Karl looked at his diamond studded wrist watch. It was already nine in the morning. He was late. But no need to hurry. Going late is a good thing, in this case: he said to himself. A good thing for first impression. Impression was one of those things that had brought him what he had wished so far. His wishes are simple. Basic. Base. For example money. A few years back his firm was undergoing a great financial crisis like many others. Other firms had stopped publishing new books altogether. He had noticed them going defensive when the market was closing off. A contraction period. Readers were interested in reading free books or ebooks or not read at all. Other old publishing houses of his city had started promoting their old published books, instead of thinking outside of box. He had christened them as the turtles. Like a turtle goes inside its shell when it senses danger prowling around, they had done the same. But he impressed his readers with his new and surprising outlook. Then money poured and it brought its obvious consequences in his life: luxury. And now he was considered one of the richest publishers of the country. He was continuously getting what he was desiring. He sprayed some scent over his Polo tee-shirt and wore his regular glasses and went straight out of his house — a white mansion — very recently renovated. It was a daunting task on his part to renovate it, for his wife did not allow it. But his constant requests and with his twin sons' support he could accomplish it. Today his wife was absent from home. Yesterday she went to her father's house with her sons. The butler had prepared and arranged breakfast on the dining table. But he skipped it. Making someone wait is good: he thought. But not long enough to wane her interest. That would be outright unpunctuality.
So he approached the car. His driver got the white Chevrolet for him out of the garage. But he did not want anyone else than the beachside condo gatekeeper to know of the interview. So he asked the driver to stay at home. He would drive himself. The driver in white uniform obeyed him silently. Karl got inside, turned the key on and the car came to life. And it slithered on the gravel out of the main gate hitting the road just in no time. He was taking measures for he could not let anyone know of it. May be the interviewer will make a video on some tips for the aspirant writers for getting published and that video may be uploaded on a YouTube channel: he thought. He could not afford to make the beautiful walls of his condo to be the background of the video and someday anyhow be seen by his wife. No. So he bought a new sky blue curtain yesterday and fitted it in the hall room. While driving very slowly he was picturing that the gatekeeper must have opened the gate for the interviewer. He had it all planned. Very deliberately. When the interviewer skyped him, she looked a bit nervous and shy. That was adding to her charm. She was a teen. He asked her online whether she had any bike or car or any other vehicle. She informed him that she had a bike and she consented on coming by her bike. He even confirmed was there any cameraman or anyone else was coming, any friend of hers to accompany her, just in case. She smiled a coy smile. And nodded negative. He felt very glad at that moment, as if he gotten his favorite ice-cream. Ice-cream: he thought. How I got the idea, well that beautiful girl was wearing a vanilla color neck-less tee. He liked it. It fed his famished fantasies. He turned his car toward the beach leaving highway. It would take him a couple of minutes to reach his beachside condo.
After his father's demise he renovated his house and press. Then he published something new. Something his father would wrinkle his nose to publish. He dared to publish in a time when other book firms were closing. He survived the economical recess by discovering some new and bolder genres. He could be reckoned one of the leading firms to hold the reputation of introducing erotica into this country. The post-modern man needs fantasy so much more than the twentieth century man needed. He knew. Business ethics were changing. Honesty would help you sustain. But now-a-days customers did not only demand honesty. Along with honesty there should be something more interesting. He gave customers what they wanted; in return he got what he wanted. Give and take. He understood the mood of the market and introduced erotica to this stagnant market. In foreign markets it was being sold as hot cakes— a very profiting genre. He sensed it was time for this country to experience it. His business rocketed up. He always preferred women writers for these books. His firm currently represented a dozen of women novelists. As a leading book firm it made quite a buzz for some time that his firm only allowed women novelists— most of whom were either widows or spinsters. So the newspapers were implying that the firm was acting in the publisher— the sole beneficiary's romantic interest. To be more clear and blunt that he was keeping those women novelists as his mistresses. Going out with them was purely casual and business: he had told paparazzi. Yet he had hard time hiding this news from his conservative stick-to-home and not so social wife. She was hard to convince; but when convinced she successfully started ignoring trivial trifling matters. Besides it rejoiced her, he could feel it, that her husband had rose up to the level of a celebrity. She mentioned that she would pray to god for his progress. It made him feel glad and a little ashamed too. So he stopped taking any new woman novelist. And he almost ceased to take them out; but meeting them individually- come on – it was business. He could not be ungrateful to his novelists, who write for him and fetch him name fame and most importantly money. He was not an ungrateful man. This particular girl was very young and her approach was very unique. She had not broached anything about publishing her book directly or indirectly. Perhaps she knows the tactics: he thought. Very well. First she contacted him a fortnight ago on Facebook. Then she directed him to her YouTube channel on how to write a novel by sending links. He liked it instantly. He liked her viewpoints. They were unique. It was those days when mythology was getting popular again. And she claimed that she had written a couple of novels based on mythology. He was eager to read those books for sure. If possible, if he liked, he would do anything to please and publish this young beautiful lady. She would be another feather on his cap – a newer and very colorful feather indeed.
From a little distance he could make out that the main iron gate to his condo was wide open. He was angry upon the gate-keeper. Such a careless fellow. He rushed his car inside the condo. Several questions were bombarding in his mind. Is the girl present here? Has she come? And to the worst, has she come and gone not finding anyone? Not even the gate-keeper? What the hell is with the gate-keeper? – Calm down. Probably the girl has not come yet. He crossed the gate. There was a scooty parked near the verandah. Near it was sitting a girl on a chair. A gorgeous velvet frock she was wearing. A backpack was dangling from her backside. Her hair flowy. She smiled the same sweet and shy smile. Breath-taking beauty: he said to himself. I will prize such a talented asset. And the name – Veronica, what a beautiful name!
But a fear lurked in the back of his mind: Is she eighteen or not? He was of her father's age. He parked his car in front of her scooty and got out of it. As he was getting out of the car she approached him. He said, "Hey, you are looking pretty."
She just coyishly smiled.
"Why did not you bring someone- erm- a cameraman with yourself? You know, just to accompany you." He asked this just in order to confirm that there was no one of her friends and relatives had come with her.
She said, "No sir. It is all right."
He asked, "Do you live alone in this city?"
She did not reply. Just flashed her perfect white teeth.
She does not like to answer this question: he thought and said, "Sorry, it is you who have come to interview me. Right. Let's get in. But, one question, have you seen the gate-keeper, here. An old man? There near the gate he generally dozes. Have you seen him? Or do you have any idea where he is?"
She lowered her gaze like any good girl and drew a line on the dirt by her sandal in nervous movements and raised her eyes and said, "He asked me tea or coffee. I said I like chocolate. So he asked me to wait till you come. He went to a shop nearby to buy me a chocolate. But he has not turned up yet."
Chocolate: he thought. Poor little girl. Come to your publisher uncle. He will give you a handful of them. Perhaps she is a minor. It is still ok. And thanks to that old fox of a gatekeeper. He knows properly when to absent himself. He knows my intention.
"Hmm. It is ok. He will come in time. Why did not you go inside? Let's go inside. Let the interview begin," He said and escorted her inside the building. The first room was a well-furnished drawing room. Modern paintings were hanging proudly from the walls. Two mammoth size sofas sat facing each other. They were wearing new covers. He drew a big sky blue curtain and sat on the sofa and asked Veronica to sit on the other one facing the curtain, which hid everything. Everything meant the wall and the paintings and all. Veronica produced a tripod stand from her backpack and set the camera on it; then she adjusted its focus and angel and then she took her seat.
He asked, "Do not you want to be captured by the camera?"
She replied, "No sir. It is for my channel. So basically speaking my viewers know me. So I do not need my face to be captured by camera."
He flirted, "Your viewers also know me. Then why capture my old rugged face? And besides your face is so cute, so photogenic. No believe me. The camera would be dying to capture it."
She smiled coyishly lowering her gaze. He sat upright and said, "Ok, please start the interview."
"Yes sir," she said. "First of all I need to – we – I mean our viewers will want to know about you and your background, sir. What I came to know about you from your website- if you please I will add that later in the introduction part while editing it. Please do tell us sir something about your background. Why did you choose publishing as your career? Why not other jobs? What are the things about books do you love the most?"
"Hmm. All that I am now is due to my late father. In his youth he had established the founding stone of this firm. It was a very small firm back then. I was a small kid too. I remember those days. A nauseating nostalgia spreads over my mind when I recall those days. Our firm used to publish school books only. Then my father with the help of an editor published a children's magazine. The school books and guides supplied our firm with steady income and the magazine provided profit. I have grown up around books. I myself love reading books. I finish a dozen of them in a year, excluding those published by us and those sent to us by unpublished aspirant authors through literary agents – which is more than three hundred a year. Though I and my group of editors have to be very cruel in heart to reject most of them; yet I personally like each of those books. It is all in my memory. I remember the plot of the each book I read. And I have grown up around books; my father was a publisher, so I became one too. Now returning to your last question, what I love about books: now that is a very complicated question. Well then, what I do not like about books? There is nothing of or about books I dislike. From a book cover to its content, its story line, characters, philosophy behind them, the conflicts, the author, her mood, her style, her tone, her personalities reflected through her characters etc. etc. and everything. I can go on. But I should be short, so I love a book. Why? Do not ask. Just ask yourself and roger that."
She seemed pleased. She was smiling and her eyes were shining or was it just the lighting of the room. She said, "Thanks sir. That was so heartfelt. Another question, sir. What is your say about the market? What are the problems and what are the challenges? How did you face them? How did you overcome such obstacles?"
He smartened up – checked his tie and suit. Then he said, "The market in publishing is ever unpredictable. If today your book sold there is no guarantee that it will be the case tomorrow. Tomorrow you have to prepare newly. Tomorrow you have to set new strategies, new rules, a new struggle, a new fight. And like in any other business advertisement is the key. For quality sometimes you have to compromise with your profit." He paused for a moment, stood up and went over to her side and leaned over her shoulder and whispered in her ear, "Do I sound bombastic and high sounding, dear?"
She said, "Oh, absolutely not sir." Yet she did not smile. She did not seem pleased finding him whispering to her.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thanks. I think that will be a cut. I mean my walking over here," he said and came back to his seat again. He observed her expression. She seemed a bit uncomfortable. She was looking here and there and was not daring to look at him. She looked a bit angry too. He thought: Oops, she can be angry too! Nice. That is fun. Because most times when a girl shows anger, then she warns that getting her is a tough business.
But the next moment she collected herself and composed the most beautiful smile she could muster and said, "Next question sir…"
She was saying when he interrupted saying, "Do not call me sir. Call me Karl."
She resumed, "Next question si… sorry Karl. What do you publish? Your area of interest? What are your area of interest?"
"As I have told you already we publish everything. From school text books to guides, from college books to magazines and cook books, travelogues, all type of novels and sometimes poetry too. As you know for last few years we have dabbled our hands successfully in a new genre that is erotica. The bdsm type of novels. And we are profiting from it very much. We publish everything. We are ready to give anything the readers want. We are ever-ready to fulfill our readers' demands."
He was certain that the next question would be on the erotica genre. What are the criteria to get published and such questions? Then perhaps she would finish the interview. He planned to invite her for dinner. She would say no shyly at first. But upon insistence she would agree. He would order some good Thai dishes. Then he would insist her on taking some white wine – some sweet and ladies' thing. After few refusals she would accept the drink. A few drops down her throat and she would leave her heavy mask of shyness aside and… she would allow herself to cross the limit. ..
He said to himself: Nice plan little girl. Young girls too have brains. Next he dreamt of a dozen such beautiful and talented novelists all approaching him in unique and novel ways. This was his most charming fantasy. As this girl had retriggered this type of fantasy in him, this new dream, he must please this girl.
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