Selena Kitt - Baumgartner generations - Janie

Beth is seven. She’s in second grade. And I guess there's another one on the way now…"

My voice trailed off. I’d almost forgotten-Ronnie was going to have a baby. It still wasn’t real to me.

"Do you like it?" He reached over and grabbed the pot of coffee to top off his cup.

"Sure." I held my mug out for more, too. "I mean, I don't want to do it forever, but…" I shrugged.

"So what do you want to do?" He poured more aromatic, deep, rich coffee goodness into my cup, and I licked my lips in anticipation.

"I'm a writer."

"Ah." He replaced the coffee pot, nodding. “Of course.”

"What does that mean?" I eyed him over my mug, breathing in the scent. It was nirvana.

He shrugged. "Well you know, it's New York. Everyone's a writer or an actor…"

I took a sip, even though it was too hot and burned my tongue a little. "What do you do?"

"I'm an agent."

“Aha!” I wagged my finger at him. "So not everyone's a writer or an actor.”

“Well, someone has to represent all the talent.” He straightened and went to the fridge, opening it and pulling out a white box. “Are you hungry?” I groaned when he put the box on the counter and opened it. Inside were the most delicate, delicious-looking pastries I’d ever seen, some of them decadently drizzled in chocolate, others with raspberry or strawberry or lemon.

“I don’t want to puke.” I reached across the bar anyway and snagged a puffy chocolate-covered thing.

“I don’t blame you.” He picked something with lemon on top and popped it into his mouth. “So, what do you write?"

"Little bit of everything.” My mouth was full of pastry as I said it-oh my god, it so rich and buttery and scrumptious! I already wanted another one. "But lately…I mean, what I really like to write…"

I hesitated, taking a big gulp of coffee, overdosing on richness.

"Go on, you can tell me.” He winked and offered the box once more. I indulged again, moaning softly as thick, sweet raspberry ooze flooded over my tongue. “I'm just some guy you'll never see again."

“Erotica." I licked the filling off my lips, catching a drip on my chin with my finger.

His eyes never left me as I waited for his response. I’d never really told anyone before, excerpt for Ronnie and TJ, who occasionally enjoyed private readings.

"I see.” Josh plucked another pastry from the box, something that looked almost like a chocolate-dipped cannoli. “And were you doing research last night?"

I laughed, popping the last of the raspberry-yum into my mouth. "Mystery writers don't have to kill people to write crime books, do they?"

"True enough.” He took half the chocolate thing in one bite as I watched, impressed.

"So who do you represent?" I snuck my hand across to snatch one of those chocolate things. He slid the box so I could reach.

"Are you looking?" His mouth was full and he sounded decidedly Scooby-Doo-like when he asked. It made me laugh.

"Jim Carrey informed me last night that all agents are evil." Oh my god, it was actually a chocolate dipped cannoli! I bit the chocolate coating off the end and sucked at the cream, making little happy noises until I noticed Josh staring at me.

“What?” I licked my lips.

He cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. "You met Jim Carrey at 1 Oak last night?"

"I got his autograph for my brother.” I patted my purse. “His biggest fan and all that."

"You know, if you're serious about being a writer, you're going to need an agent.” He closed the box and I looked at it longingly as it disappeared back into the refrigerator. “We may be evil, but we are, I'm afraid, a necessary one."

I shrugged, licking cream off my fingers. "Lots of people have made it without agents."

"That's a myth." He leaned against the counter, watching me slip my fingers into the soft shell of the cannoli, looking for more cream.

"Of course you'd say that.” I sucked my fingers enthusiastically. “You're an agent."

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.”