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I shook my head. "You've suddenly got an awful lot of faith in my abilities." "You'll be famous; your career will be made." "Thanks, but it's already made." Dave's bald pate reflected glare from the overhead lighting as he leaned over me like a hawk examining its prey. I waited nervously wondering what to expect next. "Sara," he said in a condescending manner as if I were a brain-injured child or a simpleton, "try to see what this interview could mean to the magazine, to our sales profile. It's a matter of loyalty, Sara. I'm certain Mr. Andrews would take a dim view of your refusal to go after a story. It is very much a part of your job. How would you explain your negativity to him?" The reptilian eyes narrowed. One thing about Dave, he really does know how to make a point. Mr. Andrews happens to be our publisher. Reporters like myself meet Mr. Andrews on only three occasions: once when we're hired, second, if we happen to win the Pulitzer, and finally, when we're fired. Since I hadn't as yet won the Pulitzer, I swallowed hard. "All right, I'll see what I can do about getting a story on Baxter." "Wrong, you're going after an interview starting today." "All right," I said, "I'll contact Baxter's editor and move on from there." Dave gave me a nod of approval. "Go to it." With that bit of pep talk, I won my freedom and proceeded out of Dave's neat prison-like office, returning hurriedly to my own familiar, cluttered desk. I stared thoughtfully at my telephone. I was going to do the interview but I didn't have to like it. I'd read enough of Baxter's creepy, scary fiction to know he wasn't the kind of man you wanted to pester. Still, I'm generally a bulldog when I go after a story; once set on a course of action, I don't quit. Baxter's editor wasn't very encouraging. In fact, she definitely attempted to dissuade me. I knew Carin Healy from the good old days when I was an underpaid, overworked associate book editor. She, however, had managed to rise to the position of senior editor and now worked with only the most famous writers. "Sara, believe me when I tell you the man will never see you. The fact is, he doesn't see anyone. No one really knows anything about him. All I know is that his books make a lot of money for our house. But he's always refused to publicize his work in any way. You will never see him at a book signing or on a talk show. He stubbornly refuses." Carin was a straightforward individual and I had no cause to doubt her word. Baxter's agent was equally discouraging. Vernon Forbes was a successful, New York literary agent who had a good reputation in the business with a stable of well-known commercial authors in tow. I explained my problem to him after I finally managed to get by his Brunhilde of a secretary. I figured I might have more success if I came in person since several telephone calls were not returned. "I could give you Baxter's direction, but I won't," Vernon said with an affected British accent. "I need to interview him in person," I said. "The publicity will be good for his career." He gave me an exasperated look. "Baxter is different from my other clients. Most of them would kill for the publicity generated by a national magazine interview, but not Baxter." "Why not?" "Ms. Lewin, my sole contact with the man has been by mail. There is no phone as far as I know." "Then just give me his address." "He
does not wish to be bothered by the press."
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