Friday, November 6, 2009

Literary Agent Orson: Rosie's Cantina

“Okay, the assignment was to anonymously write a scenario where your literary agent has been asked by the President of The United States to help save the world. I’ve gathered you here to discuss the results of our contest. Excuse me a second.” Orson got up and stepped over to the bar. “Chrissakes, Rosie!” Orson banged the palm of his hand on the bar. “How long’s it take. Glass, ice, scotch and a drop of water. Why me?!” His hands flew up. “Can’t keep my writers in suspense.” He turned back. “Where was I?”

“Look,” she whipped around, “the sign out front says ROSIE’S Cantina. I’m the only one raises her voice in here.” She banged her hand too. Her black eyes flashed. Her face grew flush.

“She’s unreasonably angry,” Pierce muttered.

Orson cast his Evil Eye; one eyebrow raised. “We could walk next door to The One Trick Pony.”

“Don’t let the door hitcha.” Rosie slowly turned back to the bar, in no hurry.

“I can’t believe her diction,” said Mara beneath her breath. “It’s atrocious.”

“I’ll handle this.”

“What’s he up to?” Phoebe whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Orson purred. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Okay, which one was yours? Was it that crappy one with the lurid mermaid thingy? Out of bodies? Military junta taking over the White House? Aliens? Gads, they were all awful.” His writers didn’t like hearing this, but they had grown accustomed. Orson suspected Rosie might be a new writer who recently plagued him with query after query. Maybe she was using a pen name and snuck an entry into his writing contest.

She turned with a look of serenity. “Your drink.” She smiled sweetly, leaned forward and whispered, “I’m not telling. I will say this: You’re craftier than I gave you credit for.”

I knew it. God I’m good, Orson thought. He turned back to his writers. And only a rank amateur ends a sentence with a preposition. He took a sip and felt the warm blush. “Okay, once again, where was I at?” he asked as he sat back down.

“You were about to deliciously tell about the entry riddled with split-infinitives and run-ons, but she interrupted, and you went and talked to her over there, and we thought we might be packing it in, but now it’s okay, ” Sara said, winded.

Suddenly Orson was expansive. He leaned back and chuckled. Phoebe glanced over at Pierce bewildered at this most uncharacteristic behavior. “Actually, one was good. Made me think. ‘Remove the corporate shield. Hold shareholders jointly and severally liable for corporate misdeeds.’ Could actually work.”

Rosie paused, looked up from the glass she was cleaning and smiled at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

1 comment:

  1. The only thing I am wondering here is...How do you know what it feels like to be a Literary Agent? Oh, and I love Orson cockiness.

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