Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“So much.”
“It just kinda blew my mind. And it was… well, just weird. So I don’t hang out at the table.”
“Do you miss it? The fan stuff? Does it bother you at all that Essie gets all the glory?”
“Mmm. Sometimes?” But then I revise. “It does kinda bother me. Not the part about Essie. She’s really good at being SS and she handles it all with class and grace. But it would be nice if people were celebrating me as well as the books, if that makes sense.”
“Oh, it does. I think every writer—every artist ever, actually—can relate to that. But if you’re not gonna hang out with Essie, what are you gonna do this afternoon? Because… I mean, if you’re not busy… I’m actually not busy either.”
“What do you mean? You’re signing books this afternoon, Cordelia.”
She blows out a breath. “Yeah, but no one is coming to my table, Steve. And it makes Britney nervous. She feels like she has to prop me up so I don’t feel let down. But you could join us. It would be fun to hang out with you. I bet you know everyone.”
“Everyone,” I agree.
There’s a huge crowd of people waiting for the lunch break to be over outside the signing hall and this is when I realize that Cordelia and I are still holding hands.
Cordelia realizes it too. “I think we’re creating a spectacle.”
She’s right. People are staring at us and whispering behind cupped hands.
But I just smile and hold the door open for her. “All publicity is good publicity.”
When we get to the table Britney is already there. “Oh, my God, Cordelia! Where did you go? I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” She flashes me a small, but still very obvious, disapproving look.
“Steve read my… story. And we’ve decided to put it in the trunk.”
Britney breathes out a sigh of relief, looking up at me as she does this. “Oh, thank God.”
I get her meaning. It was terrible romance, but good porn. “We’re gonna save it for a rainy day.”
“What?” Britney looks confused and glances at Cordelia. Then she looks back at me. “Ohhhh.” She smiles swarmily—wait, that’s not a word. Smarmily. Thaaaaat’s the word I was looking for. ‘In an unctuous manner.’ Which is a terrible definition. Has anyone, in the entire history of words, ever used ‘unctuous’ in a sentence? Aside from game shows?
Decidedly no.
At any rate, Britney has caught on to the fact that Cordy and I are well on our way to being a thing. She’s nodding at us in turn. “This is good, right?”
Cordelia lets go of my hand, but not because she’s embarrassed. I have won her over. It might not last, but she’s giving it a go.
“It’s good.” And we both say it at the same time.
Coincidentally, the doors to the signing hall open and a rush of eager readers enter like a swarm. Swarmily. Heh.
“What’s so funny?” Cordy is arranging her Sharpies and bookmarks.
“I have a confession,” I say.
“Sit,” Britney commands, pointing to the chair next to Cordy. “And spill.”
I sit and then Britney grabs an extra chair from the banner back alley and pulls it up on the other side of me.
I lean back and they lean in so I can see them both at the same time. Each props an elbow on the table like we’re just out for drinks, shootin’ the shit. “I haven’t written anything in a year.”
“Shut up,” Cordy says.
“Why not?” Britney asks.
“The science fiction failure. And the blog awards. Long story. But since I met you”—I point to the lovely Cordelia—“I’ve been writing little bits in my head. Making up new characters and playing with words.”
“Oh, my God. I want details.” Britney is enthralled. “Can I be your beta reader?”
I’m just about to answer when there is suddenly a crowd of people in front of us.
We stare at them for a moment, unable to decipher why they’re here.
Britney catches on first and jumps to her feet. “Welcome to Cynthia Lear’s table.” She pans her hand to Cordelia. “Would you like a free ARC of her newest book?”
The ladies—there are four of them in front—look at the ARC in Britney’s hand, then look at Cordy, then look back at the book. “I’ll take one.”
“Me too.”
“I got one of your ebooks free from Bookbinge a few months ago,” another says. “It was really good.”
I glance over at Cordelia and find her smiling. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” the woman says. “You’re a really good writer. Can you make it out to Marina?” She hands Cordelia the ARC and Cordelia accepts it smoothly, her Sharpie squeaking across the page when she signs and personalizes the title page. “Actually, can you write my whole name?”
“Sure,” Cordelia says. “What is it?”
“Marina Ford?” Cordelia starts to write it when the woman reaches out and stops her. “Sorry! No! Sorry. Marina Reich. Ford was my married name, but then my ex got involved with this group of...” She trails off, nervously. “Doesn’t matter. Marina Reich. That’s my name.”