“Soon,” Mercer said. “I’ll throw a dinner.”

“Tell them the good news, Noelle,” Bruce said.

“What good news?”

“Don’t be coy. A few days ago a rich couple from Texas bought Noelle’s entire inventory. The store is practically empty.”

“Too bad they’re not book collectors,” Leigh said.

“I saved the writer’s table,” Noelle said to Mercer.

“And Noelle is going to close for a month so she can hustle back to France and restock.”

Noelle said, “They’re very nice people, and very knowledgeable. I’m meeting them in Provence for more shopping.”

“Now, that sounds like fun,” Mercer said.

“Why don’t you go with me?” Noelle said.

“Might as well,” Myra said. “Can’t do any more damage to your novel.”

“Now, Myra,” Leigh said.

“Have you been to Provence?” Noelle asked.

“No, but I’ve always wanted to see it. How long will you be there?”

Noelle shrugged as if a schedule was not important. “Maybe a month or so.” She glanced at Bruce and something passed between them, as if the invitation to Mercer had not been discussed beforehand.

Mercer caught it and said, “I’d better save my money for the writer’s table.”

“Good call,” Myra said. “You’d better stay here and write. Not that you need my advice.”

“She doesn’t,” Leigh said softly.

They passed around a large serving bowl of shrimp risotto and a basket of bread, and after a few bites Myra began looking for trouble. “Here’s what I think we should do, if I might say so,” she said, chomping away with a mouth full of food. “This is very unusual and I’ve never done it before, which is all the more reason to do it now, you know, venture into unknown territory. We should have a literary intervention, right now, around this table. Mercer, you’ve been here for what, a month or so, and haven’t written a damned word that might one day be sold, and, frankly, I’m getting kinda tired of your moaning and bellyaching about not making any progress with the novel. So, it’s pretty obvious to all of us that you don’t have a story, and since you haven’t published in, what, ten years—”

“More like five.”

“Whatever. It’s plain as day that you need some help. So what I propose is that we intervene as your new friends and help you find a story. Just look at all the talent around the table here. Surely we can steer you in the right direction.”

Mercer said, “Well, it can’t get any worse.”

“See what I mean,” Myra said. “So, we’re here to help.” She gulped some beer from a bottle. “Now, for purposes of this intervention, we need to set some parameters. First and most important is to decide whether you want to write literary fiction, stuff you can’t give away, hell, Bruce can’t even sell it, or do you want to write something more popular. I’ve read your novel and your stories and I’m not the least bit surprised they didn’t sell. Forgive me, okay? This is, after all, an intervention so we have to be brutally blunt. Okay? Everybody okay with the bluntness thing?”