Impersonation by Heidi Pitlor

Author:Heidi Pitlor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Algonquin Books
Published: 2020-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

With every book, I had given small pieces of myself to my client: to Jenna, a knowledge of Adrienne Rich’s poetry; to Tanya, a fondness for the movie Brave; to Rick, a love of portulaca and snapdragon plants. But Lana’s was coming to require more of me—the whole foundation, so to speak, rather than just a roof shingle. I emailed Colin and Gin again to seek their advice. A day passed, and then Gin texted back.

Should I ask Colin about finding another writer for Lana?

No! I replied, stricken. I’ll figure it out. Sorry to bother you.

Gin: Will you send me what you’ve got so far? You do know that Lana just asked for an extension, right? That you have until April 15? Our production team is not thrilled, so if you could get me the final manuscript a few weeks before then, that would be ideal.

Me: I didn’t know. Wonder why she didn’t tell me.

I agreed to send the first three chapters in a few days, a week at most, and got right to work.

We give away what we have to in order to survive. It seemed counterintuitive at first, but when I thought in anthropological terms, I understood something essential: in prehistoric times, of course, when men ventured out to hunt and bring home their rewards, women remained home. They ceded their love and energy and time and gathering skills to their families. We cede our bodies during pregnancy, at least temporarily. But once we hand off too much of ourselves, women inevitably grow hollow. We shrivel.

I am aware that I may be justifying the lengths to which I next went. But I grew increasingly angry that without going to the well of my own experiences, I would have been unable to write Lana’s book. Between the withholding of information and the subtle, sometimes passive pressure that came both from her and Colin to fill in the many gaps with my own thoughts and material—it had the feel of gaslighting. Lana never outright refused to answer a question; instead, she just had to rush off to a meeting or a rally. I had tried inventing anecdotes for her, but the leap from my mind to hers, from my life with Cass to hers with Norton was too great. What did I know about world travel and restaurants like Daniel, about interviewing people like Ruth Bader Ginsburg and being friends with Annie Leibovitz? What did I know about teaming up with a husband as well as one—or more?—nannies to raise your son? My patience was shot.

It was a Monday, and I knew that Lana would be in New York because she had told me as much. I reluctantly called Maggie. “Any chance you could take Cass today?”

“Oh, sure,” she said. “Liam’s got a friend here and we were going to head to the park, but maybe we can, I don’t know, find an art class or something else to do.”

“You’re the best, Maggie. How can I thank you?”

There was

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