October 22, 2020

Theo and Me

My friend David calls and asks if I can do him a favor. I say it would be my pleasure. Although it most certainly will not. But it is what it is. He asks if I would agree to meet with his friend Theo. I tell him what I always tell him - that his friend Theo is a nut job.

“He’s trying to get his book published,” says David gently. “I told him you would help.”

“He kinda freaks me out,” I say. “What’s with the beard?”

“His heart is in the right place,” says David. Then, buttering me up he says “I told him nobody knows more about publishing than you.”

“This makes us even?” I ask. David insists I once borrowed chairs from him for a party I did not invite him to.

David says “Not even close.”

It was worth a try.

I agree to meet Theo at the Starbucks on Avenue near my house. I see him right away. He has nabbed a primo table near the bay window. I have begged him not to wear his tuxedo and top hat and he has met me halfway. He is in a brown wool three-piece suit and is wearing a fedora. He stands to greet me when I approach the table and extends a formal handshake.

“Hey Teddy,” I say. “What’s shaking?” I imagine he doesn’t like being called Teddy but he has come calling, fedora in hand, and understands this is no time to put on airs.

“I am well,” he says.

“Can I get you a coffee?”

“A mint tea,” he replies, “and perhaps a thin slice of sachertorte.” I don’t tell him that Starbucks does not carry the Viennese chocolate cake first made for Prince Metterninch in 1832.

I bring him back his tea and a chocolate brownie.

“They ran out of the sachertorte,” I say.

“Well, it is not surprising. It is 4:00 in the afternoon.” Theo had wanted to meet at 7:00am.

“So what news with the book Theo?” I ask. I want to get this favor done sooner rather than later.

Theo pulls a letter out of his briefcase and waves it at me. “Those cretins at Random House have rejected my manuscript. They sent me a form letter, the anti-Semites!”

I take the letter from his hand. It is indeed a template rejection letter. ‘We regret to inform you’ etc.

“Look Theo,” I say, reverting back to his given name in order not to pour salt on an open wound. “It is like I told you last time. You are wasting your time with the big publishers. They won’t even consider a manuscript if it doesn’t come from an agent.”

Theo snatches the letter back “An agent,” he scoffs. “I don’t need no blasted agent. I have a glowing recommendation from Sokolov. A letter of introduction from the Baron himself!”

“Why don’t you try the smaller presses?” I say. “I might know an editor at Summerled Press.”

Theo calms down a little “Summerled? They do political manifestos?”

“Well, mostly poetry collections,” I reply. “But they are looking to branch out.”

The Summerled Press offices are in a Victorian in the Annex. Theo and I take an Uber because parking is a bitch in the Annex.

I do not know an editor at Summerled Press. I know the owner, Janet Summerled. She had gone out with my friend Harold Goldfarb. It had ended badly. Mostly for Goldfarb.

But I know her. We had broken bread half a dozen times. It was enough to get a meeting.

Theo cannot be talked out of his tuxedo and top hat this time. “You have to show people how serious you are.” He lectures me in the Uber. I don’t bother arguing with him. I had already used up all of my energy convincing him to allow me to get a copy translated from German into English.

Janet Summerled meets us in the Summerled Press conference room with two junior editors who I think are both called Maxine.

The meeting gets off to a good start.

If Janet and the two Maxines are surprised to be meeting a tall fully bearded man in tuxedo and tails then they are doing a remarkable job of disguising it.

And Theo, displaying both class and diplomacy, helps himself to the offered Timbits without once asking if he can have strudel instead.

Then Janet Summerled shocks me by saying “Theo, can I call you Theo, we are very interested in your book. We find it very compelling and are interested in publishing it.”

Theo sits very straight in his chair and nods his head ever so slightly. As if to say, yes of course you are interested in publishing my book. Why wouldn’t you. But I can tell he is pleased as punch.

“Yes,” says one of the Maxines. “We really loved it.”

“We did,” says the other Maxine, “but we have notes.”

“Notes?” I say. Although it might be a little muffled because I have a mouth full of Timbits.

“Notes?” Says Theo. “Vas is das?”

“Yes,” says Janet Summerled. “To begin with. The title. I’m afraid it is a little on the nose.”

“On the nose?” I say.

“On the nose?” Says Theo.

“Yes,” replies one of the Maxines. “In this climate, we are trying to be a little more inclusive.”

“That’s right,” pipes in the other Maxine. “Also we would like it to appeal to a broader audience. Let the people think that the state is for anyone and everyone.”

Neither Theo or I say anything, although it looks like Theo is about to have a stroke. One of the Maxines takes our collective silence as a sign to soldier on.

“We like Teddy the Dreamer. Our creative team even mocked up a cover.” She holds up a photo with the title and an illustration of Theo floating in the clouds. It is quite artistic.

“Yes,” says Janet Summerled. “I do like that one. It’s kinda catchy.”

“The title is the title!” Theo says with a roar.

“Theo,” I whisper, my mouth now Timbit free. “Let’s be reasonable here. They want to publish your book.”

“This is the name of the book,” he repeats emphatically.

“Maybe you can make a little compromise?” I ask.

“There will be no compromise,” says Theo. “This is not just a book. It is the future of my people. The name cannot be changed.”

“That’s a deal breaker,” says Janet Summerled.

“Big time,” says one of the Maxines.

All things considered, Theo is in a surprisingly good mood during the Uber ride home. He is the quintessential renaissance man. Schooled and learned in many disciplines. But, at the end of the day, he is a writer. And as a writer, he is buoyed by the fact that, despite their notes, they had liked his book.

“We shall publish it ourselves,” he declares. “Like you do with your little joke books.” I had suggested he self-publish when I first met him but this is no time for ‘I told you sos’.

“You know how to do this?” Asks Theo. And actually, I do. I have an entire team set up to publish my own books on Amazon.

I say “Yes. I can do it for you. It is very easy.”

“I can keep the name?” Says Theo.

“Yes,” I assure him, “you keep the name.”

He is very pleased.

“I am going to publish my book,” he announces to our Uber driver.

Our driver, the confirmation email had said his name was Fernando, looks back and flashes a toothy smile. “Congratulations sir. I have a cousin back home in my country who published a book. It is a mystery novel.”

“Fernando, where are you from?” I ask.

“Uganda,” he replies.

“Ah,” I say. “What is it like?”

“It is a beautiful country. But very, very hot.”

“What do you think Theo? You want to go visit Uganda one day?”

Theo is busy shuffling the pages of his manuscript. He briefly looks up to say “Not for me, I don’t do well in the heat.”

Once my team gets the green light, things move along very quickly. Marianne sets up an Amazon account, Tatiana goes to work on the cover, and Helen does the design for the Kindle eBook and paperback. We use the Sokolov and Baron de Rothchild blurbs on the back cover. Miles sends out advance copies and we get surprisingly good reviews in both Kirkus (“a tour de force”) and Publisher’s Weekly (“his vivid imagination is matched only by his explosive use of language”).

Theo wants to buy a new suit for the picture we plan on using for the author’s page. I tell him I will take him to Yorkdale on Wednesday afternoon.

“Afternoon?” He asks.

“Yes,” I reply. “Maybe around three.”

“I prefer the morning,” he says.

“In the morning,” I reply, “I have to go to court.”

“You have to go to court,” he exclaims. “You have a trial?”

“Not so much a trial,” I say. “I am fighting a speeding ticket.” Theo says he will go to court with me then we will go to Yorkdale to buy a suit.

I have no case. I was really only hoping the cop wouldn’t show but he did. The judge fines me $400 for going 30 km over the speed limit and dings me 2 points.

“Fucking injustice,” I say to Theo speaking through the curtain as he tries on a suit in the change room at The Bay. “So fucking unfair.”

Theo comes out of the change room wearing a brown three-piece suit which looks remarkably like the one he already owns. He gives me a twirl and then says:

“You were speeding my good man. Give it a rest.”

David and Leanne have a book launch party. Leanne has even learned how to make sachertorte. It is a pretty big crowd. Even Lewberg and Goldfarb come.

David has set Theo up with a little table and there is a long line of people waiting for autographs.

Then Theo, who is in his customary tuxedo and top hat, stands up and raises his glass.

“I would like to thank David and Leanne for this beautiful party and my friend Ron for helping me realize my lifelong dream.”

Everyone says “Hear hear.”

And then I say “Theo, if you will it, it is not a dream.”

And Theo smiles and says, “So corny. Maybe you should leave the writing to me.”

I smile and said “Ok.” I pick up the book and admire the cover. Tatiana did a good job -

“The Judenstadt by Theodor Herzl.”

Then I help myself to my third piece of sachertorte.

The end.