A skinny man of medium height and thick glasses leads me to a table near the register. I sit and scan the bookstore, which seems empty in the late hours of morning. Why did George book me a morning signing? Perhaps that's all the store made available. However, George knows how much I detest leaving the mansion before noon.
"I'll be back in an hour," the man says before walking away from me, not waiting for an answer.
Saul places a coffee next to me and I smile, knowing without tasting it will be to my liking. Him and I have gone through too many battles over my coffee preferences to worry if he remembers.
"It's deserted in here. Didn't George put up flyers?"
Saul shrugs and sips his own coffee. "You know I don't give a damn about this writing business."
"Jerk. Send George to me," I say, waving him away. He walks into the cafe and soon I see George approach.
"Is anyone coming?" I ask. Irritation rises in my face and a wave of anger washes over my body.
"I can't answer that question with accuracy, but I did put up flyers and purchase an advertisement in the local newspaper."
Pulling headphones onto my ears and starting the music to avoid hearing any more from him, I open my notebook.
I'm getting nowhere with my writing. Nobody even knows I wrote a novel. Not a single fucking person came to see me today.
Increasing the volume of the music, I close my eyes and drift into my anger.
A hand on my shoulder breaks my thoughts and I close the notebook. Turning off the music, I see George pointing towards a young man wearing a sweatshirt with logo of a local college and a baseball cap. The anger lifts and I hope my mood doesn't spoil meeting the first signing of the day. However, I see no book in his hands and tilt my head.
"Yes?" I ask.
"I don't mean to bother you," he begins, gripping a mobile phone in his hands. Pale blue eyes search my own and I know what he will say. I don't know the exact words, but I know the import. "You have the prettiest hair I've ever seen."
"No," I whisper to myself.
"What was that?" he asks, sitting across from me at the table.
"Do you want me to sign a book for you?" I ask, trying to hide the anger.
The young man looks around and the understanding of my purpose penetrates his brain. He grabs a book from the stack and pushes it towards me.
"What's it about anyway?" he asks, winking at me.
I hesitate before answering. Part of me wants to throw the book at his face and scream for him to get the fuck out of the bookstore. My eyes locate George and he stands impassive and impressive in his tuxedo against a row of books, arms locked behind his back. I know he wants me to control my impulses and instead of screaming, I answer the man with a calm voice.
"The book is about killing men."