Jack and Irene #4

Posted on February 9, 2002

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It had been a long time since I had seen my friends Jack and Irene. And for good reason. They had both split up, and seeing other people. Irene was the former owner of Faranganar Press, a successful fiction and non-fiction publisher. She had sold the business to Steve Case at AOL and after a long hiatus she has entered the world of publicity agentry.

Jack, her soon-to-be ex-husband was a well-known writer of pulp-fiction, but had received his recent fifteen minutes of fame when a children's book he wrote many years ago was made into a movie... giving him national recognition as well as a fair piece of change.

Sitting in the lobby of Mace's Restaurant in Sacramento, I was wondering which of them would show up first. I was troubled that they had separated but it was not the first time, and in the past they had gotten back to together. All of us go back to college days. Irene was once my lover, and Jack once my closest friend... but not at the same time! Over the years and the tears, we all managed to stay in touch.

Irene walked in. I always think that Irene is the sexiest babe on the planet... and whenever I see her, I'm never proven wrong. Last I saw her, she was blonde, but now she is back as an auburn brunette which works so well on her. She had on a white suite, black blouse, and a maroon scarf over her shoulder. Her blouse was unbuttoned down to around Guatemala and her skirt said to everyone that she had been working out in all the right places. Every head turned when she entered the place. Irene is tall, striking and has a way about her that says bedroom. Her 29 inch waist below her 37 inch chest (I know from "first hand" experience) is enough to bring a hush to any room that she enters. If you can imagine Jackie Kennedy merged with Madonna with a touch of Christy Brinkly, you have Irene. Who says women at 45 can't make a good dog break his leash!

"Hey babe, you look great," I said as she came up to me.

"Nothing like the freedom of being back in the meat-market to keep a girl in shape," she replied. "And the five million dollars I got for Faranganar didn't hurt either!"

"It's nice to know rich people," I said not quite knowing how to react. I knew she had made a few bucks off of the sale, but I didn't know that she had serious money. To me, serious money is when I find a quarter in a pay phone!

"We live in the same town, yet we never get together anymore. Of course, I'm on an airplane most of the time. It's been a big roller-coaster since my client's new book was just reviewed. I knew Susan when she was a cowgirl. Now look at her."

The fact that Supreme Court Justice Susan Day O'Connor was her client was not lost on me. What I found interesting was that Irene could give a hoot that the woman was on the Supreme Court. What mattered most was that she was an author.

"How did you get Justice O'Connor to be your client?", I asked.

"Actually she dated Jack many years ago and he introduced me. We became rather close friends. When she moved to Washington she and I got even closer since it's rather hard for any court member to make new friends that are sincere."

"Here comes Jack," I said, seeing Jack Darling come through the double front doors. Jack is what women call a man's man. It's hard to tell if he looks more like a young Clint Eastwood, or an older Sean Connery. I go with James Bond myself, mainly because Jack has the attitude of 007. He's always assured of himself, always impeccably dressed, and always after some tail.

"Irene, you look terrific, doesn't she Al?" he said as he sat down at the table. Of course one would have to ask just exactly WHEN Irene didn't look good. I never understood why Jack was always "catting" around after other babes when he could get naked with one of the world's major babes anytime he wanted. A character flaw, I suppose.

"Jack, you've lost weight and got some new clothes. I didn't think you would ever give up your blue blazer and khaki pants. And the beard? It's terrific. Who is she?"

Jack, who was always Mr. GQ, had forsaken his Brooks Brothers roots and had on his best Neil Diamond look... black leather pants, black shirt, gold chain, and a terrific black sport coat. It set off his salt and pepper hair. You didn't know if his first words would be "shaken not stirred" or "make my day."

"Good to see you both. Irene, you never age. It's been what, six months? You look better than when we got married. Too bad we just can't get along out of bed!"

Somehow I just didn't want to hear about Jack and Irene in bed. I was more interested in remembering when Irene and I shared that venue, even though it was over twenty years ago!

"The book business is in shambles," said Jack. "My publisher is cutting back on royalties, paying them yearly instead of quarterly and is telling me that two of every three books they sell are being returned... with coffee stains and cookie crumbs in them."

"Tell me about it," said Irene. "I'm glad I sold when I did. But being a publicity agent gives me a birds-eye view of what's goin' on... and let me tell you... there is nothing goin' on!. If it weren't for Harry Potter, no one would have anything to read."

"Do you really think it's a shortage of talent and quality?" I asked?

Jack jumped on this. "I know talent when I sleep with it, and let me tell you that the major houses have a huge dearth of it right now. But it's their own fault. They failed to take on young writers and develop them as was the age-old practice, so they are left with authors who come to them with poor writing skills, terrible plots and worse dialogue."

Irene smiled. "Maybe we've dumbed down as far as we can go. I don't know. But the only good stuff I see are from writers of small publishers. Yet those houses don't have the money to do the kind of marketing campaign that is necessary to really "move" a new book."

I ventured an opinion. "Well, perhaps the problem is that so much of the media is concentrated in the hands of so few companies. You have four or five media outlets that are staffed with people who can't read and who don't 'think.' The reality of it is that it's all about money. "

Irene understood. "Well, when I was a publisher, I can tell you that's it was always been about money. But in the last ten years so many publishers have forgotten the role that made them great, which got them great books, and which let them sleep at night knowing that there was something special about book publishing."

"You're right," said Jack as the waitress came up to us for our drink order. "We used to think of ourselves as the 'keeper of the culture' against the ravages and the idiocy of the electronic media. But now look at us. The only things that sell are mindless mystery books, sartorial sex stories, and the endless outpouring of 'secret confession' stories from wanna-be writers or celebrites who can't spell C-A-T without being spotted the C and the T."

"But aren't we just giving the public what it wants?" I asked.

"Let me answer that, but first lets give this young woman our order. Miss, do you know who I am? Are you aware that you are in the presence of a man who is on the rise?"

The blonde waitress, who was about 20 years old and who had legs that went all they way to the floor said, "Yes I saw you on TV. You're the guy in the Viagra commercial."

Jack was stricken... but it was not the first time I'd seen him shot down in flames.

"Sugar, bring me a Manhattan, and Mr. Viagra here some Johnny Walker Blue," said Irene with an air of authority that brains, beauty, and wealth gives you.

"I guess you want your Scotch 'straight up' said the buxom blonde waitress, looking at Jack with a sly smile on her face.

"Bring me a Beefeaters martini on the rocks," I said, hoping to save Jack from having to answer.

Jack looked at the young beauty and simply said "I could have been a contender." It was a classy line and while the honey-haired waitress didn't understand, the rest of us did.

"The public does not know what it wants, but it knows what it's tired of," said Jack as he looked at me. "And I think it's tired of trash. I don't understand why other publishers don't listen to your Rants when you say that now is the time to sell quality fiction."

"I have to agree," said Irene. "The market is saturated with crap. I think that anything that even resembles good writing and solid story-telling will do well.... if the author and publisher can cut through the clutter and get some notice."

"So is that the problem?" I asked? "Are you saying that if made aware of good material that the public will go out and buy it?"

"That's my mission," Irene replied. "I honestly believe that people are looking for good quality fiction as well as history, biography, and even poetry. I think they are tired of every 'me too' book in the non-fiction world. While technical material that is up-to-date will sell, I don't see another 'look-alike' management book, self-help tome, or 'how-to' book making a lot of money."

"Irene, is right. And it's what I'm hoping to cash in on. I'm actually writing a piece of literature. You know. Where the author really thinks about the characters, about the plot, and works hard to weave both together in a style of writing that give the reader a feeling of warmth and understand."

"So you are both saying that there is a paradigm shift going on... that people are not buying books because there is nothing worth buying?"

"Absolutely right," replied Irene. "The world has changed since 9/11. People don't know what they are looking for but I don't think they are looking to escape into the next spy thriller, re-told mystery, or yet another diet book. I think it's a watershed time for anyone who can write."

"And it's a golden opportunity for any publisher who understands that now is the time to publish and push books that up to now would look to be too 'high brow' for the reading public," said Jack. "People are tired of the same old crap between the covers ... in books and bed.... and I think people see that their time is precious and that they want to use it wisely. And another idiotic spy thriller is not going to have the same appeal. If there was ever a time for publishers to get out and push quality material, now is that time."

Our discussion went on and on in much the same vain. It was good to see my old friends again. While Jack lived in San Francisco, Irene had recently moved to Sacramento. She would not tell me why, but I have heard stories about her and a well known CA political figure who has a home here.

When lunch was over and Irene picked up the tab (having a seven figure bank account conveys certain obligations on you!) We all said our good-byes and got up to leave. It was nice to know that while things were different, things were still very much the same. That is good for us. But it's not good for the publishing industry. But maybe that in itself is a good thing.

[Copyright 2002 by Alan N. Canton. This material may be re-published on and Internet listserv or Usenet newsgroup without prior permission by the copyright holder. Any other re-publication is prohibited without express permission of the copyright holder.]

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