A Likely Story

Tuesday, October 11th

The Christmas Book! At last.

I have held a copy in my hands. It is beside me on the desk as I type, and it is beautiful. All the hassles, all the trouble, the three editors, everything, it was all worth it. The book is big and gorgeous and thoughtful and rich and magnificent. My introduction isn’t as pompous as I’d feared, and the cheap color reproduction process looks great.

Dewey called this morning, about eleven-thirty, to say the books were in. This is a test run, about twenty-five copies or so to make sure everything’s working well (and in fact there are a couple of pages with color problems and a few last-minute corrections and improvements), and then on Thursday they’ll actually start the print run. The test copies were driven to the Craig offices from the printer in Pennsylvania this morning, and when they arrived Dewey phoned and offered to messenger a copy down to me.

It was a changed Dewey. This is the first I’ve spoken with him since that astounding phone call from his putative father, and I guess old F. Ringwald Heffernan must have been on the level after all, because this was a subdued and friendly and accommodating Dewey, obviously doing his best to make amends. “It’s a really terrific book, Tom,” he said, and actually added, “I think you were right that the other thing didn’t really fit in.”

“Thank you, Dewey,” I said, prepared to be magnanimous.

We talked a bit more, and then he said, “Are you working on anything in particular at the moment, Tom?”

I had ordered Annie not to submit Happy Happy Happy to Craig. “Oh, this and that,” I said.

“The reason I ask, I presented a book idea to Mr. Wilson, and he said okay, and now I’m supposed to find a writer.”

Have bygones ever more swiftly become bygones? “Well, I’m not actually tied up with other work, Dewey,” I said. “What is this book?”

“The history of video games.”

“The history of video games?” It hadn’t occurred to me that video games had been around long enough to have a history.

But apparently so. “Sure,” he said. “From the earliest chess computers, and forerunners like pinball and slot machines. And don’t forget Tommy!”

“Tommy?”

“Tommy, the Pinball Wizard, the rock opera by The Who. There’s a historic moment in pop culture!”

“Ah,” I said. The old Dewey had not been entirely repressed after all.

“I’m afraid I can’t offer you much more than you got on The Christmas Book,” he said. “Your share, I mean.”

My mouth dry, I said, “But a little more, surely?” as though we were all just calmly bandying words about.

“Well, I guess everybody has to get a little more every time,” he said, and laughed self-consciously. “I’m starting to learn this business.”

I was dying to ask him about his father, but I was afraid it would embarrass him; and maybe he didn’t know about that call. I said, “I’ll have Annie phone you, work out the details.”

“Annie?”

“My agent,” I said. “Have you learned that much about the business?”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I know about agents. They’re always trying to pull something.”

“Not my Annie,” I assured him. “She’s very motherly and nice. You’ll like her.”

“Okay,” he said doubtfully. Then he promised again to messenger the book, and we hung up, and he did messenger the book, and here it is!

And I’m about to get big bucks for another book!

And I’m back with Mary, back in the bosom of my family and loving it!

Life is okay after all.