Paperback Jack by Loren D. Estleman

Author:Loren D. Estleman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor Publishing Group

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Dear Valued Contributor:

You and a guest are cordially invited to attend a

celebration of Blue Devil Books’s new line of

original fiction, to take place

Saturday, June 7, 1947

at 7:30 P.M.

in the offices of Blue Devil Books

16 University Place

New York, NY

Dress casual. Refreshments will be served.

Thank you for joining us in this bold new venture.

Yours most sincerely,

Robin Llewellyn Elk, Esq.

Elk’s decision to host the festivities in the publishing house, with all the doors open to aid the flow, gave the occasion the air of an office Christmas party. People talked too fast and laughed too loud, drinks spilled without apology, and someone had squashed the shrimp from a cocktail into the carpet in Elk’s office like a cigarette butt. Blowups of the covers of the summer line (was it Jacob’s imagination, or was The Fence bigger than the rest, and the half-naked female model’s resemblance to Ellen more pronounced?) hung on every wall and the company mascot leered down from congratulatory banners printed on Long Island, blue pitchfork in hand.

“I inquired among the hotels about their banquet facilities, but the pleasant ones were too dear and the least costly looked like a Scarpetti cover,” the host told Jacob. “You’re not too disappointed, I hope.” As was characteristic when he was nervous, he touched his bow tie.

Elk’s idea of casual attire was a three-piece suit, blue gabardine, over an Oxford shirt with the collar buttoned down. Today he wore kid-leather slippers on his ruined feet, cunningly designed to look like loafers.

“Not at all,” Jacob said. “Those ballrooms are too big and intimidating, and you can’t hear what anyone’s saying.”

“Next year we’ll book the Plaza.”

He never knew when the Englishman was listening.

Ellen returned from the ladies’ room. She wore a blue silk dress with pumps and carried a shiny black clutch. Her eyes were incredibly blue and the ceiling globe in the private office found haloes in her strawberry blond hair.

“This is my friend, Ellen Curry. Ellen, Robin Elk.”

Hooking his cane on one arm, he took her hand and executed a smart bow, beaming like the blue devil; in that moment, Jacob recognized a chip off the old block.

“Charming. I see where Jack gets his inspiration.”

“I hope that’s a compliment. I haven’t read the book. I’m not in the habit of disrobing in pawnshops.”

“Haven’t read it! I hope you don’t disapprove of the subject matter.”

“How could I? Jacob keeps forgetting to show it to me.”

“Artists are absentminded. Fortunately, there is a solution. I wasn’t going to distribute these until after the toast; but I’m too weak a creature to make a lovely woman wait.” He plucked a glossy red gift bag from a forest of them on his desk. “Cheap trinkets, I’m afraid: perfume for the ladies, aftershave for the men, a shockingly small box of candy, and of course the Product.”

The sack contained the items named, including the first ten paperback-original novels ever, tied together with a ribbon—blue, naturally. The Fence was on top.

“That’s very generous, Mr. Elk.”

“Niggardly is the word, madam. As I was telling Jack, better things will come.

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