GLASSINESS

Full story originally appeared in The Puritan.

I am on the phone with Loel, arguing semi-seriously about whether crystal meth is passé, when the buzzer buzzes. I tell Loel this discussion is not over, and let the deliverymen up.

Though there is no sender specified on the confirmation form, the stencil on the enormous crate’s lid indicates shipping from Lendava—a giveaway as to its origins. The deliverymen ask if there’s anywhere specific I’d like it placed. Floor of the downstairs office is fine, I tell them. So that’s where it goes, flush against a bookshelf, the heavy plywood scuffing the floorboards.

I picture Tawny, prancing through Slovenian vineyards, awing sycophantic students from Tuscaloosa and Regina with her every adage, chuckling privately at her prank’s extravagance.

Prying open the crate will require a crowbar, which I lack. And I have a lunch appointment within the hour, so all will have to wait.

Goddamn Tawny.

The problem is not in the terms of the rights agreement, which have been updated as per the extension, or the option fee, which is standard. The problem lies in these attached clauses and conditions, appended only in this latest round.

“It’s an intimidation tactic,” Bev says, finishing her iced gin.

“How so?”

She swirls a swizzle stick. “It’s a way of throwing us off our game.”

I am often struck by how Bev, my lawyer, tends to speak in what she evidently thinks are snarly, pointed vows, but come off more like clichés from action movies. We are having drinks at the Verdugo, discussing the latest draft of the rights deal on my first book, Taunting the Edge, delivered late yesterday by Collette from CAA. The actual papers sit on the table between us, ravaged by sticky notes and paper clips like a desiccated lab specimen.

“Loel says a movie represents a betrayal to my readership,” I say.

“Loel says a lot of things. What’s crucial here is the endgame.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

I am drinking white tea with brown sugar, which is probably not great for my dental work, which has been expensive and grueling. This is the sort of guilt I try to enjoy.

“Look, Jaybz,” Bev says, “we can pull the pin on this. Or we can go full throttle. But you gotta call it in. It’s on you.”

“I really don’t know what that means.”

Read the rest here.