This version — the version you just read — incorporates the best elements from each draft, and I want to thank Abby Westlake and Stephen Moore (one of Don’s agents of long standing) for turning up all the manuscripts and other materials they were able to provide. Editing unpublished work from an author who’s no longer with us is always a challenge, requiring humility and care. I feel fortunate to have had years to work with Don and learn about his preferences when it came to editorial matters, not to mention the privilege of editing three previous unpublished novels of his (Memory, The Comedy is Finished, and Forever and a Death — every one of them a great read). I hope you’ll agree that this last lost book of Don’s — and I do think it’s the last one, though I’ve been wrong about that before — is a wonderful final gift from an author we all love and miss so much.
For a child of the 1970s like yours truly, the book is a glorious time capsule full of things that no longer exist, starting with payphones and Checker cabs. For a novel of its time, it’s a refreshingly strong feminist portrayal of a determined woman taking control of her life and making her own choices. It’s also the only book I know that contains literal borscht-belt comedy. (“His clothing was still all burgundy and white, with white patent leather shoes. As we went by, I leaned down and said to him, ‘You wear that outfit in the Belmore Cafeteria, they’ll think you’re the soup of the day.’ ”)
And if you’re wondering what the book is doing in a line called Hard Case Crime when it’s got no crime in it, my answer is, sometimes you have to allow yourself to travel off the beaten path and follow the road where it leads you. A change of scenery can do a world of good. And seeing as how it’s February as we’re publishing this, perhaps love was on our minds.
After all, though they may revoke my noir editor credentials for saying this, Saint Valentine’s Day is not only for massacres.
Charles Ardai
February 2022