"The Two-Way Mirror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Grayson Roger)

Chapter 2

Karl Fletcher was somewhere in his early forties, Karen decided. He was rather short, perhaps a couple of inches taller than her five-five, and he was overly puffy about the middle, but he dressed with taste and the expensive cut of his clothes hid it well. He had the fat man's second, almost third chin, small wet, colorless eyes and a tiny, babyish mouth that seemed constantly engaged in a rather simpering smile. It was like a dimple in the center of his pink, cherubic face… not exactly the date of her choice, she mused, but she was quite thrilled and pleased when he told her they were going to the Hearthstone.

The place was an exclusive dinner-house noted for its catering to celebrities and patrons of the arts and Karen was quite excited when he pointed out this one and that one, exchanged recognized noble with others, and finally introduced her to the handsome, noted literary agent, Nathan Brendell.

"A pleasure, Miss Wilson," Brendell said, his square face caught in a warm smile, his deep grey eyes appraising her in several sweeping, up and down, glances. He was tall and broad, muscular and slightly white at the temples, a striking man of obvious confidence and dominating personality, probably in his fifties, she thought, as she felt his discerning eyes strip her appreciatively.

Karen felt like squirming beneath his almost obvious lecherous gaze, and diverted her own eyes to the much younger, attractive dark-eyed woman with him, less she commence to blush. The woman smiled, intuitively, it seemed to Karen, as if she understood. She said, "Better come along Nat. I think Parker is motioning that he has our table."

"Yes… yes, of course, dear," replied Brendell, a slight ring of irritation to his voice. "Look here, young lady, if Fletcher doesn't take good care of you on this book of yours, drop around to my office, eh?"

Karen smiled. "Thank you… I'll remember that, Mr. Brendell."

They went off and Karl Fletcher cleared his throat. "A regular damned pirate, that one," he said. "A lusty one too, I'll tell you that."

"Was that his wife with him?" Karen questioned.

"Yes. Muriel Standard, the British actress of a few years ago. Didn't you recognize her?"

"I thought she looked very familiar to me," said Karen. "Now I remember… of course. Beautiful, isn't she…"

"Yes… I suppose so, in that strict English way," he agreed, leaning an elbow onto their table and peering at her through the candle-light. "But personally, I prefer blondes with deep hazel eyes."

Karen managed a smile. She raised her martini to her lips. He said: "You know, you're ravishing with hair upswept that way, Karen… may I call you Karen?"

She nodded. "If you like." There was a little sheen of oiliness that had oozed from the pores of his pug nose, causing it to glisten in the flickering light. Subconsciously, it made Karen wonder about her own. "About the book, Mr. Fletcher…"

He started to speak just as the tall brunette in flowing white silk appeared, the immaculate white collie dog she led moving slowly into the plush, wine-carpeted room. Karen had witnessed spectaculars of sorts before, but this entrance had whipped her breath away. The girl… woman was absolutely stunning. She held her head high, almost regally, and her skin was the hue of ivory. Her breasts, in fact, her entire body, were suggestively visible beneath the gown she wore, and Karen was certain she could detect the black pubic hair of her mons veneris. She was stunning… absolutely stunning…

"Claudia! Darling… so nice to see you," Fletcher said, leaping to his feet and going to her.

She smiled and it was something of a celestial event itself, Karen thought.

"How are you, Fletcher? I see you sold another dull book into movie trivia," she said, speaking in a husky but soft and controlled voice that inspired an envious tremor to move through Karen.

"I want you to meet someone," Karl Fletcher said, his little mouth wide in a smile. He caught her hand and led her the several feet. "This is Karen Wilson who has just completed a magnificent book, Claudia… undoubtedly a best seller."

"Undoubtedly," the woman remarked, sweeping her onyx eyes away from him and onto Karen in a rapid softening warmth. "I'm Claudia Gray, my dear. This is Splender." She drew the animal back and it actually bowed, touching its long nose to the floor. "If this beast tries to exploit you, I'll be glad to read your work," she said coolly.

Karen had not spoken. She felt stupid, as if she had been rendered dumb of a sudden. The girl-woman was an apparition, and the vision had bewitched her. Karen gaped as Parker, the captain, stumbled and nearly fell getting to her.

"Who… who is she?" she managed.

Karl Fletcher almost sighed. "A remarkable woman in our world," he said, sitting down slowly as he watched her and the animal being led to a secluded table. "I know of no one with her influence in the studios. Really, none of us knows anything about her… except that she's a remarkable agent… and woman."

"Yes… I can see about the woman part."

Suddenly, his mind had come back to her, his little wet eyes seemingly inspired by what they had just engorged themselves upon.

"You were saying, Mr. Fletcher…?"

"Karl," he corrected, smiling. Then he grew serious. "Yes… well now, I think we should get right to the meat of this publishing situation, Karen. No use of me stringing you along one way or the other, is there?"

"I-I'd prefer you didn't," Karen said. She had experienced a little let-down at his words. So, here it comes, she thought, watching him as he carefully selected his approach.

"Frankly, your book is good. As I said on the phone, there are a few things, but all minor… a couple of character flaws and a little plot weakness in one or two spots, but in general, good, my dear… damned good."

"Then, you feel you can sell it for me?"

"Oh, I don't doubt for a minute that I can sell it… once we've ironed out those weak points," he said, his small eyes scrutinizing her carefully. "But you must remember, my dear… first books are notoriously bad risks for publishers, and bring little remuneration to their authors other than satisfaction." He simpered. "I mean, without a name, who wants to read you?"

Karen tasted her martini. "Everyone has to start somewhere, Mr. Fletcher…"

Karl, he corrected again.

"Besides… Karl, I don't have to make a fortune from it… not did I hope to…"

"I don't believe you're grasping my full meaning, dear," he said with a shake of his head. Then, he raised his hand, gesturing to their waiter.

"Two martinis, Henry." To her: "Look at it this way… why not a best-seller right off the bat? It could be, you know, with just a little work, and no disrespect, darling… but with a little professional know-how… I mean, first book, best seller… what follows? Movie rights, of course… and from there, fame and fortune… are you with me?"

"You lost me right after two martinis, Henry," Karen said, smiling.

Karl Fletcher laughed warmly. "It's a business, Karen," he said, leaning closer onto the table. "A great big fat money business. When and if the publisher buys your book he is only concerned with how much money he is going to make from it. He has to be. When and if the agent takes you on as a client, he is only concerned in your remunerative power… his commission is how he makes his living. Look, every day I read first novels some of them damned good, too, but I won't waste my time with them. Why not? I can't afford to waste my time for the meager return…"

Henry brought their drinks. It gave her a moment to think. He was shill talking in big circles, but slowly centering in toward his point. Karen ran her tongue over the edge of her pretty lower lip. She was convinced that she already knew what he was getting to. She lifted her glass and cut deeply into its liquid content. The question was, how badly did she want this success she had been chasing since God knows when? How bad? Badly… that was how bad. Bad enough? Yes, she thought, looking around her at this pleasing, fulfilling, immediate representation of fame and fortune… bad enough… more than anything else she could possibly think of… and then, momentarily, she thought of Jeff…

"Darling, you're a big girl now, as they say." Karl Fletcher brought her back to the reality of the moment. "Who am I to try and kid you. There's a little old saying that hits the nail right on the head in this small and limited world of art… and it goes like this… it's not what you know… but who you sleep with."

So, there it was! "Whom," she corrected automatically.

"What's that?"

Karen laughed. The martinis had produced a pleasant glow that seemed to round off all the sharp edges. She felt the atmosphere keenly, as if she belonged. Music, the soft, singing lilt of violins in some romantic strain she could not place rained down over her like a snowfall of stardust. Even Karl Fletcher assumed imaginative proportions before her.

Suddenly, he said: "The question is, darling… how badly do you want success?"

Karen smiled beautifully, sensuously… almost seductively. "Badly," she replied in her soft, throaty voice. "Very badly, Karl… darling."