Are you saying you set all this in motion without reading the book? That takes my breath away.

John

from the office of the editor-in-chief

TO: John DATE: 4/3/81

MESSAGE: You're my guy, John. We may have had our differences from time to time, but I've never doubted your editorial judgement for a single moment. If you say this is the one, this is the one. On that score, the ivy makes no difference. You're my guy. And while I probably don't need to tell you this, I will: no contact with James Saltworthy until we hear from Alan Williams. Okay?

Roger

i n t e r o f f i c e m e m o

TO: Roger FROM: John RE: Vote of confidence

To say I'm touched by your confidence in me doesn't go far enough, boss. Especially after the Detweiller f.u.c.k-up. Fact is, I'm sitting here at my desk and d.a.m.ned near blubbering on my blotter. All will be as you say. My lips are sealed.

John

PS: You do know, don't you, that Saltworthy must have already sent the book to Viking?

from the office of the editor-in-chief

TO: John DATE: 4/3/81

MESSAGE: First, no blubbering on the blotter-blotters cost money, and as you know, all expenses must now be forwarded to the parent company on a week by week basis (if we needed another sign that The End Is Near, surely that's it). Blubber in your wastebasket...or go on down to Riddley's former quarters and water the plant with your grateful tears.

(Yes, I know perfectly well that no one is paying the slightest attention to my strong recommendation that we all stay clear of the ivy. I could put it in writing, I suppose, but it would just be a waste of ink. Especially since I've been down there a time or two myself, breathing deep and drawing inspiration.) Second, how can you call the Detweiller business a f.u.c.k-up, considering how it has turned out? Harlow Enders and Apex may not know we're ready to turn the corner into a glorious future, but we do! but we do!

Third, Alan Williams checked the files over there. Last Survivor Last Survivor was supposedly read (or scanned, or perhaps just shifted from the envelope it came in to the one it went back in) and rejected in November of 1978. The editor who signed off on it was one George Flynn, who left publishing to set up his own job-printing business in Brooklyn about a year ago. According to AW, and I quote, "George Flynn had the editorial antennae of a rutabaga." was supposedly read (or scanned, or perhaps just shifted from the envelope it came in to the one it went back in) and rejected in November of 1978. The editor who signed off on it was one George Flynn, who left publishing to set up his own job-printing business in Brooklyn about a year ago. According to AW, and I quote, "George Flynn had the editorial antennae of a rutabaga."

Fourth, don't give the ms. to LaShonda. Make the copies yourself, and remember the false t.i.tle page. and remember the false t.i.tle page.

Fifth (I'm ready ready for a fifth, believe me), please no more memos until at least afternoon. I know I said "everything in writing" from here on out, but my head is starting to ache. I have one from Bill I haven't even looked at. for a fifth, believe me), please no more memos until at least afternoon. I know I said "everything in writing" from here on out, but my head is starting to ache. I have one from Bill I haven't even looked at.

Roger

i n t e r o f f i c e m e m o

TO: Roger FROM: Bill Gelb RE: Possible Bestseller

You asked for ideas, and I've had what might be a doozy, boss. I went over to Smiler's earlier in the day (warning: that idiotic woman with the guitar is still in front-if she gets picked up and inst.i.tutionalized, I hope the judge sends her to music school) and checked out their paperback rack. It's a pretty good one (i.e., lots of Pocket Books, Signets, Avons, Bantams, no Zenith Houses except for one dusty Windhover that was published 2 years ago). I counted five so-called nonfiction books about aliens and/or flying saucers, and six six on investing in the Reagan Era stock market. My idea is suppose we combined the two? on investing in the Reagan Era stock market. My idea is suppose we combined the two?

The core concept is this: a stockbroker is abducted by little gray men who first read his brainwaves, suck blood from his nasal cavities, and probe his a.n.u.s - standard stuff, in other words, been-there done-that. But then, to make up for the inconvenience, they give him stock tips based on their certain market knowledge, obtained in faster-than-light trips to the future. Most of it would be zen stuff like "Never fill your barrow with old bricks" and "Ancient stars offer the best navigation." This c.r.a.p would, however, be spiced with more practical advice like "Never sell short in a bull market" and "In the long run, power and light stocks always rise." We could call it Alien Investing Alien Investing. I know that at first blush the idea sounds crazy, but who would have figured a breakout bestseller called Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance? Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance?

I even have a writer in mind - Dawson Postlewaite, aka Nick Hardaway, the Macho Man himself. The stock market is Dawson's hobby (f.u.c.k, it's his mania, what keeps him poor and thus in our stable) and I think he'd almost do it gratis.

What do you think? And feel free to tell me I'm nuts, if that's what you think.

Bill

from the office of the editor-in-chief

TO: Bill Gelb DATE: 4/3/81

MESSAGE: I don't think you're nuts. No more so than the rest of us, anyway. And it's a great t.i.tle, almost a guaranteed pick-it-up-andtake-a-look on a rack of paperbacks. Alien Investing Alien Investing is hereby greenlit. On the cover I see a photo of the Stock Exchange with a s.p.a.ce alien laid in, shooting cosmic rays (green, like the color of money) from his big black eyes. Get Postlewaite on it at once. I know he's got a deadline on is hereby greenlit. On the cover I see a photo of the Stock Exchange with a s.p.a.ce alien laid in, shooting cosmic rays (green, like the color of money) from his big black eyes. Get Postlewaite on it at once. I know he's got a deadline on Fresno Firestorm Fresno Firestorm, but I'll see he gets the necessary extension.

R.

WHILE YOU WERE OUT!.

Caller Riddley Walker Riddley Walker For Roger Wade Roger Wade Date April 3rd 1981 April 3rd 1981 Time 12:35 PM 12:35 PM Message He will be back Wednesday or Thursday of next week. Winding up mother's affairs taking longer than he thought, There are difficulties with his brother and sister. Mostly sister. Asks if you will water plant but not mention to J. Kenton that you are doing it. Says "hoodoo ivy make dat boy pow'ful nervous." Whatever that means. He will be back Wednesday or Thursday of next week. Winding up mother's affairs taking longer than he thought, There are difficulties with his brother and sister. Mostly sister. Asks if you will water plant but not mention to J. Kenton that you are doing it. Says "hoodoo ivy make dat boy pow'ful nervous." Whatever that means.

Message taken by LaShonda LaShonda From Roger Wade's Audio Journal, Ca.s.sette 1

This is Friday the third of April. Afternoon. Bill Gelb has come up with an idea. It's a dandy, too. I'm not surprised. Given what's happening, brilliance around here is almost a foregone conclusion. When I returned from lunch...with Alan Williams...what a wonderful guy he is, not in the least because he treated at Onde's, a place that would collapse my meager expense account allowance for a month...anyway, when I got back I spied an amusing thing. Bill Gelb was sitting in his office and rolling dice on his desk. He was too absorbed to notice me noticing him. He'd roll, make a notation on one of those mini legal pads, then roll again, then make another notation. Of course we all know he shoots c.r.a.ps with Riddley every chance he gets, but Riddley's in Alabama and won't be back until the middle of next week. So what's this about? Staying in practice? Just can't get enough of dem bones? Some new system? All gamblers have systems, don't they? Who the h.e.l.l knows. He's had a great idea...Alien Investing Investing, forsooth...and that earns him a little eccentric-editor time.

Herb Porter has been going around all day with a big, silly smile on his chops. He is actually being nice nice to people. What in G.o.d's name can that be about? As if I didn't know, nyuck-nyuck-nyuck. to people. What in G.o.d's name can that be about? As if I didn't know, nyuck-nyuck-nyuck.

Never mind Bill and Herb. Never mind Sandra's hot thighs, either. I have another and more interesting thing to ponder. There was a pink WHILE YOU WERE OUT slip on my desk when I got back from lunch. Riddley called and LaShonda took the message. He says he won't be back until next Wednesday or so, because winding up his mother's affairs is taking longer than he thought. But that isn't the interesting part. LaShonda has written, and I quote, "There are difficulties with his brother and sister. Mostly sister." Did Riddley actually tell her that? They have never seemed particularly friendly, in fact I've always gotten the idea that LaShonda considers Riddley to be beneath her, maybe because she believes the Amos 'n Andy accent...although that's a little tough to swallow. Mostly I think it's because he comes to work in gray fatigues from d.i.c.key and she always shows up dressed to the nines...some days to the tens.

No, I don't think Riddley exactly said said anything about having problems with his brother and sister. I think L. just sort of... anything about having problems with his brother and sister. I think L. just sort of...knew. Zenith isn't out in the reception area, so far the garlic seems to be working and it's mostly growing in the other direction...toward the end of the hall and the window that looks out on the airshaft...but its Zenith isn't out in the reception area, so far the garlic seems to be working and it's mostly growing in the other direction...toward the end of the hall and the window that looks out on the airshaft...but its influence influence may have reached the reception area. may have reached the reception area.

I think LaShonda read his mind. Read it over fifteen hundred miles or so of long distance telephone line. And without even knowing it. Maybe I'm wrong but...

No, I'm not wrong.

Because I'm reading her her mind, and I mind, and I know. know.

[Five second pause on tape]

Whoo, Jesus.

Jesus Christ, this is big.

This is f.u.c.king big. big.

From Bill Gelb's Diary

4/3/81.

I'm at my apartment tonight, but am thinking about Paramus, New Jersey, tomorrow night. There's an all-night poker game there on Sat.u.r.days, pretty high stakes and connected to the Italian Brotherhood, if you know what I mean. Ginelli's game, or so I've heard (he's the Mafia type who owns Four Fathers, two blocks from here). I've only gone there a couple of times and lost my shirt on both occasions (I paid up, too, you don't f.u.c.k with the Italian gentlemen), but I have a feeling that this time things might be different.Today in my office, after R.W. okayed my book idea (Alien Investing is going to sell at least 3 million copies, don't ask me how I know that but I do), I took my dice out of the desk drawer where I keep them and started rolling. At first I was barely paying attention to what I was doing, then I took a closer look and holy s.h.i.t, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I got out a legal pad and recorded forty straight rolls. is going to sell at least 3 million copies, don't ask me how I know that but I do), I took my dice out of the desk drawer where I keep them and started rolling. At first I was barely paying attention to what I was doing, then I took a closer look and holy s.h.i.t, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I got out a legal pad and recorded forty straight rolls.