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A few weeks ago she’d been voluptuous. Tomorrow she would be suffering from an eating disorder.
Without even acknowledging his sly question, Bellamy engaged in conversation with a woman wearing an Ohio State sweatshirt and a Statue of Liberty spiked crown made of green rubber foam. “My book club is reading your book now,” the woman told her as they posed together for a snapshot taken by her equally enthusiastic husband.
“I appreciate that very much.”
“The rest of them won’t believe I met you!”
Bellamy thanked her again and moved along. Undaunted, Van Durbin kept pace, furiously scribbling in a small spiral notebook. Then, stepping between her and the next person waiting for her attention, he asked, “Who do you see playing the lead roles in the movie, Ms. Price?”
“I don’t see anyone. I’m not in the movie business.”
“But you will be before long. Everybody knows producers are lined up to throw money at you for the option on Low Pressure. It’s rumored that several A-list actors and actresses are campaigning for the parts. The casting couches have never had turnover this brisk.”
She shot him a look of pure disgust.
“No opinion on the subject?”
“None,” she said, stressing the word in such a way as to discourage any more questions. Just then a man wedged himself between two young women and thrust a copy of her book at her. Bellamy recognized him immediately. “Well, hello again. Hmm…”
“Jerry,” he said, smiling broadly.
“Jerry, yes.” He had an open, friendly face and thinning hair. He’d come to several book signings, and she’d spotted him in the audience when she lectured at a bookstore on the NYU campus. “Thank you for coming out this morning.”
“I never pass up an occasion to see you.”
She signed her name on the title page, which he held open for her. “How many copies does this make that you’ve bought, Jerry?”
He laughed. “I’m buying birthday and Christmas presents.”
She suspected he was also starstruck. “Well, I and my publisher thank you.”
She moved on and, while Jerry fell back into the crush, Van Durbin boldly nudged people out of his way so he could stay even with her. He persisted with the question about a possible movie based on her book.
“Come on, Ms. Price. Give my readers a hint of who you see playing the key characters. Who would you cast as your family members?” He winked and leaned in, asking in a low voice, “Who do you see playing the killer?”
She gave him a sharp look.
He grinned and said to the photographer, “I hope you captured that.”
* * *
The rest of the day was no less hectic.
She and Dexter had attended a meeting at the publishing house to discuss the timing of the release of the trade paperback edition of Low Pressure. After a lengthy exchange of opinions, it was decided that the book was selling so well in the hardcover and e-book formats that an alternate edition wouldn’t be practical for at least another six months.
They’d gone from that meeting to a luncheon appointment with a movie producer. After they dined on lobster salad and chilled asparagus in the privacy of his hotel suite, he’d made an earnest pitch about the film he wanted to make, guaranteeing that if they sold him the rights, he would do justice to the book.
As they’d left the meeting, Dexter joked, “Wouldn’t your friend Van Durbin love to know about that meeting?”
“He’s no friend. T. J. David’s true identity was supposed to be a carefully guarded secret. Who did Van Durbin bribe to get my name?”
“A publishing house intern, an assistant to someone in the contracts department. It could have been anybody.”
“Someone in your agency?”
He patted her hand. “We’ll probably never know. What does it matter now who it was?”
She sighed with resignation. “It doesn’t. The damage has been done.”
