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“What are you drinking, kiddo?” she asked cheerfully.
“Ginger ale.”
“What?”
“I have to keep my head real clear for the next few weeks, Pam.”
She nodded soberly. “When does the trial start?”
“In three weeks.”
“Are you frightened?”
Was I frightened? Not at that exact moment. My adrenaline was pumping too high and the desire for revenge was too prominent in my mind for fear to sneak its way in. But I couldn’t say all this to Pam without scaring her away.
“Yeah, I’m terrified.”
She downed the contents of her glass and summoned the bartender. “Another straight Scotch for me and a ginger ale for my friend.”
“Pam, I need you to do me a huge favor.”
“Is it exciting, illegal, unethical, or immoral?” Her face was creased in a huge grin like a mischievous schoolgirl.
“Unethical,” I replied.
The bartender placed a fresh drink in front of her and I let her sip on it for a few minutes. In the meantime, I took stock of the customers around me. There were no other Black people in the room but I was used to that. There were more women than men at the bar and a lot of couples eating in the dining room.
“What is it that you need me to do?”
“Huh?”
“What is the unscrupulous behavior that you want me to engage in?”
I turned my back on the dining room and got back to business. “How would you like to acquire a book by Tiffany Nixon?”
Pam made a face. “What is she writing about and why do you, of all people, want to help her?”
“I’m not trying to help her, Pam.”
Silence. Pam was eyeing me impatiently, hoping that I’d get to the point as quickly as possible. I didn’t blame her.
“I just wondered if you would approach Nixon about the possibility of doing a book on a subject of her choosing.”
“And if she says yes?”
“Then, as an editor, you would not be out of line if you asked her for a resumé, all the biographical information that she has, plus a collection of every story she has ever written.”
Pam’s mouth was hanging open.
“Then,” I continued, “you could make a copy of everything she gives you and pass the copied file on to me. If the two of you meet and a good book idea comes out of it, then please feel free to publish it. I won’t have any hard feelings.”
Pam’s mouth closed.
“If you don’t like anything she has to say, simply send her back the material and call it a day. Editors do that all the time—she’ll have no reason to be suspicious.”
Pam let out a whoosh of air. “What are you going to do with the information?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
