Sherkhan Books was growing stronger and now they had the funds to advertise. This was a permanent stumbling block between Esipov and Avtayev, the commercial director, who hoarded every kopeck and feverishly counted every ruble. Today they were to discuss the advertising campaign for the new volume in the Eastern Best Seller series, and Esipov was prepared to spend a lot of time convincing the commercial director to invest the funds.
The series is doing well as it is, Grisha Avtayev said loudly in outraged tones. Sales are fine and I dont think we need any additional advertising.
Average sales meant that books from the publishers warehouse were sold to wholesalers in under four months. Good sales meant the print run left the warehouse within two months, which made a quick return on the investment and a profit that was minimally affected by inflation.
We have to try to raise the rate of sales, Esipov said gently.
That will happen anyway, Avtayev insisted stubbornly. The series is launched and the process will continue on its own. You know this happens in every house. The first few dont go very well, then things improve completely independently of the quality of the books. That is an objective process. Why waste money on something that will happen anyway? I dont get it.
Because I want to increase the printings. If we wait for the series to get popular on its own, we have to limit ourselves to a hundred or a hundred twenty thousand copies. I want to be able to print a hundred fifty thousand or two hundred thousand right away. And to be guaranteed that they will sell.
Sure, Avtayev said, waving his arms in fear. Youre going to put in that much money. What if it doesnt sell? Nobodys going to give you any guarantees.
There will be guarantees if we do the marketing right. Semyon, Esipov said, turning to the managing editor, have you selected excerpts for prepub serials?
He had to argue with the managing editor, too, but over different issues. Semyon inevitably suggested the best parts for magazine publication, and Esipov had to disagree with him each time. He was the only one of the three who looked ahead. Both Avtayev and Semyon Voronets thought only of the shortterm gain and all their efforts were channeled on the production and sale of the book at hand. Naturally, for the best sales of a single book you had to give the best scene from it for serial rights. But what would happen next? Next, the reader who read that best scene in a newspaper or magazine would think that the whole book was on that level. Of course he would look for the book, run around town for it. But once he opened it and started reading, he would see that the rest was weaker and that the whole book was not about only that one excerpt. He would sigh, berate himself for being too trusting, and would no longer seek out the next volume in the series, no matter how extravagantly advertised. Who would trust a liar? Kirill Esipov felt that prepublication excerpts should use not the best scene but the most intriguing one, so that the reader will want to find out what else happens and how it all ends. Unfortunately, Semyon Voronets was unable to find excerpts like that. He was persistent and pushy, he knew how to negotiate with authors and translators, but he had no taste or understanding of literature. With enviable constancy he always selected the sexiest or most violent bits from upcoming manuscripts, which were rarely typical of the actual books. Lovers of that sort of thing would be disappointed if they believed the advertising. And more discerning readers who believed the advertising would not buy the book at all. But he never could beat that into Voronetss pathologically thick skull. He still thought that a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood were the best bait; the general director thought the bait should be intrigue, conflict, mystery. A puzzle.
Besides printed excerpts in the papers, the marketing campaign used announcements of coming books in current volumes, as annotations that Voronets was supposed to write. His first few efforts showed that he could not do it well. Capturing the essence of the plot, retelling it briefly, in just a few words, and adding mystery and intrigue was beyond his modest abilities. Semyon tried to get the translators to do it, but their annotations were not much better. Finally Esipov told him to find a copywriter who could skim a manuscript and write attractive copy. But then the cheapskate Avtayev got agitated. What, pay for something that could be done in-house! Never!
Esipov scanned the excerpt selected by Semyon to be printed in three segments in a popular daily. This isnt typical of the book, he thought drearily. Three martial artists fighting in a dark, rat-filled cellar. Creepy nonsense. One of them the hero, he assumed put the other two to eternal rest but had to stay in the cellar because the only one who knew the way out was one of the two dead men. So the hero stays down there with the rats looking for the way out. Now, who would want to buy this book? Only the people who thought it was devoted from first page to the last to fights and rats in a cellar. And how many readers were there like that?
What is the novel about? he asked, pushing away the computer-printed pages.
The Japanese mafia in Hollywood, Voronets replied.
And why cant you tell that from the excerpt? Where is the Yakuza? Where is Hollywood? What are we advertising here?
But this is the scariest scene, Voronets explained, truly not understanding what it was the general director wanted from him.
God! Esipov clutched his head. How many times do I have to explain!
In the end, Voronets promised to find another selection, but Kirill Esipov could see that he still had not figured out what was needed. Once again, he would probably bring him more garbage.
If only he could hire a good person to replace him, knowledgeable and with literary taste.
Lets look at the annotations, Esipov said wearily.
The annotations were useless, too. Voronets hadnt learned to write them, either.
We cant go on like this, Grisha, Kirill said to Avtayev. We have to find a specialist and hire him. No one needs advertising like this. Were doing ourselves harm this way.
We dont need any advertising at all, Avtayev was back on his hobby horse. Ive told you, it does itself
Ive said what we need and well have what I say, Esipov cut him off.
He wanted to add, And if you dont agree, then go, find yourself another publishing house and economize there. But he couldnt say that.
I am certain, Grisha, he added more calmly, that in a very short time you will be convinced that we are doing the right thing, putting money into advertising. I promise you. By the way, you havent forgotten that its Volodyas birthday on Friday? Dont plan anything else for Friday afternoon, well have to go out there to congratulate him.
Avtayev made a face. A birthday present for the companys best translator was no joke. You couldnt make do with flowers and a bottle. They needed a good present. And who would pay? Would they have to all chip in again? You could go broke working here.
Watching Avtayev and Voronets leave his office, Sherkhans general director thought with dismay that he would have to carry the whole load in this team. Because the team could not be changed. They were all mixed up in this too much. He was stuck with them.
* * *Solovyov was having trouble getting used to his new assistant. Ever since he became trapped in his wheelchair, he had an assistant. Secretary, nanny, errand boy, chef, janitor and maid all in one. At first everyone recommended he hire a woman. After all, the functions were primarily female, there was hardly any real mans work, but Solovyov knew that he would not be able to stand having a woman around to take care of him and pity him. His memories were too strong of the days when women adored him and loved him for his strength, decisiveness, and courage.
Avtayev made a face. A birthday present for the companys best translator was no joke. You couldnt make do with flowers and a bottle. They needed a good present. And who would pay? Would they have to all chip in again? You could go broke working here.
Watching Avtayev and Voronets leave his office, Sherkhans general director thought with dismay that he would have to carry the whole load in this team. Because the team could not be changed. They were all mixed up in this too much. He was stuck with them.
* * *Solovyov was having trouble getting used to his new assistant. Ever since he became trapped in his wheelchair, he had an assistant. Secretary, nanny, errand boy, chef, janitor and maid all in one. At first everyone recommended he hire a woman. After all, the functions were primarily female, there was hardly any real mans work, but Solovyov knew that he would not be able to stand having a woman around to take care of him and pity him. His memories were too strong of the days when women adored him and loved him for his strength, decisiveness, and courage.
The first one was a nice guy, who managed his duties well but whose normal male ambition got in the way of staying in a job with no career prospects. Solovyov paid a more than generous wage and threw in use of his car, but it turned out that the man had taken the job for a place to live. As soon as he had an opportunity to buy his own apartment, he quit. The publishers found him his second assistant they sent over a young man who worked in their warehouse. He didnt last very long he was sticky-fingered and dumb besides, forgetting to do half the things Solovyov told him. This was the third. The publishers had found him, too, apologizing all the while for the unsuccessful previous candidate and promising that the young one would be fine. His name was Andrei.
Solovyov was wary of him. In the last two years he had learned the full measure of his own vulnerability, involved with his inability to control the assistant and the need to rely on him completely. While the first attempt had been more or less successful, the second was a failure. Therefore, he decided to start by finding out why Andrei took the job.
How old are you? he asked Andrei when they met. Twenty-five.
Do you have a family?
Parents. Im not married yet.
Do you live with them?
No, I have my own place.
Education?
High school.
Army?
Yes.
Tell me, Andrei, what do you need this job for? Its not a career path.
I wont have a career anywhere, he said with an easy smile. Thats not my character. You have to be aggressive, pushy, quick. Im not like that.
Youll have to live here with me, Solovyov warned.
Yes, I know. They told me.
What else did they say?
That Ill have to drive, be able to cook decently, not drink, and be precise and careful with your work. To do what Im told and not forget anything.
And do you think you can manage that?
I hope so. My mother says I should have been born a girl. Andreis eyeglasses lent him a serious and businesslike air. Solovyov thought that he had no choice anyway. So now the new assistant had been with him two weeks. There had been no problems as yet, but Solovyov, taught by experience, did not let up his vigilance. Andrei had gone into town that morning to buy food for the birthday party. He should have been back, Solovyov thought irritably, it was getting dark. He was afraid of being alone in the dark.
The sound of a car came through the window, the car door slammed, and the front door opened. Solovyov was in his study on the first floor and could hear his assistants every footstep. Would he start unloading the car first or have the sense to come in and report?
Andrei had the sense to report, and Solovyovs irritation subsided.
Good evening. Im sorry for the delay.
Ah, so he realizes hes late. That was good.
What happened? Solovyov asked as indifferently as he could. He didnt want the boy to see that he had been upset.
They didnt have some of the hors-doeuvres you had ordered, and I had to wait while they made them up.
What, they made them specially for you?
No, specially for you, Andrei replied with a smile. I gave the department director your book and explained that it was your birthday. Her husband is a big fan of Eastern Best Seller, and she gladly took care of the order.
Where did you get the book? From my shelves?
No, I bought it along the way.
What for?
Just in case. And it did come in handy.
The fellow had brains. And he wasnt pushy, he bought the book himself, even though he could have asked Solovyov for a copy, he wouldnt have refused.
In any case, I managed to get everything you wanted. Food and drink. Ill unload the car and then well have dinner. Or would you rather eat first?
No, no. Go ahead. Im not very hungry.
Andrei left, and Solovyov returned to his translation. The book was due in two weeks, in mid-April, and he was right on schedule, but Solovyov did not like leaving things for the last minute and preferred to finish earlier than the publishers deadline, to have time to go over the manuscript one last time for the final touches.
After dinner, Solovyov settled down in the living room in front of the television set.
Andrei! he exclaimed. I forgot to remind you this morning about the masseur.
I called him, the assistant replied. You had told me about it two days ago. Hell be here tomorrow morning at ten. Thanks, Solovyov mumbled in relief.
The masseur came every other day at the same time, five p.m. But that might not be a good time tomorrow, since guests might have arrived by then. Solovyov had not invited anyone for a specific time, and anyone who wanted to come would be dropping in at any hour during the day. He did not want to miss his massage, because he felt like a new man afterward. Well, well, the boy was not forgetful, another point for him.
That night he had trouble falling asleep. For some reason he was worried about tomorrow. But why? There was nothing special, a day like any other. It wasnt the first or last birthday hed ever have. So why so upset? As if he were expecting disaster.
His bedroom was on the first floor, and Andreis room was on the second, right above him. Solovyov could see the light coming from Andreis window. The assistant was not asleep and that was upsetting, too. It was after one a.m., why wasnt the lad sleepy? If he was what he tried to appear to be, not ambitious and without any other interests or occupation besides his work for Solovyov, he should sleep soundly at night. Or did he suffer from insomnia too? Why? Guilty conscience? Spiritual suffering? Lord, he was getting ridiculous!
The light went out on the second floor at last, and Solovyov calmed down. He had drifted off when he heard footsteps. Someone was carefully going down the ramp from the second floor. Someone! Why, who else could it be but Andrei? Solovyov opened his eyes, but there was no light coming from the window. Why didnt he put on the light if he needed to go downstairs? Why was he walking around in the dark? His heart was thudding and his ears rang.
The steps got closer and, even though they were very cautious and quiet, Solovyov could hear them. They thundered in his ears. He couldnt stand it.
Andrei! he called out, turning on the lamp over his head-board.
The door was flung open instantly. Andrei was on the doorstep wearing only his shorts. Solovyov noticed that his assistant was barefoot.