Fox Island by Stephen Bly Read Free Book Online Page A

minutes.’”
    “What other appointment?”
    “Mrs. Shadowbrook, would you like to hike
with me down to the point to look for Clay Babies?”
    “Certainly, Mr. Shadowbrook. When do you
want to go?”
    “About five minutes after I start pulling on
my right ear.”
     
     
     
     

Chapter 3
     
     
    As is much of the land west of the Cascades,
Fox Island remains an ever-green paradise of firs, pines, and
spruce. At times looking as if methodically landscaped by a Grand
Gardener, the mild blackberries and grapes blend artistically with
the daffodils and dahlias. Flamboyant red-barked Madrona trees
clamor to be seen in every vista before they shed their bark,
leaves, and berries.
     
    But after a while, even the magnificent
Madronas don’t catch everyone’s attention.
     
    Tony sprawled on a chaise out on the deck.
Three pelicans dove into the Sound, their large beaks handy
fishnets as they plunged for underwater meals. Two settled for
surface feeding. The third soared on a rising thermal, its white
body dulled gray by the sunless inlet. Price carried out a tray
with a mug of steaming tea and two toasted bagels.
    “It’s foggier than usual,” she announced as
she wiped off the metal chair with her napkin and sat down.
    “Makes it seem even more remote out here. I
definitely like this side of the Island better. There’s no narrow
passage or bridge to cut down your imagination of being in a part
of the hidden West.”
    “What did you decide about Davidian?”
    “He’s a flake.”
    “I mean, besides that.” She sipped her tea
and tightened the soft blue chamois robe more securely under her
chin, glad she had followed her impulse and bought it their last
trip into Tacoma.
    “The guy’s a phony. He drives all the way up
here, has car trouble, and winds up bumming at our house for three
days. Then he wires home for money to repair that old junker. And
after all that, he has the audacity to ask me to give him a $10,000
advance to take my book to ten Hollywood studios.”
    “Twelve studios.”
    “Ten, twelve, it doesn’t matter. I can’t
believe the nerve of some guys.”
    “Yes, but he did call back last night and
say he’d do it for free if you’d agree to a 15% agent fee. He might
possess the kind of nerve that lands him in the right place at one
of the studios. What do you have to lose?”
    “Self-respect. I don’t want to be
represented by some ding-a-ling. If the studios think my books are
good enough for movies, then they can come beat at my door. I’ve
got an agent.”
    “A book agent in New York City. Liz admits
she doesn’t know anything about Hollywood.”
    Tony slammed his hand on the table. “I’m not
going to run around tossing my novels to the wolves to be destroyed
and rejected.”
    “You might be right.” Price sipped on the
Earl Grey. “Of course, if you had waited until a publishing house
beat down your door, you’d never have gotten that first novel in
print.”
    “That’s different. That’s the publishing
business. Sure, you have to keep sending your manuscript until you
find the right house. But now they can pick up the book, check out
my publishing record.”
    “How are they going to get a copy to look at
unless someone shoves one in their face?”
    “Not by Davidian. He’s a windbag. I don’t
trust him.”
    “I wonder what type agent it does take to
get Hollywood’s attention? Besides, behind all that wind and the
Vuarnet sunglasses seems to be a guy who’s well connected. And he
sure has an air of confidence about him.”
    “I don’t want to talk about it.”
    Price crunched into the toasted bagel
smothered edge to edge with melted butter and wild black cherry
preserves. “So, let’s move to a more enjoyable subject. Did you get
a chance to look at my work on chapter one?”
    Tony flipped open his portfolio and yanked
out twenty-five double-spaced typed pages. “I think it’s starting
to take shape, don’t you?”
    “Yes I do,” she nodded without lifting