The waiting car looks familiar but with a different driver from yesterday, and in no time I’m being led through to the backstage area by the promoter and his staff.
It’s all apologies for the mix up with the hotel room and organizers and staff thanking me again for coming back.
But I already feel like a fish out of water without Lucy.
I shouldn’t have left her at the hotel. Should’ve been fashionably late and had her by my side.
The most recent thing like this I’ve done was at a college campus. A much smaller crowd and much less expectation, because they hadn’t paid a crazy amount for a ticket.
The event organizers give me furtive glances as I wait in the wings by the stage. I guess I should have notes or something prepared, but I don’t.
I never do for this sort of thing.
Although I tell myself I maybe should for next time. It would just go down better if it looked like I was taking it all as seriously as everyone else.
If only they knew what was really on my mind. What or who I’d rather be doing.
There’s a lengthy introduction from some celebrity I should know, someone else who has a new book out and is here to promote it while pretending to know everything about me.
I’ve seen a lot of this over the years, and it’s the main reason I don’t really do publicity. Or rather, the reason I let other people handle that side of things for me until recently.
A huge screen behind the stage has a montage of the few public photos of me and then my book covers, giving a beefed up history of my literary successes over the decades.
It sounds more like an obituary at an award ceremony than an introduction, but once I come out on stage the crowd is on their feet and cheering me.
Something I hate but it’s not up to me so I wait while the crowd simmers down. It gives me a chance to keep an eye out for what I’m really hoping to see.
I scan the huge ballroom for any sign of Lucy, glancing to the wings often too, wondering where she could be.
She should be here by now. Maybe she’s having a lie in and a late breakfast?
Either way, I tell myself not to leave her alone again. I don’t like not knowing where she is, and not being able to see her right now even less.
I wing my way through half an hour of talking about myself before I decide to ask the audience what they want to know, opening up an impromptu question and answer, which I can see has a negative effect on the organizers.
It’s a little too freeform for them, but they manage to have some microphones and staff on hand to get to people I choose at random and hear their questions.
The common thread in most questions from fans is about my love life.
Are my books revolving around my heroes’ need for love a match to my own life?
Does Nathan Cartwright have a real life love interest and if not, what are his ideal qualities in a mate?
They’re fair enough questions, but I was really expecting more questions about the writing process.
How I formulate an idea into a story, that sort of thing. But no. This crowd, which I observe is mostly female, really wants to know what or who Nathan Cartwright is interested in romantically.
My books and how I write? Not so much so, that was a topic for the college student, I guess. The fans want gossip and lots of it.
And once the number of camera flashes register I’m assuming it’s not just fans or budding authors in the audience.
I quickly guess why the organizers didn’t want a Q and A, once it’s clear a lot of ‘fans’ in the audience are media posing as readers.
I guess I don’t make things easier for the organizers when I suggest off to the side that the whole room could have a little meet and greet to have me sign a book or two, not just the special ticket holders.
“Ummm, no,” is the short answer. “We have it under control, Mr. Cartwright. If you can just give them another twenty minutes, maybe read a section from one of your books, then we’re done for the talk and can move to the meet n’ greet…”
I shrug and looking around for Lucy again, I almost feel lost until I spot her making her way in from up the back.
It’s the perfect chance for me to reflect on what my written characters, as well as myself, see as desirable qualities.
And I only hope that Lucy knows exactly who I’m talking about when I describe my ideal partner to the audience.
I try to make eye contact with Lucy, watching her as she nervously tries to find a seat.