The Author

By Selena Thomason

Sitting across from her I searched for clues, some indication of what I now knew about her. But there was nothing.  Just the same dull brown hair.  The same loose, shapeless clothes.  The same blank expression on her face.

###

Rachel and I were sitting in the lunch room.  I hardly knew Mary was there, further down the long table.

The conversation had turned to a romance novel Rachel was reading. She raved about it then shifted to speculating about the author, Beatrice LeBeck.  “I wonder what she’s like.  She must lead an amazing life.”

A voice from the end of the table murmured, “She’s got a book signing next week at Sloane’s.”

We stared at her.  Mousy Mary spoke so rarely that I hardly recognized her voice.

Finally Rachel broke the silence.  “Mary, are you a fan of Beatrice LeBeck?”

“Yes.”  Her voice was even shyer than before. 

“Have you read her latest, On the Riviera?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What did you think?”

“I think it’s pretty good.  Not her best maybe, but pretty good.”

“Are you going to the book signing?”  I asked Mary.

“I’ll be there.”

Rachel closed with “Okay, we’ll see you there.  Come on Angela, we should get back to work.”

We gathered our things and left.

In the elevator, I couldn’t contain myself any longer.  “What was that all about?”

“Not a clue,” was all Rachel said.

###

The night of the book signing we got to Sloane’s late.  There was quite a crowd.  Beatrice LeBeck was already taking questions.  We could hear her even though we hadn’t managed a good sight line yet.  She was funny, articulate, charming.  The audience was eating it up.  They plainly adored her.

“I wonder what she’s wearing,” Rachel whispered to me as we made our way through the throng.

Someone was asking LeBeck if her life was like her books.

Rachel was furious. “I was going to ask that!”

“Well,” Beatrice said into the microphone, “I’ve never been to the Riviera if that’s what you mean.”  The crowd tittered. “My life’s not as glamorous as Raven’s for sure.  But it’s got adventure and excitement.  After all, I’m here talking to you beautiful people.”  The audience applauded.

“When’s your next book coming out?”  Someone hollered.

“In the fall.”

“What’s it about?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.  Uh-oh, Jill’s making that face that means it’s time to start the signing of books. You guys have been great though. Thanks a lot.”

More applause. Then another voice, presumably Jill, the manager of Sloane’s, took over at the mike.  “Okay, everyone, if you want to get your book signed, line up right over there.”

As the crowd shifted to line up I caught a glimpse of the author moving from the podium to her place at the signing table.  I grabbed Rachel’s jacket sleeve.

“Hey,” she growled at me.  “I want to get in line.”

“Wait a second. Look.”  I pointed to where Jill was talking to Beatrice LeBeck. Jill was facing us but Beatrice had turned away.  I held onto Rachel’s sleeve.

“So?”

“Wait for it,” I whispered.

Then Beatrice turned to sit down and we both saw clearly that it was Mousy Mary at the table signing books for her adoring fans.

“But that’s Mary,” Rachel stammered.

“Not so mousy today, is she?”

We stood there gaping, trying to fit the new information into our worldview.

Finally I said, “Well, do you still want to get your book signed?”

“Are you kidding? You think she’ll let us cut in line since we know her?”

“Given how we’ve treated her, I wouldn’t count on it.”

“You’re right. I better get in line.”

It took nearly twenty minutes before it was our turn at the table.

Mary smiled when she looked up and saw us.

“Uh...hello,” Rachel said in what sounded more like Mousy Mary’s tone than Rachel’s normally brassy one.

“Hello, Rachel, Angela.  I’m glad you could make it.  Would you like me to sign your book?”

Rachel had nearly forgotten the book but now handed it over.  “Yeah, sure.  Thanks.”

“How do you want me to sign it?”

“However you want.”

“Okay.”

We hovered there awkwardly while she wrote on the inside cover.  Then she handed it back and the next person in line pressed on us. Our turn was over.

“Well, thanks for coming,” Mary said to us as she took the next person’s book.

Before I knew it we were out on the sidewalk.  Rachel had opened the book and was reading the inscription.

“Well, what does it say?” I asked.

“It says, ‘You can’t judge a book by its cover.  Glad you liked this one.  All the best, Beatrice LeBeck aka Mousy Mary.’”  Rachel slammed the book shut.  “I feel like an idiot.”

“She didn’t seem mad.”

“I know.  That’s because she’s a better person than both of us.”

I wanted to object but couldn’t summon the certainty.

“We should invite her to lunch sometime,” Rachel suggested.

“Sure, we’ll invite her tomorrow.”

Rachel was quiet until we got to the car then she said, “You know, I just never thought she was that interesting.”

“I know.  Neither did I.”

###

In the lunch room the next day, we tried to make it up to Mary.  Well, Rachel did.  I was too busy looking for the signs I had missed. 

Mary was more amused than angry, which put Rachel at ease but annoyed me for some indiscernible reason.  Mary even said, “Well, really, how were you supposed to know?”

I still felt like I should have known.

Rachel tried to make friends with Mary, to pull her into our little group.  It never happened though.  We were friendly enough and Mary would occasionally have lunch with us.  But we never got to be buddies. 

To tell the truth, I think Rachel and I just weren’t interesting enough for Mary to hang out with long-term.  And in that there was a kind of poetic justice.

Selena Thomason writes mostly science fiction, but sometimes feels called to other forms and genres. She is Managing Editor of "Dragons, Knights, and Angels" magazine, as well as an assistant editor and columnist at "The Sword Review."  Her previously published works are available at http://selenathomason.com/.   Contact Selena.