Purpose (eBook)

Dexter

Dexter stared at the latest rejection email for his manuscript. That made a total of eight in the last two weeks. Most had upbeat comments about his writing ability and the concept but ended with, “Not looking to add clients at this time.” He was so sure that this was going to be a bestseller that he queried three highly respected agents first, grinning at the thought that he might soon be on his way to stardom and fandom. Only two had bothered to reply, and their response had been short—thank you for considering us but we aren’t interested at this time. Best of luck in your search. That prompted a mass solicitation that produced similar responses.

There was one more email to open. It was from Holbrook and Stevens, Inc. The name didn’t ring a bell. Dexter scanned the list resting next to his computer with red lines marking off those agents that had replied. Holbrook and Stevens weren’t on the list. Expecting some fly-by-night scammer offering high-cost self-publishing or false praise to get into his wallet, he was surprised that Holbrook’s message was short and succinct.

Mr. Colbert,

We have obtained your manuscript from Corbin Penchant. We believe it has merit and would like to personally interview you as a candidate for our services. If interested please contact Francine Merriweather at the contact information listed below to schedule your time. This is a limited-time offer.

Cordially,
B.P. Holbrook

Dexter came close to hitting the delete key. Something about Penchant’s name stopped his finger inches from the keyboard. He pulled up the first agency he’d sent his query letter to. The senior partner was Corbin Penchant. That part was true, but the manuscript wasn’t. They hadn’t asked for it, and he’d only attached the first ten pages to the initial query.

Dexter did a search on the company. Scanning the multiple links Dexter could see they were legit. Not only were they a literary agency, but they also did worldwide marketing and publicity. What stood out was the list of award-winning authors who were their clients. Their mission statement stressed their selective nature in representing only the best and in their undivided commitment to making them a priority.

Dexter called the number. One short hold, and he was transferred to Ms. Merriweather. It was obvious to Dexter that she had read his manuscript—more than the ten pages he’d supplied. She asked him pointed questions, the first being his willingness to work with an agent and accept modifications to his work. She politely added, should any be required. After a few minutes, he was asked about his upcoming schedule and could he fit in an interview at the Residence Inn at Marriott early next week in Billings. As Ms. Merriweather finished the call, she told him to expect an offer packet in the mail. Just the preliminary options that would help expedite the interview process—not a contract.

Dexter turned to his mostly empty living room. It was still equal parts of his style and Cecilia’s. He’d kept the house and the mortgage in the divorce. She took all the furnishings that she wanted and nearly all of their(his) savings. He didn’t want to hope for more than he could dream, but if he achieved the success that the other clients of Holbrook and Stevens had garnered—a big if, he had to be accepted first—then he just might be able to sell the memory-infested house and buy something better.

Wednesday afternoon at 4:30 was his interview with Rainer Polacheck. Dexter had scrutinized the documentation in the packet that had arrived on Monday. It read more like a credit card application. He wondered what the late fee charge was going to be if he didn’t meet the agency’s deadlines. If he signed, he was obligated to write his first three titles with them. There were plenty of places where the basics were vague or laid out in their favor, which Dexter could understand. He was an unknown commodity.

For February, the weather was mild. He took the afternoon off from teaching at the school. He should have taken the week off; his mind was invaded by disjointed feelings of being on the verge of great success and the fear he wasn’t and would be trapped as the mundane English teacher he didn’t want to be. Checking in at the front desk of the Marriott, Dexter was directed to a small suite on the second floor. A tall blond man in an expensive tonal-striped Brioni suit answered the door. He introduced himself as Rainer Polacheck. Another man sat at the round conference table in the center of the room. To Dexter, he looked important. Polacheck glanced in the man’s direction as he ushered Dexter to the seat facing him.

There was nothing on the table in front of the man. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee came from the kitchenette. Polacheck waved at Dexter to sit and excused himself as he went to retrieve it. The man across from him nodded his way and offered a thin smile. Dexter didn’t want to be the first to speak. He waited.

Polacheck returned with coffee but didn’t join them. He gave a slight bow to the other man and announced that he’d return when summoned. This was not a normal interview, and Dexter wondered if he might wish he’d never responded to their email.

Once the door clicked shut, the other man poured two cups of coffee. Without speaking, he gestured at the creamer and sugar; Dexter shook his head no. The man smiled and pushed the cup in his direction. He picked his own up and closed his eyes as he inhaled the rich aroma. It was all Dexter could do to stop his cup from clattering on the saucer as he held it. The man gently blew across the top of his and then delicately took several sips.

As the man put the cup down, he looked seriously at Dexter and said, “Shall we get down to the matter at hand?”

Dexter’s cup did rattle then. He smiled against the angst building inside. He forced a sip, and then another. He held the man’s gaze and set his cup down.

“Good. My name is Orlando Galli. I am an interested party that has what we shall call a vested interest in many of the clients that are represented by Holbrook and Stevens. They accepted my request to align with certain compatible authors that share a similar vision with my organization.”

Dexter had been right in his previous feeling that the man might be of Italian heritage. His accent, though refined, was still present. “Am I to assume that my novel is compatible?” Dexter didn’t see the need to draw out the conversation. This was Galli’s meeting, and rather than an interview it would be an interrogation. For some odd reason, a thought passed through his head—this is Matthew’s fault.

“Dexter, allow me to skip over trivial matters and talk about what is really at stake.” Dexter knew this wasn’t a question to be answered. Galli continued after a slight pause, “Your writing, forgive my choice of words, offers a purpose that goes beyond your encounter with Matthew.”

Galli stopped to gauge Dexter’s reaction to the name. To his credit, Dexter kept a straight face. He’d been prepared for the possibility. He wasn’t naive to believe a firm with highly respected clientele would be willing to take a risk on him when most others laughed him off.

“I’m well aware of Matthew and his charlatan talent for convincing people to seek out their purpose by going to absurd locations. You are one of his many victims. Yes, I know that he can be inspiring, and that is nothing more than a parlor trick that he uses to read potential targets…” Galli paused for effect and then added, “such as you.”

Dexter felt the heat rising to his face. Was all the time he spent traipsing around looking for his elusive purpose pointless effort? Galli was confirming many of the feelings that he had. The truth was that he knew he would write his novel; Matthew had only lit the fire under him to do so, caught him at the right moment when he’d been doubtful about himself. There had always been the doubt. Galli confirmed this feeling. The question that he wanted the answer to,

“Why?”

Galli smiled, and in that smile, Dexter saw a tangible hope for achieving his dreams. Galli had something real to offer. Matthew was nothing more than a nudge. Galli poured more coffee, “That is an excellent question, my friend. You were one of the lucky ones. Matthew has used his gift to solicit vehicles, money, gifts of immense value while offering nothing in return other than a chance for one to find their purpose. Noble as it is to live one’s purpose, it isn’t something to be found in a valley or the water, as he told another victim. Purpose is doing what you do best, achieving the recognition for standing up against those who wish to deny you that right.”

Every word that Galli spoke was exactly how Dexter felt. The man spoke the truth, and Dexter was all in with anything they wanted him to do. “I knew right away that something was off about him. I was desperate when he pushed me to go to the canyon. I won’t lie. It did help me to get my head on straight and to get back into shape, but I was working toward that anyway. I knew it was a fool’s errand, but I rose above the deception and made it happen on my own.”

Galli nodded sympathetically. “Of course. I could tell by the structure of your book that you have always been self-reliant.”

Dexter knew Galli was stroking his ego, but he wasn’t going to let it cost him when it came to asking for more than what he believed would be a low-ball offer on his...