His cell phone, lying on the table, tinkled out the melancholy opening bars of the overture to La Traviata just as he chomped down on bagel and egg, and Julie answered it for him.

“Why, hello, Lester!” she said brightly. “We were just talking about you. Yes, we did see the article. Yes, it certainly is that.”

“I’m not here!” Gideon cried around a mouthful of food. “You don’t know where I am. You haven’t seen me since last Friday. You don’t know when I’ll be back, if ever.”

“Why, yes, of course he’s here,” Julie said pleasantly. “Gideon, guess what?” she burbled, batting her eyes. “It’s Lester Rizzo. Your publisher.” She held out the phone.

Scowling, Gideon took it. Lester was already babbling away. “You read it, Gid? Is that good copy, or what? You did great, buddy. Fender tells me it’s been picked up by over a hundred papers.”

“Oh, wonderful, Lester. But the fact is – as you damn well know – I don’t have any sensational exposes to pull out of my hat. I don’t have any exposes to pull out of my hat. And my public lecture in Gibraltar is about the evolutionary concomitants of erect posture, not-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, but who cares about that stuff? With all due respect, nobody. Look, by the time Bones comes out, this’ll all be ancient history. You think Fender or anybody else is gonna go to Gibraltar to check up on you? Don’t worry, they won’t. Trust me. But your name’s gonna be a little more familiar to people, you see? They won’t know why they know it, they’ll just know they know it when they see it at the bookstore. And they’ll be more likely to reach for it. ‘Oh, yeah, here’s one by that guy, Gideon Oliver. I think I’ve heard of him.’ And if they reach for it, maybe with a little luck they’ll buy it.”

“Maybe, but-”

“ Definitely. Market research proves it, pal.” His voice deepened with veneration at the magical words. “That’s what it’s all about: Market research.”