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publishers.”
    “Several publishers?”
    “Yup. They bid for it. Your book is going to be hotter than hot.”
    “So, which company will be publishing my book?”
    “Sorry. I did manage to leave that essential fact out, didn’t I? It’s Barnaby and Sons.”
    “Wow! They’re big! Aren’t they?”
    “Yup. One of the biggest.”
    “Umm…What do I do now?”
    Joan Wilson laughed. “You’re going to meet your editor on Friday afternoon—if you’re free.”
    “Free? Tell me where and when,” Jill replied.
    “Slow down, girl, or else you’ll self-destruct before Friday. There’s a place called Bar American on 52 nd Street. We’ll all meet there, say around one o’clock.”
    “That’s fine. Do I need to bring anything?”
    “Nope. Just yourself.”
    “Looking forward to it,” Jill said as the phone call ended and she tried to slow her heartbeat down. She could have sworn it was doing backflips in her rib cage.

Chapter Five
    Jill’s mind raced nearly the entire night before the meeting. She knew she was being silly, but first impressions were so important and she wanted to give her agent and editor a good one. She picked out her best suit to wear, making certain her purse and shoes matched perfectly. Even so, she was still nervous. It reminded her of her first job interview and how she had stuttered and sounded like a total idiot. Hopefully, she wouldn't repeat history.
    ***
    Joan Wilson was waiting in front of the Bar American restaurant when Jill emerged from the taxi she'd taken from Penn Station. Joan didn't need to hold up a sign that read agent , because she looked every bit the part of one. She was a tall woman with shoulder-length dark hair, dressed in a tailored, blue suit, holding a leather messenger bag. Jill guessed the woman to be in her early thirties.
    Jill walked up to her and said, “Hello. By any chance are you Joan Wilson?”
    A warm smile appeared on the woman's face and she extended her hand. “Hello, Jill, I'm so glad to meet you.”
    “Hey! You two! Don't start eating without me!”
    A moment later, a short fireplug of a woman with light-brown hair, approximately Jill's age, came huffing and puffing to meet them. She was toting a large book bag that was almost as big as her.
    “Hello, Robin,” Joan said. “This is Jill Stone. Jill, this is your editor, Robin Wycoff.”
    Suddenly, Robin grabbed Jill and hugged her to her ample bosom, nearly deflating her lungs. “Boy, am I glad to meet you,” she told Jill, who didn't have to live in the borough of Brooklyn to recognize the fact that Robin came from there.
    After being released, Jill replied, “Me, too.”
    Joan had watched with amusement. She suggested, “Let's go inside and have some lunch.”
    The inside of the restaurant resembled a bar with tables filled with patrons. Knowing how busy the place usually got, Joan had reserved a table. The women were seated and the waiter presented them with menus. Jill was still filled with nervous excitement and had nearly no appetite, but ordered the plate of the day, which was snapper, steamed in parchment. Joan ordered a Cobb salad and Robin a steak. All three women had the Vidalia onion soup as an appetizer.
    During the meal Robin explained the process of how Jill's book would be published. “I intend to work very closely with you Jill, editing the manuscript. During this time, the creative services department will design the cover. Several months before the book gets published, we will start promoting it. By the time the book hits the bookshelves, everyone will be talking about it. That's our goal. We're very excited about your book.”
    It was nearly 3 o'clock by the time they said goodbye. Joan Wilson was a very nice lady, but Robin Wycoff was a hoot. If she ever gave up editing, she could well become a standup comic.
    ***
    The next several weeks of Jill's life centered around editing and doing rewrites of her novel. She worked very closely with Robin and often discussed the