Page 67 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

“That must be so hard for you, Shek,” Allison says with a compassion I can only admire. If I’d been through what she has, I’d be a rageaholic.

I have to ask her what her secret is.

Edibles, maybe?

“I’m sorry, Shek—” I say.

“No.” He pauses to drink down some of the massive beer he ordered, which he had to pay extra for because this lunch didn’t come with alcohol, despite Harper’s assurances. “This is as much your fault as theirs.”

“What?”

“They took my marketing budget for The Empty Post and gave it to you.”79

“I don’t think it’s quite that linear…”

He puts his empty mug down with a thunk. “It’s exactly what I was told. Apparently, the book before didn’t sell as much as planned so they ‘shifted resources’ to make it a success. Passed Out in Paris, or whatever.”

“Passed Away in Paris.”80

“No wonder it didn’t sell, with that title.”

I stare down at my plate. He’s right. Passed Away in Paris wasn’t my best work, and the title didn’t help. I’d written it right after I saw Oliver at the Salon du Livre, so I wasn’t in a great state of mind, and the lackluster reviews had translated into lackluster sales. There had been an all-hands meeting in New York when the marketing ramped up for Drowned in Porto, and they told me they were putting a major push behind it.

And yep, they did say they were “diverting resources” to help do that, and you know what? I didn’t think about who it would impact. I was just happy they were doing it.

“Still probably not Eleanor’s fault,” Allison says. “She doesn’t make these decisions.”

Shek grunts, then raises his hand to the waiter to bring another beer.

“No,” I say. “I… I’m sorry, Shek. They did tell me they were doing that. Not whose budget they were using, but I did know. I should’ve asked.”

“Typical.”

“What did you expect her to do?” Allison says. “Turn it down? Would you have done that? And what about all your fat advances over the years? Wasn’t that money ‘taken away’ from someone else? Or a lot of someone elses?”

Shek splutters as the waiter brings him his beer. Then he stands and takes it with him to another table without saying a word.

“You told him,” I say to Allison.

“Men never like to hear the truth.”

“Amen.”

She smiles, then looks away.

Does she hate me? I feel like she hates me.

“Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat to try to break the tension. “I am sorry about what’s happening to him.”

“You’re only as good as your last book.” She sounds like she’s speaking from experience.

I’m not sure how many copies Allison’s book sold. It’s not polite to ask.81 Besides, this is the first real conversation we’ve ever had.82 And here she is, defending me to Shek, despite everything I’ve done to her.

“Did you want to publish another book?”

“It’s the only reason I wrote that tell-all in the first place. It was a two-book deal—they were supposed to publish my novel afterward, but because the memoir didn’t sell well,83 they canceled it.”

“Ah, hell, I’m sorry.”

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