“Can you sit first?”
“Oh, baby, something’s wrong.”
“No, no.” She got up, wandered in to the sofa. “A lot of strange things to tell you, and I’m going to go backward because I really need to talk to you about the last thing. Get your wine and sit so I can work it out in my head.”
She kept stroking Bollocks, who sat right beside her while Marco brought a glass of wine and sat on her other side.
“Tell Marco.”
“Okay, back to front. Carlee called just a little while ago.”
“She read it—good and fast. Okay, let’s hear it.”
“Back to front,” she repeated. “And the last thing we talked about was the recipes you sent. She really liked how you presented them, the fun way, the story, or the bits of music you connected to each one.”
“You did most of that.”
“No, I helped with that, but they were your stories, and it’s your music, and it’s your style. Anyway, she gave them to another agent in-house, Yvonne Kramer, because she’s represented three well-received cookbooks, and actually cooks. Yvonne, Carlee said, tried out yourspaghetti and meatballs. And big success. Then she tried out your applesauce cake. Same thing. Yvonne wants to meet with you when we go to New York.”
“Holy shit!” He actually goggled, open-mouthed, bugged-out eyes. “You’re not kidding me?”
“Holy shit, I’m not kidding you. Marco, I think you might just have an agent, and one who wants to see more.”
He shoved up, walked all around the living room.
“I never really figured anybody would, you know, want to go with it.”
“Marco, don’t tell me you don’t want to do this!”
He stopped, pointed at himself. “Is this the face of a dumbass?”
“It is not.” And grinning, she jumped up to hug him.
“I gotta figure out what to do for more. My brain’s kinda—” He made the sound of an electric sizzle. “I just never… I don’t know how any of this works.”
“Yvonne knows. It’s like you keep saying to me. Trust Carlee. Now you trust Yvonne. I have her contact information, and she’d like you to get in touch tomorrow.”
“Okay, wow. I need to sit down again. A freaking cookbook,” he said as he sat. “Ain’t that a kick in the ass? I need to let it all settle in, and I’m going to find the fun in it, Breen. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“You always find the fun.”
“Settling,” he said. “Tell me the next—back to front.”
“Okay. Deep breath. Carlee likes the book. My book.”
“Didn’t I tell you!” He poked her arm. “Didn’t I?”
“She really likes it, Marco. She said she’s sure she can sell it.”
“Damn right. So why are you sitting here instead of dancing?”
“I’m trying to get it through. She said we didn’t have to offer it to my publisher first because it’s not a YA, it’s not a Bollocks book, but she thought we should. That it’s the right thing to do because, you know, good relations.”
“That’s not what you want?”
“No, no, she knows best, and besides, I really like my editor, and you know all the people on your end, and I— She really liked it, Marco. She wanted my go-ahead to send it over. I said okay.”
“Because you’re not a dumbass.”