![]() ![]() “For a book of stories? But okay, what’s the payout?” My only knowledge came from what I had been paid for my own books, so I thought surely I should offer more. “Well, do a P-and-L for it and we’ll see.” “You want to buy this book, Dan?” my boss, Ann Godoff, says, referring to the first work I’m trying to acquire at Random House, by George Saunders. And at this point, with a cold, sick feeling, I realize what’s going on: Tina now wants me out of the magazine and has persuaded her husband to offer me a job. “Where are you going at this time of day, Nosy?” Nancy says. We call each other “Nosy,” for “Nosy Parker”-the British slang term for a snoop. A minute or so later, he says, “Well, yes-can you come up right now?” The vowels, in his Beatles-esque accent, make the words sound a little like “coom oop.”Īt the elevator bank of The New Yorker, I run into Nancy Franklin, later to become the TV critic for the magazine. “Let me check with my assistant,” Evans says. It is 1995, and Evans and I have met at parties given by his wife, who happens to be Tina Brown, who happens to be the editor of The New Yorker. “I’d like to have a word with you,” he says. ![]() Harold Evans, the publisher of Random House, calls me at The New Yorker, where I work. Photo: SuperStock, Inc./(C) 1999 SuperStock, Inc. ![]()
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