Just one last job

No more writing assignments. That is what I promised myself. I had ‘retired’ as a freelance journalist and tech author to work on my new novel. Why, then, was I considering this job?

After being driven from my home in Andover, MA, to Boston's Logan Airport, then enjoying a pleasant flight to San José, I was picked up by a limo and driven for my overnight stay at the Barceló. There, I had an early, and very restful, night’s sleep. Suitably breakfasted, I was driven out to meet my host. Brian Cooper lived not too far from the tech empire he had created… but not too close, either. It took a while to get there.

“Welcome to the Cooper Estate, Mr Stapleton,” said the immaculately casual young man who met me at the door, offering a well-manicured hand to shake. “Would you like to follow me?”

I did, and found myself on an East-facing terrace, overlooking the hills in the distance. This was my third visit to the Valley but the first time I had seen so much real estate belonging to one person. Before I had had much time to enjoy the view, Cooper appeared, dressed in a simple, but no doubt expensive, light blue business suit, shirt neck open but still wearing a jacket despite the growing heat.

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“Good morning,” he said abruptly, with no attempt to shake hands.

“Good morning, Mr Cooper,” I replied. “Thank you for agreeing to the interview.”

“I did not,” he said. “And if my press team told you I had, they will be hearing from me.”

Cooper sat in one of the wicker chairs set out on the terrace and nodded at the one opposite. I got the impression he wanted me to sit and so did.

“I’ll come straight to the point,” he said. “I am planning to retire as Chairman of Co-Tech Semiconductor and am advised by my press secretary that it would be a good time to publish my biography.” I let him continue.

“I am also advised that you are a competent author, which is why I sent for you.” With that, he took a fat envelope from his jacket pocket and slapped it down on the low table between us.

“You will find 20,000 dollars in there…” he said, indicating the envelope. “No need to count it. That is your advance. My publishing company will discuss royalties another time. You have six months to produce a draft, which my press team will edit. You will be allocated a suite in my home, with living and working facilities provided. Agreed?” It didn’t sound like a question.

“That certainly is a generous offer, Mr Cooper, but I think I would prefer to invoice you for any advance. I can’t accept that amount of cash and I suspect the IRS would not be happy if I did.”

That certainly is a generous offer

For the first time he smiled, and with genuine warmth.

“I’m glad you said that,” he replied. “I don’t like tax swindlers and would have sent you away, empty-handed, if you had laid so much as a finger on that money.”

The rest of the 20-minute meeting with my new client was as relaxed and informal as any business meeting over a morning coffee could be. We discussed a wide range of topics of his choosing and I let him do most of the talking. It helped to set the scene for the autobiography I had by then been employed to ghost write.

Settling myself into the luxurious apartment in a remote and quiet wing of the sprawling palatial home that evening, I thought that my final assignment could well end up being the best of my writing career.

O ~ 0 ~ o ~

This story is taken from a collection of short stories by Raymond G. Taylor: Short and Sweet

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