The plant - By Stephen King Page 0,54

(warning: that idiotic woman with the guitar is still in front - if she gets picked up and institutionalized, I hope the judge sends her to music school) and checked out their paperback rack. It's a pretty good one (i. e., lots of Pocket Books, Signets, Avons, Bantams, no Zenith Houses except for one dusty Windhover that was published 2 years ago). I counted five so-called nonfiction books about aliens and/or flying saucers, and six on investing in the Reagan Era stock market. My idea is suppose we combined the two?

The core concept is this: a stockbroker is abducted by little gray men who first read his brainwaves, suck blood from his nasal cavities, and probe his anus - standard stuff, in other words, been-there done-that. But then, to make up for the inconvenience, they give him stock tips based on their certain market knowledge, obtained in faster-than-light trips to the future. Most of it would be zen stuff like "Never fill your barrow with old bricks" and "Ancient stars offer the best navigation." This crap would, however, be spiced with more practical advice like "Never sell short in a bull market" and "In the long run, power and light stocks always rise." We could call it Alien Investing. I know that at first blush the idea sounds crazy, but who would have figured a breakout bestseller called Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance?

I even have a writer in mind - Dawson Postlewaite, aka Nick Hardaway, the Macho Man himself. The stock market is Dawson's hobby (fuck, it's his mania, what keeps him poor and thus in our stable) and I think he'd almost do it gratis.

What do you think? And feel free to tell me I'm nuts, if that's what you think.

Bill

from the office of the editor-in-chief

TO: Bill Gelb DATE: 4/3/81

MESSAGE: I don't think you're nuts. No more so than the rest of us, anyway. And it's a great title, almost a guaranteed pick-it-up-and-take-a-look on a rack of paperbacks. Alien Investing is hereby green-lit. On the cover I see a photo of the Stock Exchange with a space alien laid in, shooting cosmic rays (green, like the color of money) from his big black eyes. Get Postlewaite on it at once. I know he's got a deadline on Fresno Firestorm, but I'll see he gets the necessary extension.

R.

WHILE YOU WERE OUT!

Caller Riddley Walker For Roger Wade Date April 3rd 1981 Time 12:35 PM Message He will be back Wednesday or Thursday of next week. Winding up mother's affairs taking longer than he thought, There are difficulties with his brother and sister. Mostly sister. Asks if you will water plant but not mention to J. Kenton that you are doing it. Says "hoodoo ivy make dat boy pow'ful nervous." Whatever that means. Message taken by LaShonda
Chapter CHAPTER NINE
From Roger Wade's Audio Journal, Cassette 1

This is Friday the third of April. Afternoon. Bill Gelb has come up with an idea. It's a dandy, too. I'm not surprised. Given what's happening, brilliance around here is almost a foregone conclusion. When I returned from lunch... with Alan Williams... what a wonderful guy he is, not in the least because he treated at Onde's, a place that would collapse my meager expense account allowance for a month... anyway, when I got back I spied an amusing thing. Bill Gelb was sitting in his office and rolling dice on his desk. He was too absorbed to notice me noticing him. He'd roll, make a notation on one of those mini legal pads, then roll again, then make another notation. Of course we all know he shoots craps with Riddley every chance he gets, but Riddley's in Alabama and won't be back until the middle of next week. So what's this about? Staying in practice? Just can't get enough of dem bones? Some new system? All gamblers have systems, don't they? Who the hell knows. He's had a great idea... Alien Investing, forsooth... and that earns him a little eccentric-editor time.

Herb Porter has been going around all day with a big, silly smile on his chops. He is actually being nice to people. What in God's name can that be about? As if I didn't know, nyuck-nyuck-nyuck.

Never mind Bill and Herb. Never mind Sandra's hot thighs, either. I have another and more interesting thing to ponder. There was a pink WHILE YOU WERE OUT slip on my desk when I got back from lunch. Riddley called and LaShonda took the message. He says he won't