Envy Mass Market

“How clever of you, Daniel.”

“No. If I’d been clever I wouldn’t have been duped at the start. You’re very good at the masquerade, Noah. Exceptional. You’ve also proved your mettle as a businessman and publisher. I had admired your abilities long before you came to Matherly Press. Like Maris, I was impressed by The Vanquished, and wrongly assumed that only a person with integrity could author a book of matching integrity.”

Noah folded his arms across his chest and smiled as he enunciated, “It’s fiction, Daniel. It wasn’t by accident that I wrote The Vanquished from that humble, hillbilly-righteous point of view. I created characters with high-minded ideals, not because I adhere to them, or even believe in them, but because I know that’s what sells books. The average Joe and Judy want to believe that valorous people do exist, that evil can be overcome by good, that virtue is a reward unto itself. They get off on that kind of bullshit.

“The Vanquished was bloated with the sentimental, southern sappiness that my parents spoon-fed me. I was forced to stomach it when I was growing up. So I used it. I poured it all into that novel so I could close the cover on it and leave it there forever.

“The dewy-eyed heroine,” he continued scornfully. “The flawed but valiant hero. Their blood-stirring, star-crossed love story. Every word of it was tripe disguised by pretty prose. It didn’t mean shit to me, excep

t for the royalties it earned and the reviews that brought me to the attention of publishers and ultimately paved the way into your office.”

“Why ultimately to me?”

“Because, Daniel, you were the only supremely successful publisher with a marriageable daughter, who, to my good fortune, had gone on record claiming that The Vanquished was her favorite book.”

Even knowing Noah’s true nature, Daniel was stunned by this declaration. “You freely confess to being that callous? Is that how you honestly feel about your profession, about people, and life in general?”

“And then some.”

Daniel shook his head sadly. “Such a sad waste of talent.”

“Come on, Daniel. Let’s not weep over my hypocrisy. We publish a gritty police series that’s written by a flaming fag. He takes breaks from writing about his tough, heterosexual hero to get fucked up the ass by his young assistant. One of our religious book authors has been convicted of tax evasion and insurance fraud.

“Hypocrisy? On your Christmas party list are several hopeless alcoholics, a brother-and-sister writing team whose oh-so-close relationship would scandalize the mothers who read their books aloud to their children. We publish one cocaine addict for whom you’ve footed the bill of a rehab clinic at least twice that I know of.

“All of them write very good books, and we publish them. I don’t see you getting squeamish over their addictions and aberrations when the profits come rolling in. Those profits pay for your weekly massages, and this house, and chauffeured limousines, and all the other niceties you pompously enjoy up there in your ivory tower.”

“You’ve made your point,” Daniel conceded angrily. “I’ve never denied keeping an eye on the bottom line. I pride myself on having been a good businessman. I’ve fought countless corporate battles against unscrupulous foes and outlasted economic crises that naysayers predicted could not be withstood.

“And yes, there have been times when, for the good of Matherly Press, I’ve had to be disingenuous. I’ve resorted to guile when I felt it was necessary.” His eyes pierced through the darkness separating them. “That’s why I was able to detect it in you, Noah. And once I got a whiff of it, it became obvious to me that you reek of it.”

Noah crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned indolently against the newel post. He looked over the sheets in his hand, although he couldn’t have actually been reading them. Except for flashes of lightning, it was too dark to read. “I’ll admit that some of this is less than flattering.”

Daniel wondered how much he knew. Was this only the initial report? He couldn’t remember what had been committed to paper and what the investigator had told him over the telephone that morning, promising that he would receive a written update as soon as it was available.

Noah said, “If you believe this, I’m a wretched human being. I actually admire your ability to keep a civil tongue when speaking to me.”

“It hasn’t been easy.”

“No, I suppose not. I assume you’re most upset over my traitorous alliance with WorldView?”

Daniel chose not to disabuse him. Better to let him continue entertaining his misconceptions. “I can forgive that before I can forgive your mistreatment of Maris.”

“She knows, by the way,” he said placidly, dropping the sheets and letting them scatter. “About the affair with Nadia.”

“I know.”

He was obviously taken aback. “She told you?”

“No, but her unhappiness with you and your marriage has been apparent for some time.”

“She’s been happy enough,” he said with a blasé flick of his hand. “She loves her work more than ever, now that she’s working with this new author. He’s handicapped, and that really appeals to her. It’s important to her to feel needed.”

So he didn’t know about Parker Evans! Daniel happily clung to that secret knowledge.

“Maybe I didn’t cater to the nurturing aspect of Maris’s personality,” Noah continued with a nonchalance that Daniel found nauseating. “I’m self-sufficient to a fault. That caused a few minor tiffs. But your precious daughter wasn’t too dissatisfied with her life. Not until she caught me with Nadia.”

“Her happiness came from within herself. She was happy in spite of you, Noah, not because of you. You even sabotaged her chance of being truly happy.”