then Guy took my arm and led me away.
Guy found five seats, two in one row and three just behind them. He took one of the front seats, then patted the chair next to him to indicate that I should sit there. I moved toward the other row, but just as I did, Dolores, Miranda, and Teddy shoved by me and sat down, forcing me into the seat besides Guy.
Janice came back with my book in a paper bag and gave it to me with a bit of a flourish as if I, not Max, were the celebrity. The itch to open the book and look at the inscription was severe, but I couldn’t open it, not with everyone watching.
“So what’s this book about?” Guy asked.
“A family coping after September eleventh,” I said.
“Sounds absolutely dreadful,” Miranda said from behind us. “Why don’t people write about happy things?”
“I hear it has some humor in it,” Dolores said. “That’s Wellman’s signature style.” This coming from Dolores was a surprise. “I read a review,” she added.
“Jane’s such a great reader,” Guy said, ignoring Dolores. “It’s wonderful. So few people really read anymore. Someday writing will be a lost art.”
“I certainly hope not,” I said. “People will always have to communicate.” I sounded like a librarian in a 1950s musical.
“E-mail, text messaging—it’s the way of the future. It’s a sound-bite culture,” Guy said.
“Not yet,” I said.
“Ever hopeful. You’re such an optimist.” Guy turned such a beneficent smile on me it made my stomach turn.
The reading was about to begin. A cozy-looking woman from the bookstore walked to the podium. She wore a shiftlike dress, had long brown hair and green-rimmed glasses. She reminded me a little bit of me before I’d started to pay more attention to my appearance. She introduced Max as one of the finest writers of his generation. Yes, well, I was the first one to see that, wasn’t I? At least that was something.
Guy leaned toward me and tried to say something, but I shushed him. Max stood. He towered over the podium. He looked out at the audience and caught my eye. I smiled and lit up. No matter what Max did or where he went, no matter how many years passed, there would always be a link between us. Maybe it wasn’t the same for him, but for me, there would always be a spark that never went out.
“Before I begin,” Max said, “I’d like to thank someone in the audience without whom I don’t think I’d be the writer I am today.” He paused. My stomach did a little flip. I hated to be acknowledged in public. “Duke Franklin,” he said.
Everyone turned and there was Duke standing at the back. Duke was a rock star of the written word. He was far more famous than Max and the room went into an immediate buzz. Cameras flashed.
“No cameras. No cameras.” Little Janice jumped up and waved her arms. A few more flashes went off, then everyone sat down and waited in hushed anticipation.
“Some people have criticized me for taking on this subject,” Max said. “There were days when I criticized myself.” He looked down, then up again. “It’s been said that I’ve exploited something I don’t really understand. And that might be true. It’s been said that I lost my sense of humor when I wrote this book—and that might be true— though I hope not. We all want to express ourselves, don’t we? Not just writers. We all want to say something when we are in pain or when we feel joy. I don’t believe any subject is taboo. Not really. Anyway, this is just a family story when you come down to it. I didn’t want to write in a vacuum. I wanted this book to live in the world of today. We live in a certain time in history and I wanted to reflect that. I only hope I’ve done it well.”
The room broke into applause, and when it became quiet again Max began to read. Because I’d never read the book, I could listen with fresh ears. I’d been predisposed to dislike it, like most of the critics. The scene Max read was a little domestic scene, but within the frame Max had built for it, it glowed with significance.
I knew I was no longer objective. I was, as I had always been, besotted.
When Max finished reading the crowed cheered and clapped. When they quieted down Max spoke.
“Before I take questions, there’s another person in the audience I should thank. She usually prefers to remain in the background and I wanted to honor that. Still, I’d like to thank Jane Fortune of the
I did not, but I stood, smiled, and sat down again. My hair follicles itched. I wasn’t accustomed to public acknowledgment, but I had to admit I was glad he hadn’t forgotten me.
Teddy leaned over and whispered, “Well, well, Jane, what do you know?”
“At least that
A lady behind Miranda asked her to be quiet.
“Oh, mind your own business,” Miranda said without turning around.
“I’d like to hear what he’s saying,” the lady said.
“Then get a hearing aid,” Miranda shot back.
Teddy put his hand on Miranda’s arm.
“Now, dear, that isn’t very gracious of you.”
Teddy turned to apologize and there was Veronica Buffington with a sour look on her face.
“Veronica, what a surprise. We didn’t even know you were coming. You must have slipped in behind us. And where’s Glenda tonight?”
“She’s off-island.”
“Maybe you’d like to have a drink later?”
“Fine.” She cut him off. “Please, I want to listen.”
I turned to see Dolores, who was sitting on the aisle seat, put her hand on Teddy’s leg and give it a squeeze. Everyone was laying claim to territory tonight.
Miranda had once told me that you can usually make a person catch your eye if you stare at them long enough and with enough force. She was staring at Max with an intensity that far outweighed her minimal devotion to literature.
Chapter 33
I could hardly wait to open the book and look at Max’s inscription, but Guy insisted on coming back to the house, and every time I made a move to go upstairs, he called me back.
Teddy had gone off with Veronica Buffington, and in an unprecedented move, he hadn’t asked anyone else to go with them. Miranda, not a great fan of Veronica’s, was happy to come home, but Dolores’s usual veneer of helpful good cheer was showing cracks. Normally she would have offered to go make coffee or pour drinks. Nothing.
“I’m going to bed,” she said.
“So early?” Miranda asked. She didn’t seem to care what Dolores did anymore. I think they were getting tired of each other. As I mentioned before, Miranda’s friendships were usually seasonal, and this one had lasted almost a year.
I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for Dolores. She’d spent many months tracking her prey and now it looked like he was about to trip off into the wilderness with a more exotic animal.
Miranda sat on a large chair with her feet tucked beneath her. She smiled at Guy.
“That Max Wellman is something, isn’t he?” she said. “So well-spoken, so talented, so incredibly good- looking.”
Why didn’t Guy ever go home? I was sick of his constant chatter: he was beginning to sound like mood music played off-key.
“I’m going to bed.” I attempted another escape.
“It’s too early.” Guy grabbed my arm.
