Baumgartner generations: Janie

Josh shrugged, standing up and holding his coffee mug, sipping slowly, still watching me. I stared thoughtfully at my dessert-for-breakfast, contemplative.

"What can an agent do for me I can't do for myself?"

I’d tried pretty hard in the couple years, since moving in with Ronnie and TJ, to get published. I had a stack of rejection letters shamefully shoved under my desk blotter to prove it. I’d almost decided give up and start writing porn instead of erotica-there was always a paying market for that stuff in Hustler or Forum. Either that, or I was going to have to start writing about vampires-very handsome, sparkly ones with Victorian-era names and lots of teenage angst.

TJ knew people and had put me in touch with a few agents, but I thought Jim Carrey was right. Agents followed the money and I hadn’t made any. None of the ones I’d talked to thought I really had the potential to make enough for them, was my guess.

Erotica was a niche market, and I wasn’t going to make any real money there. Everyone said so. None of the agents TJ put me in touch with would even look at my writing after I said the word “erotica.”

“First of all, an agent keeps you out of the slush pile.” Josh interrupted my thoughts and winced at the words. Every aspiring writer dreaded the slush pile-that huge slushy pile of unsolicited manuscripts sent in by unknown authors looking to be published. “And to tell you the truth, a lot of the big houses stopped doing slush after 9/11 and the anthrax scare. The playing field has narrowed. Considerably.”

“But it still happens…” I put my chocolate cannoli down, suddenly feeling queasy.

“People still win the lottery, too.” Josh laughed, but it wasn’t funny. He reached over and put his hand on my arm, meeting my eyes. “Look, an agent will get you in the door. An agent will get you a fair and fast read, which is all an author can really ask for, and if your book is accepted, an agent will get you a better money deal, hands down.

That’s what an agent can do for you.”

I frowned. "Are you a good agent?"

He smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Are you a good writer?"

"I'm very good.” I looked down at his hand on my arm and back up at him.

He nodded. "So am I."

The intercom buzzed and we both jumped.

“Car’s ready,” Josh said, as if I hadn’t heard the doorman say so. “Do you have everything?”

I shrugged. I hadn’t come with much. I stood, opening his robe and taking it off.

“Here. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He slung it over his arm, looking across the bar at me. “Tell you what, let me give you my card.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

He was already opening a kitchen drawer, taking out a white card and a pen and sliding it across to me. “Go ahead and write down your phone number and email on the back.”

I hesitated, frowning, pen in hand. “I don’t know…”

“What have you got to lose?” He opened the drawer, taking out another card. “I mean, I’ve already seen you naked.”

I blushed and laughed, writing both my cell and email on the card and sliding it back to him.

“Here, take this one.” He scribbled something on the back. “That’s my personal email.”

“Thanks.” I zipped it up inside my purse. “I guess I better go.”

“I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

It was just around the corner and down the hall, and I didn’t bother with my shoes, carrying them in one hand.

“That really is a great dress,” Josh remarked as he pushed the button. The doors opened immediately and he held them for me. “I can see why Catherine brought you home.”

“Tell her I said…” Yikes. What should I say? I cringed, feeling awkward. “Tell her I said goodbye.”

He nodded. “Goodbye to you, too, Just-Janie. Nice meeting you.”

“Bye, Josh.” I gave him a little wave as the doors closed before leaning against the back wall of the elevator and letting out a huge pent-up breath.

I quickly dug out my phone, flipping it open to scroll through messages, seeing Lil’s last one first:

OMG THE NITE I HAD! W8 TIL U HEAR!

You’re not the only one, I thought, smiling and thinking of my unexpected night with Catherine-and my even more surprising morning encounter with her husband.

What were the odds of a writer meeting her future agent after spending the night having sex with his wife? I wondered. Those were long odds, I figured. Crazy-odds. The kind of odds Vegas wouldn’t even let you bet on.

Those were lottery-winning odds. And strangely, that’s just what it felt like, seeing Josh’s card tucked away in my purse-like I’d won the lottery. I just wasn’t quite sure yet exactly what my prize might be.

* * * *

I tried to sneak in as quietly as I could. It was still early and I was hoping, since it was a Sunday, everyone, including Beth, would still be sleeping.