LUDIC LOG

"So, Jen, I haven't seen you in a while. I understand congratulations are in order."

"I can't imagine why, darling."

"Oh, don't be so modest! Your latest client is a major, major coup. The people at Knopf are absolutely hemorraghing envy."

"Janet, it's just not worth it. I'd rather be back proofing 'Dummies' books for all the trouble."

"Problematic, is he?"

"You don't know the half of it. He's an utter diva."

"It's not the material? I know the critics are mad for it, but I also hear it's just awful."

"Darling, you know it's not the material. Not with me. I was the reader who put Fisketjon onto American Psycho, you know. Your Jennifer does not blanche at gore."

"What is is then? A roughneck, is he?"

"That, my dear, is an understatement. Honestly, if he wasn't carrying around Bret's phone number and a 50-grand advance in his ratty wallet, you'd think he was some sort of awful homeless person."

"Surely that can't be all. You seem positively withered, and I sense it's more than your latest star's questionable hygeine. You've lunched with Kurt Vonnegut, after all."

"Frankly, Janet, it's more than the man. It's more than that he's from Chicago, that he hoards used Kleenex in his pockets, that he goes through my Italian copies of Vogue during editorial conferences cutting out pictures of little girls. I have learned to make allowances for genius in my years in this game."

"Well, what is it, then?"

"I'm afraid it's the work. I don't know if I'm up to it."

"No! I won't hear of it. You're the best in the business, Jen. Perhaps you just need some time off. A weekend in Corfu and you'll be all set to tackle this project, surely."

"That's what I thought at first. But I'm afraid this book is just getting the best of me."

"Whatever is the problem?"

"Well, first of all, it's depressingly long. He makes Norman look absolutely snappy. I mean, I did some secondary on Ancient Evenings, but this thing is like 15,000 pages long."

"Oh, surely."

"No, I mean it. It's 15,000 pages long."

"But...well, that seems excessive. But you're an editor, darling. Surely you can do something about it."

"Whenever I send him edits, he sends me a handwritten poem about how I'll go to hell if I use the blue pencil again."

"Oh, dear."

"I suggested to him the other day that maybe we didn't need seven Vivian sisters, since they're all pretty much the same character, and he just screamed for half an hour and said he would declare unending war with God if I didn't leave the whole manuscript untouched, and get him lunch reservations at Citrus."

"My goodness."

"And he doesn't return his e-mails either."

"So, are you going to ask to be taken off the project?"

"No, ma'am. I never have before and I'm not about to set a precedent. I've got a plan to shake him up a bit."

"Do tell."

"I'm having Rodney take him out on the town every night. My guess is that he'll lighten up a bit if he gets the small-town out of him. If Rodney shows him a good time, maybe he'll be a bit more receptive to working with me."

"You're such a clever thing."

"Don't fete me yet, dear. I have a feeling it may backfire on me."

"How so?"

"Well, I had Rodney take him to the Commodore."

"That all-nude stripper place?"

"Exactement. I figured that if anything would ease him up, that would."

"Of course. So what happened?"

"The next day he came in as white as my Lexus. He took back every last one of his illustrations."

"What did he say?"

"He said they were all going to have to be revised."

"Artists. They're so temperamental."