BESTSELLERS & BEST FRIENDS
My book publishing blog, with murder mysteries woven through it.
If this is your first visit, be sure to start with “1. Let’s do it!”
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Sally left this afternoon to visit with college friends on Cape Cod. Which was perfect timing.
I wanted to think too much, drink too much, then crash at Randy’s.
I packed an overnight bag and returned to the loft after a dinner with Bob and Holly. When this is all over, I’m going to miss them. Sad as it is to be in that space to wind down Randy’s business, it’s a joy to be with Bob and Holly. Bob’s humor is subtle, Holly’s laughter is boisterous, and the combination is delightful.
I sat at Randy’s desk, which was placed where Tom Hanks had his basketball hoop. I sipped a first martini. I looked around. So many books! Yet they were just a sampling of the thousands of books bound-on-the-right-for-the-left-handed reader which Randy had put into the market. They were shelved alphabetically by author’s last name. And within the author, by pub date.
I walked through the loft. The books started in the bedroom, authors A-F. Into the kitchen, G-I. J, in the bathroom, then K-Z throughout the loft’s large room that had a dining area, living room, and office, and in which Hanks and his buddy played basketball.
The shelves caused me powerful memories. I mixed another martini. Dangerous. I was sliding into melancholy, looking back on life and the work I once did. Just like this blog.
There was Mailer’s Ancient Evenings, Wouk’s Winds of War, Kidder’s Soul of a New Machine, Ken Gormley’s Archibald Cox biography, several Bloom County’s, Matt Wilson’s Reinventing Justice, Heat-Moon’s Blue Highways, James Doyle’s Under the Rose, Shirer’s The Nightmare Years, my son’s Last Kids on Earth and Galactic Hot Dogs (the full series for both of them), Rick Wilson’s Crisis Management, and on and on. All in alphabetical order, and by pub date within the author. Not one of them out of place. Randy was, perhaps, excessively anal.
I went back into the bedroom to look for my own books. The BR (as in Brallier) books were on a top shelf, where the wall met the 16-foot-high ceiling. I grabbed one of the three step ladders Randy had about the loft, set it firmly on the floor and somewhat dangerously, as I now had two martinis in me, climbed to its top.
There I was. Who Was Albert Einstein, Olphabet, Cocktail Hour, Lawyers & Other Reptiles, This Book Sucks, What Was the Bombing of Hiroshima, Really, Really Classy Donald Trump Quiz Book, Medical Wit & Wisdom, Tess’s Tree, Pessimist’s Journal, Y2Kids, Instant Creature, Presidential Wit and Wisdom, and so on and so on, even the Hot Dog Cookbook (I wouldn’t have been surprised if Randy had put it under H for Heinz).
I backed down the ladder. Man, no wonder I’m tired. All those decades, always writing those books in the evenings and over weekends while also working my exhausting publishing jobs.
My glass was empty. I lifted Lefty, the bookcase door opened to the secret room, I mixed a final martini, and sat in the recliner.
Which is when it hit me!
Every author’s books here are shelved in pub date order. But mine, way up by the ceiling in the bedroom, they’re sitting there in no order at all!
I grabbed my mobile phone, walked a bit dizzily back to the bedroom, slowly climbed up the ladder, and took a photo of the shelf with my books. Back at Randy’s desk, I grabbed a notepad and listed the titles in the order they were shelved.
Tess’s Tree
Instant Creature
Medical Wit & Wisdom
Cocktail Hour
Olphabet
Really, Really Classy Donald Trump Quiz Book
Y2Kids
Pessimist’s Journal
Lawyers & Other Reptiles
Hot Dog Cookbook
Presidential Wit and Wisdom
This Book Sucks
Who Was Albert Einstein?
What was the Bombing of Hiroshima?
Only the first seven were out of order. Randy has the rest shelved by pub date. What the hell? This entire loft, thousands of books, and the only ones shelved out of order are seven of mine.
I stared at the list. I was looking for something. I was trying to remember. I had looked for something before in a bunch of letters. My damn memor—
That’s it! Freeman! My murdered good buddy who used to slip simple codes into his college writing assignments. If you don’t recall, see this blog post.
Randy got such a kick out of those Freeman postings.
I circled the first letter of each book title. And there it was, immediately.
T-I-M-C-O-R-Y
Fucking Tim Cory!
I’m drunk. I’m flipping out. Which is not a good combination.
I’m going to type three more words then collapse into Randy’s bed.
1) Tomorrow: 2) Tim 3) Cory