THE NINETY-SECOND PAGE

Oh, yes--the computer network was still in disarray and there was a flourishing opinion that some clandestine gamesmanship between the publicist and My Editor had caused the crash. The managing editor was only too eager to tell me of this because she frequently had bailed him out of difficulties with late delivery of unedited (and often uneditable) manuscripts. She didn’t mind doing this, but he had come to take her services for granted and no longer expressed any appreciation. She had not had a kind word about him since the day he passed on to her a particular manuscript for production. It had been revised by the author per a freelancer’s suggestions, but My Editor didn’t bother to open the package before turning it into her. Her feeble revenge was to send the work on to copyediting, ignoring the fact that the author had refused to make most of the changes considered necessary by the freelancer.

My Editor didn’t really need me to sully his reputation. He needed something stronger if he were to be destroyed. He was one of the lucky few who had book insurance, a bestseller every year to a year-and-a-half. These smart commercial moves kept him on the payroll. The folks in management thought he could do no wrong, but those in his immediate midst, those who did all his for him except acquire titles felt differently. He could go back to Harvard for all they cared.