held up his hand. "Larissa," he said softly, "I know what it's like. I lost my wife there."

"Oh shit!" she replied. "Damn, I knew I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry, Mr ... uh, I don't remember your name."

"Patterson, but call me Dave," he replied gently. "Look, Larissa, I'm afraid I'm the one who first raised the doubts about Swordsman of Atlantis. I don't know if you saw my report, but to summarize, it's not bad, but it's not good. I want to start by saying that Swordsman is one of the cleanest pieces of writing I've ever seen. I remember being a little surprised at seeing only one or two typos. You use the English language very well, in fact, impressively well. On the other hand, the characters are wooden, some of the dialogue is stilted, and the plot is very predictable. It would be possible to spruce up the characters and fix the dialogue, but the plot, well, it would be hard to do much to it without a major rewrite. I'm normally far out of town so wouldn't be able to work with you personally, but I could give you some directions to go with a rewrite, maybe some samples of how things could be changed to make it a work you'd be much more proud of. However, it would mean missing the projected publication date."

"I think we've pretty well missed it already, whatever we do," Dick said. "And Dave, your working with her on a rewrite sounds like a good idea. However, Miss Hamilton, you say you're a lot happier with the book you're working on now. Are you done with it?"

"I'd guess I'm about two thirds of the way through," she said, a little more brightly. "I pretty well know where the plot is going, but it surprises me sometimes. I mean, I'm writing a scene, and it winds up going somewhere I didn't expect it to go. It's always fun when that happens."

"Just throwing out a suggestion," Dick replied. "What would you think of running what you have done past Dave? He will understand it's a rough draft, so will evaluate just to see if he thinks it has the potential to be better. If he thinks it can be, maybe we can transfer the contract over to the new book and give you a better start to your career."

"You'd do that?" Larissa asked, a little surprised at the suggestion.

"Why not?" Rob grinned. "Look at it this way. We have a contract. We paid you money. You owe us a book. We both want it to be the best it can be."

They spent a few minutes working out the details. It didn't totally settle the Swordsman of Atlantis problem, but shoved it way back on a back shelf where it would most likely be forgotten. After Dave quizzed the girl about the new book -- which was tentatively named Wings of Tregedar -- it sounded as if it had a lot more workable premise, and he looked forward to seeing what it was really like. What's more, it was still early enough in the process that he could suggest major rewrites early on that would help the book, and probably help the author to understand her craft, as well.

Soon the meeting wound down, and everyone but Rob got up to leave. "Dave, stay behind for a minute," Rob asked. "I just want to shoot the shit."

"Fine with me," Dave said and sat back down as the others went out and closed the door.

"That fucking Pittman," Rob shook his head conversationally. "He's going to be sorry he did that. I should have known it was something like that. I've got to admit, though, if I was his age, single, and was confronted with knockers like hers, I'd be tempted to use some company money to get to play with them."

"The temptation is understandable," Dave grinned. "But seriously, I am surprised it doesn't happen more than it does."

"You mean girls sleeping their way to the top?"

"No, just sleeping their way in the door. Guys, too, as many gays as are running around this business," Dave said, with no humor in his voice this time. "Maybe it's because I've spent most of the last month buried in the SF department slush pile, but there are a lot of people who would like to get their foot in the door. The hell of it is, I've seen some pretty good stuff go through, stuff it might be worth taking a risk on, bounced mostly because the list is already pretty full of established writers."