Stephen Dixon - Friends - More Will and Magna Stories

“I believe you believe it, but just a little of me says you feel you have to believe it. Anyway, goodnight, you lucky dog. And forget about dinner together with Lilly — that would be impossible now. If you want to see her, arrange it for yourself. In fact, this should probably be the last time we speak to each other for a long while, unless there’s something important — even borrowing my car if you really need it — that I can do for either of you in some way.” She hangs up.

He calls up a bookstore and says “Do you have a book by the name of Forewarned by William Taub?” The man who answers says “Who’s the publisher?” and Will tells him and the man says “Just a second.” He goes, comes back and says “No, we haven’t got it but I can order it for you,” and Will says “I need a copy right away as a present, but thanks.”

He calls another bookstore and says “Do you have a book called Forewarned by someone named Taub or something — I suppose that’s his last name. The publisher is South Street Press.” The woman who answers says “Fiction, nonfiction?” and he says “Fiction — a novel or collection of novellas I think. Anyway, one of those, and in hardcover.” She says “I never know what we have around here, let me check,” and goes, comes back and says “His name’s William Taub, it’s a novel, and we don’t have it. Like me to get a copy for you?” and he says “No thanks — I don’t need it immediately. I’ll drop by in a few days and if there’s a copy there, I’ll buy it then.”

He calls another bookstore and says “Do you have the newest novel by William Taub? Though maybe he goes by William E. Taub as he did with his first novel, but I guess it doesn’t make a difference.” “What’s the book’s title?” and he says “I don’t know but thought you might if I just gave you his name. I know the book’s out though, from a South Street Press — maybe a month ago, maybe a month and a half. You have a way of looking up the title if you have the author’s name?” and she says “In a supplementary publication called Forthcoming Books if it’s not in the main one Books in Print . Can you hold on?” She comes back and says “Forewarned— that should be the one. Are you interested in buying it?” “Yes, do you have it?” and she says “No, but we could special-order it, which would mean an additional charge of fifty cents. It’s from a fast distributor, so should be here by tomorrow or the day after at the latest.” “I’ll be in,” he says and she says “What’s your name so I can put it aside for you?” “Oh, I’ll be in, don’t worry,” and hangs up.

He calls another bookstore and says “There’s a new book I was asked to get— Foreshadowed or Forearmed or something like that — I know it has a fore with the hyphen at the beginning of the one-word title and an e-d at the end. I’m afraid I’m going to make it a little tough for you today, because I also don’t have the author’s name or his or her publisher.” “Forearmed?” the woman says. “Foreshadowed? Doesn’t strike anything familiar. Maybe someone else here has heard of it.” She says away from the phone “You know of a new book, no author or publisher given, called Forearmed or Foreshadowed or Fore- something else perhaps?” The person she speaks to says something and she gets back on the phone and says “Could it be by William or Warren Taub and the publisher South Street Press? The manager here says she remembers from their catalogue or their salesman’s sales pitch a book with a title close to that by an author with a name similar to one of the ones I gave you.” “I don’t know. I was told it’s a novel — I forgot to tell you that — and to pick it up for a friend, but that’s all.” “Well, if it’s here — no, the manager just waved to me we don’t have it — she went through both the new fiction and nonfiction shelves. If you want I could get it for you in a few days.” “Maybe I’ll try another store first, because this person really wanted the book quickly, and if let’s say two more don’t have it I’ll call back and order it from you.”

He calls another bookstore and says “Do you have a book by W. E. Taub? I don’t know if that’s a woman or a man — I assume it’s a woman because of the initials — but the title is something like Forenoon or Foretaste . Maybe the last one can’t be it. Anyway, it’s a novel, or collection of stories, but fiction, and new, and the publisher I’m sure is South Street Press, not one I’ve heard of but maybe you have.” “Oh yes,” the man says, “—a very good publisher.” “Good. Anyway, it just came out, this book, and because of its theme, which apparently applies to what I’m working on now, or at least this person who told me about it thought so, I was told to get it.” “I do remember seeing something written up in one of the publishing weeklies, I think, about a book called Forewarned —could that be the one?” “Forewarned . Yes, that’s it — you have it?” “Let me check.” He comes back. “We don’t have it. I could easily put in an order for a copy — even send it to you if you have an account here or if you want to pay for it through a credit card and it’s one we honor.” “I don’t have an account with you and I let my credit card lapse. Can you do me one more favor and tell me the price of the book and if W. E. Taub is the author’s right name?” “I’d have to look that up.” Will says nothing. “This might take a couple of minutes,” and he goes, comes back, says “It’s William Taub. And sixteen ninety-five, for a hardbound, which isn’t bad for today. Probably around a hundred-sixty to a hundred-eighty pages.” “But you don’t have it in stock,” and the man says “If we did, believe me there’s no reason I’d hold it back from you.” “That’s really too bad. You see, I’ve tried around and every bookstore seems to know of the book and says there’s been a demand for it — or at least some people have asked about it — but no store so far has it. You’ve any idea why that is?” “Perhaps they’re all just about to receive it after having put orders in some time ago. Or else they had copies and they all recently ran out of them because of some television or print coverage of the book or a major book review or some kind of publicity, though I’m unaware of anything like that.” “Maybe South Street’s a particularly slow publisher in getting its books to the stores.” “Not from my experiences with them, but I do know we haven’t ordered any copies of this book. It would be on this list I have in front of me now. One more thing. If you do order from us, you’ll have to come in and pre-pay by cash or send us a money order for the exact amount.” “I could do that myself through the publisher, couldn’t I?” and the man says “I suppose so, but it’ll take two weeks to a month longer to get it that way. And by ordering direct from the publisher you’ll also have to pay the mailing costs of a dollar or more. But do what you want, sir, please.”

He calls another bookstore and says “I was in last week for a new book by William Taub, called Forewarned , from South Street Press. You didn’t have a copy then, so I wondered if you might have got it in by now.” “Did you speak to me aboutit,” the woman says, “because sometimes the books come in and they’re not on the shelves yet.” “No, I didn’t speak to anyone. I just looked, didn’t see, and left.” “Let me see if we have it,” and she yells out “Henrietta, check if Forewarned by Taub in the — what category is it?” she asks Will. “Fiction, reference, history?” and he says “A novel. Thin. About two hundred pages. With a painting on the cover by Anselm Morand of an empty white room — maybe you know of it — empty except for two easy chairs, which have a just-sat-in look, and a lit fireplace in it.” “No, I don’t know that one by Morand. — In the fiction section,” she yells out. Then to Will: “We don’t have it, nor it seems have we ordered it. Would you like me to order a copy for you?” and he says “Truth is I’d like two copies, one for me, one for a friend. Can you get them in a relatively short time?” “I can if you pay for them first. You know, we’ve had miserable luck ordering books which the customers then don’t come in to pay for or pick up or even bother to inform us that they’re not interested in the book anymore. Very often it’s the author himself who orders these books, or relatives or good friends of the author. That’s just my assumption, of course, but one borne out from what other bookstores have told me. You’re not this William Taub or a blood relative or good friend of his, are you? No, of course you’re not — just joking. Would you like me to place that order for two copies? You’ll have to come in and pay by cash, as I said, or else give me your credit card number over the phone if you’d prefer doing it that way.” “No, I’ll take my chances that another store has the book, but thank you.”