A recession had been predicted and within months Lehman Brothers would collapse. AIG and others would follow and I continued to wonder, How will this affect us?
My agent had started submitting my memoir to publishers in October. By December, while I was in Montreal sucking down mussels and champagne, the rejections had started to come in. I read the letters with curiosity, not only because they were referencing my work and thus my high hopes, but also because I'd never been in this position before.
My experience with acceptance and rejection had been grounded in my experience as an actor, where in one swift phone call from my agent I would know:
- 1. if there was interest, and how much
2. no interest/didn't get it
3. got it
The responses to my book, though favorable enough to regard as good reviews, also disclosed that the material "wouldn't be a good fit with our trade market." Other phrases included "not sure how to position" and "not right for our list."
I read and reread: fit, fit, fit.
It seemed I'd built a shoe for the wrong size foot and the news churned inside of me like images from a bad dream. Was everything that had happened last summer an over-the-top exaltation I could never live up to? A fantasy? A delusion?
William said, Don't worry, it'll sell. I know it will.
I said, I have to go home now and I love you and thank you for saying that.
I rubbed my neck as I said this. William wrapped his arms around me and hugged. I would be going home to Los Angeles and he would follow in two weeks.
I scratched my neck. Scratch, scratch.
You know what I miss most when we're apart? I asked.
What?
Laughing. You make me laugh and back home, alone, I don't laugh much.
You're an easy audience, he said.
Maybe yes, maybe no...anyway.
Scratch, scratch.
What the hell is going on with my neck? And I stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Cripes, look at this.
William came in and we both stared at my neck in the reflection. Great red welts cut across my throat as if I'd walked away from an attempted garroting in some murderous thriller.
Are you allergic to the fabric in your turtlenecks?
Yeah. Maybe. Allergic to turtlenecks, that's really common.
On my last morning in Montreal I made breakfast for William, kissed him goodbye and packed last-minute stuff into my suitcase before the taxi came. I took a quick look at the day's news online.
Official. Crisis. Recession.
How will this affect us?
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