"I can take the photographs," Sebastian said. "Gran's been teaching me, and she's happy to lend me her cameras."
"I'll keep that in mind. Meanwhile, what's the deal about handling your books?"
"Seven percent commission on sales, and we provide the books either already individually wrapped in their cardboard boxes, or I can deliver them in cartons of twenty with sheets of pre-cut corrugated cardboard that you can fold into boxes as you need them."
"Put me down for two cartons, and we'll make the boxes ourselves," Sydney said.
Sebastian was almost walking on air when he got home. He had orders for a hundred and forty books, and there hadn't even been a book review published yet. He bounced into the house, and went hunting for someone to tell his good news. He found his mom and dad in the kitchen. "Hi, did you have a good day?"
"It certainly looks like you did," Simon Jones said. "How did it go?"
"I've got orders for a hundred and forty, and that's without any publicity."
"Congratulations," Simon and Mary Ellen said.
"I'll just go and tell Gran she's got to come round and sign another bundle of books.
Thursday
Sebastian was home from school early. He should have been studying, but there was a regular book review program on, and his source at the school TV station had tipped him that his gran's book was going to be featured, so he'd grabbed a bite to eat and stretched out on the couch to watch the program. Right now he was being slowly put to sleep by the presenter as she droned on about a book by some down-timer. Apparently she had liked it, because she recommended it to viewers. Then she held up the next book, and Sebastian was suddenly all ears.
He lay there in horror, his sandwich forgotten, as she tore the book to shreds. She had nothing good to say about it, and then she attacked the price. "Of course it's expensive. It's a coffee table book," Sebastian muttered to himself. Everyone knew art books were expensive. They expected them to be expensive.
He was still sitting there when his mother got home. "Shouldn't you be studying?" she asked.
Sebastian stared at her vacantly.
"Is there something the matter? Is it Mom?"
The real concern in his mother's voice dragged Sebastian's mind from the nightmare he was in. "The critic tore up Gran's book!"
Mary Ellen looked from Sebastian to the television, to the newspaper open to the television schedule, and back again. "The book review show on television?"
Sebastian nodded.
Mary Ellen walked over and hugged Sebastian. "It's just one woman's opinion."
"But it's an opinion on television. Lots of people will have seen it."
"No publicity is bad publicity."
Sebastian sighed. If only there was some truth in that old saw. He collected his half-eaten sandwich and headed for the kitchen. He'd suddenly lost his appetite. "I'd better call Gran and see if she caught the show," he muttered.
Lettie had caught the show, and she was not happy. Her first instinct had been to call the station and complain, but Tom's wife had persuaded her to cool down before doing anything rash. So she'd followed Celeste's advice and released her anger by blowing up a couple of tree stumps. That had made her feel better, but not as much as placing the explosives under Brianna Marie Flannery's seat would have done. Of course Brianna would have to be Celeste's cousin, wouldn't she?
Felling considerably settled, Lettie returned to the house. Celeste met her at the door.
"Feeling better?"
She nodded. There was something about blowing things up that couldn't help but make someone feel better.
"I'm sorry about my cousin."
Lettie waved the apology away. "We can't choose our relatives."
"The best thing is to fight fire with fire. Do you have a copy you can spare for a review?"
"You mean give away another one of my overpriced vanity publication of my pictures?" Lettie snarled the words. They had drawn blood when Brianna Flannery said them, and she wanted revenge.
"I think you should offer Mr. Kindred a copy if he'll put a review in the Grantville Times."
"Sebastian's already sent out review copies. The trouble is we don't have any control over when or if they'll print reviews."
"Maybe if you speak nicely to Mr. Kindred, he'll ask his reviewer to hurry-up," Celeste suggested.
Lettie sighed. She was getting too old for this sort of thing. "I'll talk to him in church on Sunday."
Sunday
One of the advantages of being married to a Methodist lay preacher was that she'd gotten to know all the Methodists in Grantville. When you had a daughter and son-in-law who were Methodist ministers to the parish, you stayed in the loop even when your husband died. So Lettie had no trouble talking to Lyle Kindred and his wife about her book, the Brianna Flannery review, and when the Grantville Times, of which Lyle was the publisher, might be printing their review of her book. She walked away with the less than satisfactory answer that they were waiting for their reviewer to file her review, but they'll print it as soon as they could.
Wednesday
Lettie was called to the phone late in the evening. She picked it up. "Lettie Sebastian speaking."
"Hello, Lettie. Lyle Kindred here. I just thought you'd like to know the review of your book will be in tomorrow's paper."
"What's it like? Who wrote it?" Lettie demanded.
"Wait and see, Lettie. Wait and see."
"Lyle Kindred, you tell me what it says or. ." she stared at the phone. He'd hung up on her.
Thursday
On Thursday morning she paid one of the older children to run into town to get the paper the moment it hit the street. He returned just as Lettie was finishing breakfast. She ignored the front page stories with their photographs-those were almost old hat now-at least in the Grantville papers, and the cartoons, heading instead straight for the entertainment section. There was a small image of someone reading a book identifying the location of the review.
She read it, and started to smile. Heather Garlow, the reviewer, introduced herself as a fellow artist, and then went on to effectively deny nearly everything Brianna Flannery had said on television, without mentioning the television review.
"That's a good review, isn't it?" Tom asked from over her shoulder. "I mean, more people read the Times than watch television."
"It's more than a good review, Tom. It's a carefully constructed hatchet job on Brianna." Celeste looked up at the ceiling as if looking for inspiration. "I wonder what she could ever have done to upset Mrs. Garlow?"
"She probably tore up some of Mrs. Garlow's work," Lettie muttered. "Whatever made your cousin think she knew anything about art?" she asked Celeste.
"She took a couple of courses at college," Celeste answered.
"Ah, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing," Lettie said. "I guess all we can do now is wait and see if it helps sales."
"How have sales been so far?" Celeste asked.
Lettie shrugged. "They were looking good, but since your cousin's negative review most of the retailers have been holding back on new orders."
Friday
Sebastian watched the emotions flash across his mother's face as she read the paper and wondered what had caused them. "What's so funny, mom?"
Mary Ellen looked up from the paper. "The letters to the editor. Brianna Flannery is complaining about Heather Garlow's review of Mom's book. She's claiming it's a barely disguised personal attack for some honest comments she made about Heather's new installation in the Higgins, and she wants an apology."