The Plot полностью

“First time!”

“Oh, I’ve read it a bunch of times. It’s just amazing to meet you.”

Otis arrived, dragging both their suitcases. He and Anna shook hands.

“So it’s a straight interview?” Otis asked. “Do you need Jake to read anything?”

“No. Not unless you want to?” She looked at Jake. She looked almost stricken, as if she’d failed to make this important inquiry.

“Not at all.” He smiled. He was trying to figure out how old she was. His own age? Or maybe a little bit younger. It was hard to tell. She was slender and wore black leggings and a kind of homespun tunic. Very Seattle. “Really, I’m pretty easygoing. Will people be calling in?”

“Oh, we never know. Randy’s a bit difficult to predict, he does everything on the fly. Sometimes he’ll take callers and sometimes he won’t.”

“Randy Johnson’s a Seattle institution,” Otis said helpfully. “What is it, like twenty years?”

“Twenty-two. Not all of it at this station. I don’t think he’s been off the air longer than a few days since he started.” She was holding her clipboard tightly against her chest. Those long hands gripped the edges.

“Well, I was delighted when I heard he wanted a novelist on!” Otis said. “Usually if we’re lucky enough to do Randy Johnson’s show it’s a sports biography, or sometimes politics. I can’t remember ever bringing a fiction writer in before today. You should be proud,” he said to Jake. “You got Randy Johnson to read a novel!”

“Ah,” said the woman, Anna Williams. “You know, I wish I could promise you that he’s read the whole novel. He’s been briefed, obviously, but you’re right, Randy’s not what you’d call a natural reader of fiction. He gets what a huge thing Crib has become, though. He likes to be on top of a cultural phenomenon whether it’s a novel or a pet rock.”

Jake sighed. In the early weeks of the book’s publication he’d endured more than a few interviews with people who hadn’t read the book, and answering their basic questions—So what’s your book about?—presented the significant challenges of describing Crib without giving away the plot’s now infamous twist. By now, everyone seemed to know what his book was about, which had been a relief in more ways than one. Also, it wasn’t fun covering for somebody’s total unfamiliarity with your work while trying to sound pleasant and engaged yourself.

They went upstairs to the studio and found the host, Randy Johnson, in mid-interview with a state senator and her constituent, both highly exercised by a new regulation related to dogs and their waste. Jake watched Johnson, a large and hirsute man with a definite tendency to spit, expertly play these two antagonists against each other until the constituent, at least, was red in the face and the senator was threatening to get up and leave the room.

“Oh, now, you don’t want to do that,” said Johnson, who was definitely suppressing his own laughter. “Look, let’s take a call.”

The producer, Anna Williams, brought Jake a bottle of water. Her fingers, slipping past his, were warm, but the water was cool. He looked at her. She was pretty; very, undeniably pretty. He had not paused to consider the prettiness of a woman for a very long time. There had been a woman he’d met on Bumble the previous summer and gone out to dinner with a couple of times. Before that, a woman who taught statistics at SUNY Cobleskill. Before that, Alice Logan, the poet he’d met at Ripley, though that petered out when she headed south to Johns Hopkins at the end of the summer. She was tenured there now, Jake knew. She’d sent him a brief, congratulatory email when Crib made the New York Times bestseller list.

“He’s about finished with those two,” she said quietly.

When the commercial break began she led him to the seat the angry constituent had just vacated and held the earphones open for him. Randy Johnson was studying some papers and drinking from a KBIK mug. “Hang on,” he said, without looking up. “Hang on a minute.”

“Sure,” said Jake. He looked around for Otis, but Otis wasn’t nearby. Anna Williams took the other chair and put on her own headset. She gave him an encouraging smile.

“He has some good questions,” she said, sounding less than certain. Obviously, she had written the questions herself. The uncertainty, Jake supposed, was whether the host would stick to them.

Just before they went back on air, Johnson looked up and grinned. “How you doing. Jack, right?”

“Jake,” said Jake. He reached across to shake the host’s hand. “Thanks for having me on.”

Randy Johnson grinned. “This one”—he pointed at Anna—“gave me no choice.”

“Well,” Jake said, turning to her. Anna was looking down at her clipboard, pretending not to listen.

“Looks like a featherweight, but she’s a heavyweight when it comes to getting her way.”

“That’s probably what makes her a great producer,” Jake said, as if this complete stranger needed him to defend her.

“Five seconds,” said a voice in Jake’s ears.

“Okay!” Randy Johnson said. “Ready, all?”