Corrupted Chapter 13, Page 3

  Darlene shrugged in casual blue jeans and a red, “I Love New York” t-shirt. The writing was all on the wall; or on her shirt.

  “Nothing, I’m just ah, pacing myself for the week, that’s all.”

  I’m just counting down my days to get the heck out of here, she thought.

  The fiftyish woman nodded, while tightly wrapped in black stretch pants and a yellow shirt that looked too small to squeeze her breasts into. “That’s a good idea,” she commented. “It keeps you from burnout.”

  I’ve been burned out from this place years ago, Darlene continued to reflect to herself in silence. Nevertheless, the ski lodge and resort gig allowed her a chance to daydream in peace instead of having a real career that would ask her to use too much of her brain to create new storylines on the job. So she was thankful for the liberty of the mind that it had allowed her. However, enough was enough, and it was time for her to move on now.

  Right on cue, as her chatterbox supervisor continued to go on about pacing yourself and avoiding burnout, Darlene’s cell phone rang from her hip. She immediately looked down and saw that it was her agent calling her. Expecting his call that morning, she held in her excitement.

  “Ah, excuse me, but I have to take this call from my cousin. She’s going through a family crises she needs me to help her to deal with,” she announced.

  “Oh, okay, well . . . you do what you need to do,” her supervisor piped.

  “Thank you. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  “Oh, no, take the time that you need. I know your work.”

  Darlene grinned and stood from behind her office chair and desk to head for the door to speak outside in private.

  “Hello,” she answered, aware of everything that moved around her. She wanted no one to eavesdrop on her very important conversation that morning.

  “I have a new update for ya’,” her literary agent informed her.

  “Okay, I’m listening,” she responded to him.

  “Well, Williams and Klein took the lead, as expected, and offered us a hundred thousand dollars. Kensington and St. Martin’s then dropped out. But Impact Publishing, who we expected to drop out, matched Williams and Klein at one hundred.”

  Darlene’s heart began to beat as fast as it did the first time he had called her about the publishers bidding war that week. And a thousand thoughts were all zipping through her mind at once again.

  Okay, so Brittney Enis is really stepping up to the plate, she thought. And I wonder how much higher Vincent will outbid her.

  “So, what happens now?” she asked, intentionally short with her words around her work space. New resort visitors and co-workers were all around her in earshot distance.

  “Hey Darlene.”

  She smiled and nodded to them while still on her phone call.

  Her agent told her, “Well, now we wait for their counter offers.”

  Darlene was confused already. She asked him, “Shouldn’t Impact have done that already if Williams and Klein started it?” It only made sense to her. One person says one hundred and the next person says one hundred and five.

  “Ahh, generally, what this means is that the publishers will start to wait for us, which means me, to lean toward one company or the other, or either tell them both to make a higher bid. And you’re right, typically, the company that wants the book more will simply call out a higher number to get it. But that hasn’t happened yet. They’re both sitting tight, which may mean that neither one of them really wants to offer more money. They both want to see if you have any preferences now.”

  In that case, I would choose Impact then, Darlene thought to herself without stating it.

  “So, what do you think I should do?” she asked him.

  “Well, we’ll have to wait as well to see if Williams and Klein will offer us a higher bid. Vincent already knows that Brittney has only gone as far as to match him. So in this case, if Vincent doesn’t make another move, then they’re really putting the decision on us now. But do you have a preference?” he asked her.

  “Should I?” she asked him cautiously again.

  “Well, Impact has been known for launching niche books that do well in a certain reading communities, and Brittney has a pretty good track record of being consistent with that, but she hasn’t put out any New York Times bestsellers like Vincent and Williams and Klein. I mean, it’s not even close.”

  “So, if all things are even . . .?” she hinted.

  “Well, it’s not quite that simple. If no one moves by tomorrow, you now get to ask for different incentives, options, bonuses . . . A lot of different things fall into play.”

  “Like . . . ?” she led him.

  “How big is the tour? Can we get a higher royalty percentage? What’s the first print run? Can we attach a budget for our own, outside publicist? Can we set certain performance goals for bonuses. I mean, there’s a whole list of things that come into play here, but I wouldn’t advise doing that until we’re absolutely sure that they’re not going to bid any higher.”

  “Because then you would shoot yourself in the foot,” she concluded.

  “Exactly. That’s why this is all a process. Some people think you simply go after the biggest number, but it really doesn’t work that way.”

  Darlene took another breath to calm her nerves. She figured she didn’t like the “process” at all. Her whole career could be determined by one huge decision, and her diplomatic agent was not advising her to lean one way or the other on it.

  “So . . . we basically just . . . wait it out,” she confirmed with him.

  “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. But at least now you know that you’re going to be published with a six-figured contract. So, congratulations!”

  Darlene grinned over the phone, but it wasn’t that simple for her either. She thought, If I have to give him fifteen percent, I would need to sign for at least one hundred and twenty thousand to truly earn that six figures. Otherwise, I’m really getting less than that.

  She had already done her math on it. So she began to hope for that. She even made a comment on it. “Well, let’s hope we can get them both to go up to one-twenty, then we can discuss the different options, incentives and bonuses,” she joked.

  Her agent laughed. He knew the math as well. He said, “I’m well ahead ya’ on that. Will do.”

  When Darlene hung up the phone to get back to work at the ski lodge and resort, her day already felt longer. The longer she waited on a publishing deal, the slower everything seemed to move. A minute seemed like an hour, and an hour seemed like half a day.

  “God, this is killing me,” she expressed out loud.

  “What’s killing you?” I’m sure you’ll make it. You’re a strong girl,” another one of co-worker offered from behind with a chuckle.

  Darlene turned and faced him with a smile. “Thank you, Dave. I’m sure I will too.”

  I’ll make it all the way out to New York, she countered. I’ll be making concrete plans any day now.

  DeWayne Double D McDonald had to make new plans as well. He sat in his lawyer’s office, across from his large desk and Manhattan window view, focused and calm. D had even worn a suit jacket and a tie that afternoon to make a point.

  “Is this how I need to dress now to get these book store managers to take me seriously for future business?” he asked with a grin. “I know you always like to talk about imagery.”

  His lawyer; cool, young medium brown and reserved with a sharp, low-cut haircut and the nerves of calm waters on a bright, sunny day, sat behind his desk in his own uniform of a suit and tie. He had dealt with so many volatile, young musicians that nothing seemed to faze him.

  He said, “Not unless you want to. The book store managers don’t really care how you dress as long as you move their new books. But you do have to think about the readers. Your dress code should cater to them if anything. Now, me personally, I would like to see you dress a little more this way for the college lecture circuit on the urban street culture. You’re w
ritten enough books on the subject now to be considered an expert on the subject.”

  D frowned and said, “Yeah, but I don’t feel like being around them college kids like that all the time, especially since I never went to college.”

  His lawyer shrugged. “Neither did a lot of the rappers and singers I represent. They’re not invited to college campuses to teach something they don’t know, they’re there to discuss what they do know. You’re only there to speak about the subjects that you write about.”

  “And how much do they pay you?”

  “Some lecturers get up to twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Cornell West. Eric Michael Dyson. Tavis Smiley.”

  D frowned it off and said, “Aw, man, that’s them PHD guys. They’re not regular writers. They don’t even write fiction like I do.”

  “The point is, they are all authors who supplement their incomes through speaking. And your books have outsold them all. But now you have to learn how to market yourself to the right people outside of the book industry. And Hollywood is not the only vehicle for you. I’ve been trying to get you to sign with these speaking agencies for the college circuit for years. You could at least make a couple thousand dollars an event, instead of doing all of these book tours for free.”

  “Yeah, but they have to want you, right?” D argued.

  “It’s marketing. But you never wanted to spend the extra money to do it.”

  “Hey man, I have enough things to do with my money as it is. You know I’m still helping my mom out to keep her and my family away from the city.”

  “Okay, but do both. Help your mother and family out and help yourself out. That’s all I’m asking you to do. Invest a little something in your own career like you used to do before you signed with Williams and Klein. Then this new downside in the publishing industry wouldn’t be so much of a shock to you.”

  D took in his lawyer’s calm demeanor and said, “Man, you act like it’s no big deal that they’re dropping me from the publishers.”

  The lawyer opened his palm and said, “It happens every day. No one stays on top forever. So instead of falling all the way back down to the bottom, you make plans to maintain what you can. I advise entertainers on that every day, but they can’t seem to see the fall until it’s over. And I tell every new artist now, ‘As soon as you sign that first contract, think about it as your last, and work it to your full advantage’, because everybody doesn’t get that opportunity.”

  D calmed down himself and asked, “So, what should I do now?”

  “You retool your web site to include speaking topics, you allow me to sign you up with the agencies, you post new, professional pictures, you interview on more subjects, and you invest some of your own money into this final tour to establish stronger roots with all of the people and places that you’ve been taking for granted.”

  He said, “I see it all the time. Entertainers will travel to fifty different places and make a million dollars without collecting one business card or knowing one name of all the people they met.”

  D heard that and said, “Yeah, but a lot of them people be bullshitters, man. I don’t have time for that. You always got somebody in your ear when you travel.”

  “And it’s all about sifting through the right ones,” his lawyer insisted. “But now you don’t have a choice but to see your own future. Even if you sign with a new publisher, this is your name on these books,” his lawyer told him, holding up one of DeWayne old titles. “So you have to relearn how to push, market, pitch and brand you always. So I view this as a good thing, while you still have good money coming in. They owe you three more checks, royalties, and you can always buy your own books to sell for a profit. So I don’t see this as a bad thing at all. It’s economic education at the right time. And just like you worked to sell your books, you have to work to sell you.”

  D looked across the table and thought, This motherfucker. He want me to go back out here and pay for all of marketing this shit, and do all this work again, just to speak at colleges and shit . . . Damn!

  D was attempting to be cheap, but there was no way around him reinvesting in himself. And he had to thank his lawyer for being honest enough to tell him. He had come to depend on the white man’s paycheck.

  Ain’t this a bitch! he told himself. I’m right back out here on my ass.

  “So, that’s it now, huh? No more white man’s umbrella for the rain.”

  “You buy your own damn umbrella, you got the money,” his lawyer snapped. “What the hell are you talking about?” He was finally showing a little bit of annoyance.

  D chuckled and said, “Yeah, I hear you, man. I know what I gotta do,” he admitted.

  The white man just got longer money, he mused. What if I fail at all this other shit? Then what?

  His lawyer told him, “You can’t panic, DeWayne. That’s what they expect you to do now. They don’t expect you to take it as a lesson and build on it. So you have to teach yourself to be strong again, as strong as you were when you were broke and hustling books on your own.”

  D told him, “That wasn’t strong man, that was panic. I didn’t have shit else to do. But what I look like now, going back to that? I would look like a failure. And the readers are all buying other people’s books now anyway.”

  His lawyer grinned and said, “That’s why I’m trying to get you to upgrade what you do, black man. When you can no longer play the game like you used to, then you turn around and you coach it, you teach it, you consult on it. That’s what I’m trying to get you to do. Then you become respected as one who played the game and then coached the game.”

  He said, “But if you keep hanging around like Brett Favre and Terrell Owens, trying to jump on a new team to keep it going every year, it just starts to look silly after awhile. So you have to know when to make a transition and become a part of the game in another capacity. That’s what we all have to learn how to do in life. Either that, or change your profession all together.”

  When DeWayne walked out of his lawyer’s Manhattan office on that hot afternoon in his suit jacket and tie and dress shoes, he still felt conflicted. He understood how privileged he had been to make a living through writing books. It had been a real blessing, especially after coming out of jail with a criminal record. And he understood the prospect of now coaching the game instead of being in it.

  But what if I still want to write? I still have some good shit to tell? he asked himself. So what do I do about that?

  As he walked through the crowd of native New Yorkers, travelers and tourists who all walked around him, he couldn’t help but feel the heavy weight of a blessed career that was ending before he felt ready for it to.

  “Damn,” he mumbled to himself. “I had it fucking good out here.”

  But I ain’t giving up yet, he told himself. Fuck that! I still got a career.

  “Hey aren’t you umm, Double D McDonald?” a group of black girls asked him in their early twenties. They looked like college students.

  He smiled and nodded to them. “Yeah, that’s me. I didn’t think people could recognize me in a suit,” he joked. “I thought I’d be incognito.”

  They laughed and said, “No, it looks nice on you. We love your books. When is the next one coming out?”

  “In two weeks,” he told them. “It might be in some stores sooner than that. It’s called A Real G Never Dies.”

  “Oh, okay. We’ll get it when it comes out.”

  “Thanks, I need that. And buy two of ’em,” he joked. But he wasn’t joking. And he walked away smiling.