Free Let the Games Begin by Niccolò Ammaniti Page B

Dream .I'm not at all satisfied . . . And it's only selling so-so. From someone who has sold a million and a half copies, I expected, frankly speaking, a lot more. With all that advertising we bought for him. Have you seen the quarterly returns? If it weren't for The Lion's Den . . .’
    Alice, with a masterly sleight of hand, had finally freed his erection and began masturbating him.
    â€˜We need to discuss the contract for his next book. His agent is out of her mind. She demanded too high a sum. Before we sign, we have to think things through properly. We can't be strangled by someone who sells as much as Adele Raffo, at the end of the day, but she gets exactly half as much as him.’
    Ciba thought he would faint. That son of a bitch was comparing him to an obese nun who wrote recipe books! And what was this story about renegotiating the contract? Pennacchini was nothing but a big fat fake . . . He had told Fabrizio that Nestor's Dream was a necessary book, the novel of his coming-of-age.
    Alice, in the meantime, all fired up, wasn't listening and continued to massage him with a precise anti-clockwise movement of the wrist. However, to her great surprise, this wasn't getting the desired result in the least. His dick was literally shrivelling up in her hand. She looked at him, embarrassed. The writer was floored. ‘What's happening? Is he coming here?’
    â€˜Please . . . Just a moment. Be quiet for just a moment.’
    Alice heard a broken note in Fabrizio's voice. She dropped his flaccid appendage and started listening.
    â€˜Anyway, he's not going anywhere! Where could he go? No other publishing house is prepared to give him as much as we do. Not even half. Who does he think he is? Grisham? And what's more, I've heard that his show hasn't been confirmed for next year either. If they shut it down, Ciba will sink like a rock. We have to get him to lower his crest. In fact, nextweek, Achille, I want to meet with Modica and Malagò so we can work out how to proceed . . . He hasn't got another book in him. He's washed up.’ A moment of silence. ‘Ahhh!! I've finished. I'd been holding it in since the plane.’ Then the sound of footsteps on the gravel.
    Ciba was floating half off the ground, unable to react. Then he plummeted down, into the mud of planet earth, or better, onto the woman whose vagina he had his middle finger immersed in. A woman whom, what's more, he had only just met. And who worked in the same field as him. A stranger. A potential spy.
    He picked himself up, red in the face and with the expression of a psychopath.
    She covered her chest with her blouse and made an undefinable face.
    Pity! She feels pity for me! Fabrizio realised. He pulled his finger out and cleaned it off on his jacket. What the devil was he doing? Had he gone crazy? He had thrown himself like a horny teenager onto a stranger while his publishing house was plotting against him.
    I must respond to this outrage .
    There was only one person in the world who could help him. His agent. Margherita Levin Gritti.
    â€˜Sorry, I've gotta go!’ he said distractedly, while he stuffed his mollusc into his trousers and ran away.
    She didn't move, not knowing what to think. Then she began buttoning up her blouse.

 
    15
    The leader of the Wilde Beasts of Abaddon had finally found the idea. He needed to meet with his adepts immediately andfill them in on the situation. It didn't matter that it was past ten o'clock. They were all at Silvietta's house watching a film.
    With the lights off, he went into the broom cupboard. Well hidden behind the detergents and shoes, rammed into a plastic supermarket bag, were the uniforms of the Beasts. He had designed them himself, and then had them sewn by a Chinese tailor from Capranica. They were simple black cotton tunics (not like the showy ones of the Children of the Apocalypse, in gold and purple) with a pointed hood. As for shoes, after reconsidering many times, he had opted