Epilogue
When Olivia walksinto Estelle’s big corner office, Estelle is sitting behind her desk, dabbing at her eyes with a hankie and sniffling.
On the desk’s blotter, the manuscript is open to the final page.
Filled with sudden dread, Olivia stops short. In all the years they’ve known each other, she’s never seen her agent cry. “Please tell me you loved the book and those are tears of happiness. I’d hate to think I took the train all the way to Manhattan just so you could fire me in person.”
Blowing her nose into an embroidered handkerchief, Estelle waves her in. The motion makes her gray beehive wobble. “Sit down. Oy. Let me get myself together.” She blows her nose again, honking like a goose. Then she tosses the handkerchief into the top drawer of her desk, removes a mirrored compact, flips it open, and heaves a sigh at her reflection.
“You’ve wrecked my face. Look at me. I’m a raccoon.”
Settling into the comfortable leather chair opposite Estelle’s, Olivia smiles. “Could be worse. You could look like Alice Cooper. At least raccoons are cute.”
“Cute?” Estelle scoffs, swiping at her cheeks. “Don’t they carry the plague?”
“You’re thinking of squirrels.”
Estelle shudders, closing the compact and placing it back inside the drawer. “I can’t stand squirrels. They scare me. Those beady eyes and stumpy arms. They look like furry little T-Rexes.”
“Are we going to talk about the manuscript or your fear of cute rodents?”
With a dramatic exhalation, Estelle flops back into her captain’s chair, dangles her arms over the sides, and looks at Olivia with watery red eyes. “Yes, we’re going to talk about the manuscript. And I’m going to start by saying this: you’re evil! Evil, you hear me?”
Olivia knows this is good news. The more Estelle carries on about what an awful person she is, the more she loved the book.
“Oh, gawd, what am I doing?” Estelle cries, jumping up from her chair. “I didn’t even give you a hug yet!”
She rounds the desk, teetering in sky-high heels. She’s wearing vintage Chanel—a pink suit today—three ropes of pearls, and her glasses on a chain around her neck. Even with the heels and beehive, she doesn’t reach five feet tall.
Olivia rises. They hug. Then Estelle pulls away, holds her at arms’ length, and pronounces, “You’re a terrible human being. How could you do that to me?”
“Don’t take it personally. I’m doing it to everyone else, too.”
Estelle throws her hands in the air. “When I got to the part where they’re in the garden in Provence and the heroine looks at the calendar, I thought I’d die!”
Laughing, Olivia, shakes her head. “I think you exaggerate more than I do.”
“I’m not exaggerating, you awful person. I literally gasped out loud. Then when she woke up in the psychiatric hospital, I screamed. Scared the crap out of my secretary. I almost peed my pants, and that would’ve been a real tragedy.”
She points at her beautifully tailored Chanel slacks. “If I had, I would’ve sent you the dry cleaning bill. You monster! And don’t get me started on the final chapter. That scene at the end where they’re reunited in the rain—Christ on a crutch, Olivia, if you hadn’t walked in when you did, I’d be lying facedown on the floor at this very moment, sobbing into the carpeting.”
Thrilled by her agent’s reaction, Olivia grins. “You’re really earning your commission right now, you know that?”
Estelle gives her a friendly push. “I should get a raise for the trauma you just put me through. Now sit down and let’s talk. I’ve got a few things I think we should address before I send it out.”
While Olivia sits, Estelle closes her office door then crosses to an elegant antique breakfront on the other side of the room. She swings open a cabinet on the bottom half and removes a bottle of Blanton’s and two crystal glasses. Closing the cabinet with a bump of her hip, she crosses back to her desk, sits, and pours two fingers of bourbon into each glass.
As she pours, she muses, “Do you know why I love you?”
Olivia thinks about it for a moment. “Because I make you so much money?”
“Ha. Yes, of course. Other than that.”
“I’m stumped.”
Estelle caps the bottle, sets it aside, and pushes one of the glasses across her desk toward Olivia. “Because you’re the only other person I know who thinks it’s reasonable to drink bourbon at eleven o’clock on a Tuesday morning.” She lifts her glass in a toast. “Here’s to day drinking.”
Olivia picks up her glass and smiles. “Drinking bourbon during the day doesn’t make you an alcoholic. It makes you a pirate.”
Estelle makes a squinty face and says, “Arrrggh!”
Olivia lifts her brows. “Is that supposed to be a pirate impression? Because it was awful.”
“What am I, starring in a Broadway production of Pirates of the Caribbean? Obviously not. Acting isn’t my strong suit.”
She gazes lovingly at the manuscript, resting a hand atop. “Books are my strong suit, doll, and this one’s a gem.”
They spend a while catching up on their personal lives, then move onto business. They discuss the various editors Estelle is thinking of sending the manuscript to, how much of an advance she’s planning to ask for when they get an offer to publish it, and other details. After more than a decade long partnership, Estelle has successfully sold all of Olivia’s books. She knows this one will get an offer fast.