It isn’t for the faint-hearted, I
assure you, and although you may be very bright, thriving in the literary world
is very difficult.” The young woman looked deflated and I was afraid she might
cry.
At first Ms. Eggleston’s
haughtiness had been a little amusing but now I was beginning to feel anger. Who
was she to stomp on someone else’s dream? I didn’t like her. “Any other
questions?” she asked.
I slowly raised my hand
and she nodded at me. “I see you’ve written seven novels?”
“Eight, actually, but the
last one hasn’t been released yet.” Her voice and her smug expression told me
she was quite proud of herself.
“Have any of these books
become best-sellers?”
A flash of surprise
crossed Ms. Eggleston’s face and quickly turned to a several-second glare. I
wondered if she was counting to ten in her head. Finally she took a deep breath
and responded, her words slow and precise as if she were responding to a
difficult little child. “No, I have not had a best-seller, but let me explain a
few things to you. It’s very difficult to become a best-selling author. Very
few are able to do that. It bears no reflection on your talent as a writer. It
has more to do with the marketing dollars your publisher is willing to spend.”
“That makes sense,” I said.
“I guess your publisher hasn’t been willing to spend enough of those dollars on
you. Hopefully you can convince enough shallow, silly women who read romances
to buy your books. Those Starbucks lattes aren’t cheap.”
Janessa’s shocked expression
quickly changed to a look of pride. I glanced over at Mr. Dawson. It might have
been my imagination, but it looked like he was suppressing a smile. After an
uncomfortable moment, he stepped up to the platform and thanked Ms. Eggleston
for coming.
“Ms. Eggleston will be
signing copies of her books at the table by the door. Thank you all for coming
out tonight.”
I took Janessa’s arm,
pulling her out with me. I paused just long enough to drop Ms. Eggleston’s books
on the table.
I left The Pink Salamander
feeling quite proud of myself. I wasn’t usually shy about speaking my mind, but
I’d surprised myself with my candor in front of a room of people, especially a
room that included Mr. Dawson.
“I’m so proud of you for
sticking up for that girl,” Janessa said. The adrenalin coursing through me left
me short of breath and a little giddy.
“That woman was a bully
and someone needed to say something,” I said.
“The question is will Mr.
Dawson like you more or less because of it?”
That tempered my
enthusiasm. In the moment I’d raised my hand, indignation had compelled me to speak
up, but maybe I should have been the one counting to ten.
By the time I fell into
bed, I worried my outburst might have embarrassed Mr. Dawson. If my actions had
somehow reflected badly on The Pink Salamander, he’d likely be angry with me.
What if speaking my mind had cost me the chance to fulfill my dream?
I didn’t sleep well and I woke
the next morning with a headache. When I thought of seeing Mr. Dawson at the
bank, I considered calling in sick. That seemed like a wimpy thing to do and
most likely I’d have to see him eventually so I showered and got ready for
work.
Just before ten, Mr.
Dawson stepped through the door. I felt his gaze before I saw him. His eyes
didn’t waver as he looked at me. Just before I pulled my attention back to my
work, he nodded. I knew nothing about what his expressions meant, but I felt a
little relief that he didn’t seem to be frothing at the mouth. I relaxed a
little for the first time all morning.
Courtney’s window became
available before mine but instead of stepping up to her window, Mr. Dawson turned
to the woman behind him and indicated she should go next. He was choosing my
window on purpose. My heart did a clumsy somersault.
I finished with my
customer and Mr. Dawson stepped forward. I unfolded the slip of paper with the
pink lizard at the