Chapter 58: Everyone Named Nora Is Something Else
Random House PublishingEditor's Office
Jack Cerf's expression developed the specific quality of a man watching something he'd carefully arranged rearrange itself without his permission.
Nora had read thirty chapters in the time it had taken them to go around in circles twice, and her verdict was immediate and practical.
"Jack. Stop stalling. The book is good and you know it." She set the manuscript on the arm of the chair. "Adam wants to discuss book distribution rights. That's a normal conversation. The rest of what you've been arguing about is outside normal scope and you both know it."
"Nora, there's a process—"
"Six percent royalty for print distribution," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "First print run no less than fifty thousand copies. Film, television, and gaming rights stay with Adam, but Random House can handle those negotiations — and take thirty percent of whatever deal they close. That's a fair commission for deal-making, and it gives Random House real incentive to negotiate well."
Cerf looked at her.
"Thirty percent operating commission on adaptation deals," Adam said. "I can work with that."
He meant it. The six percent he'd suggested earlier had been a pointed joke — he'd understood perfectly well that nobody negotiates on your behalf for six percent. Thirty was realistic. It gave Random House genuine skin in the game, which meant their incentives aligned with his.
Nora had cut through an hour of circular argument in about ninety seconds.
Cerf sighed in the way of a man accepting a situation. "First print run of ten thousand. Not fifty. A fantasy novel of this type with an unknown author — the risk is significant."
Nora looked at Adam.
"How long is the full first volume?"
"About seven hundred pages," Adam said.
Cerf winced slightly. "That's two standard novels. At that length, the price point goes up — call it fifty dollars retail. Ten thousand copies first run. We test the market, see how it moves."
Adam calculated quickly. Ten thousand copies at fifty dollars, six percent royalty — roughly thirty thousand dollars before taxes, which was a livable number for a college student in New York, at least for a while.
He'd remember later about the tax rate, and the memory would be unpleasant.
"Ten thousand first run," Adam agreed.
"Linda," Cerf said, pressing the intercom. His assistant appeared. "Two standard contracts, the terms we just agreed on." He repeated them clearly. She nodded and left.
She returned with the contracts. Cerf reviewed them briefly and slid them across the desk.
Adam picked them up and read through the first page. The terms appeared to match what they'd agreed on, but he'd been in enough conversations today to understand that appearing correct and being correct were different things.
"Can I take these to review before signing?"
Cerf's expression flickered. "Of course."
Adam folded the contracts carefully, put them in his bag, and stood. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Cerf."
"I'll walk out with you," Nora said, gathering her things.
Outside Random House — Sixth Avenue
The afternoon had cooled slightly. New York in early fall had a quality that the summer didn't — something more purposeful in the air.
"Thank you," Adam said, meaning it. "You didn't have to do that."
"I remember what it felt like," Nora said simply. "First book. Someone across the desk who knows exactly how much leverage they have."
They walked a half block before she asked: "Plans tonight?"
"Welcome party at Columbia."
"Your son — is he at Columbia too?"
"No, NYU." She smiled. "Different school, same city. I'll see him tomorrow."
A pause.
"The party welcome freshmen?" she asked.
Adam looked at her. She was composed, genuinely curious, traveling alone, clearly comfortable in her own company but apparently not opposed to company.
"You'd be welcome," he said.
Nora considered this for about two seconds. "All right. Why not."
They walked toward the subway.
Adam thought about what she'd said earlier — about her marriage, the way it had ended, the life she'd constructed afterward. Free movement, new places, no permanent pause for anyone. It had the sound of something hard-won rather than simply chosen.
He thought also about a fictional character with the same name — a woman of considerable romantic history and zero regrets, who treated life as a series of interesting chapters rather than a single continuous story.
The comparison was imperfect. But both versions of the name had a quality he respected: they knew exactly what they were doing and had made peace with it.
"What made you start writing?" he asked.
Nora smiled at the sidewalk. "The same thing that makes everyone start. Something I needed to understand."
"Did it help?"
"It always does," she said. "Even when it doesn't answer the question."
End of Chapter 58
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