This weekend is the semi-annual trip to New York. It's fairly routine, really. He has lunch with Becky, his agent - she's sixty-five, the grandmother of a pair of sprites named Maisie and Tierney, and brings him a pumpkin pie every year for the autumn summit - followed closely by Hell Day at the publisher. It involves signing the contracts, which is pretty standard, but this year, his editor is also insisting on a new author photo, one in which he's actually facing the camera.
Needless to say, that caused panic - he wants to be a secret - followed by the hatching of a plan so complicated that it's a wonder Alasdair isn't one of the Deck spymasters himself. Jamie MacDougall will get his author photo. The Deck will get a limited run distribution sans photo, and for this secret-saving favor, Alasdair owes Eve Xiu a Stacy Wheelock anthology and a spin-off starring Stacy's Diamond best friend, Whitney.
It would probably be easier to just give up on the secrecy. So his problems were solved until he decided to invite Riley to New York with him, and now he's probably screwed.
He also needs a new outfit for his photograph. Suit is the order of the day; it can be interesting, but no corduroy, no vintage t-shirts. Maybe he can get away with Chucks, but...probably not.
So the question, he thinks as he rifles through the racks at one of the better menswear stores, is should he go
fairly classic in the three piece vein, or can he get away with
tee, blazer and pants.
He is just really bad at shopping.