Page 17 of StoryTeller's Tale

I show my ticket then pause at the door.There are people. Wall-to-wall people.I start to hyperventilate, then berate myself,what did I expect?Knowing there are people wanting to enter behind me, I force myself into the room.

Suddenly, instead of a jigsaw puzzle just opened and in a thousand bits, pieces start to assemble themselves, and what I’m seeing begins to make sense. There are people queuing around the most popular authors, some of whom I’d hoped to talk to myself. A few authors sit behind more meagre displays, looking just as unnerved as myself.

Pulling up my big girl panties, I approach a table that others seem to have forgotten. The author gives me a welcoming smile, and when I ask, starts a spiel about her books. She’s a fairly new writer, and only has recently started publishing, but her work attracts my interest. When offered, I take a bookmark and a pen, and promise to check her out in one of the online stores. Walking away after a few moments, I feel a new confidence inside. If I’m not mistaken, that author was as nervous meeting me, as I was her. I’d done a small service by showing interest in her books.

Still anxious about meeting the big names, I avoid the lines and continue to spend time on authors I haven’t read before. As I wander around, although guilty I’m taking the offered swag without making a purchase, I start to realise it’s par for the course, and that I’m going to fulfil my promise, and definitely read the e-versions of their books. My pack becomes laden with bookmarks, pens, leaflets, keyrings and magnets, and, to my amused delight, a chocolate dick.

Something to eat when I’m on the long journey home.I have to suppress a snort, as I picture getting caught at a red traffic light, sucking on that particular chocolate delight.

As the day goes on, I become more relaxed, and am thoroughly enjoying myself. I do end up speaking to some of the authors whose books I’ve read and loved. I’ve still not yet made a purchase. Feeling guilty as the day draws on, I approach one of my all-time favourites.

I’m nervous as hell as I walk up to MariaLisa DeMora’s table, waiting while she finishes animated conversations with readers ahead of me. By this time, her table, like many others, is depleted, with only a small selection of books. I’m pleased for her that she’s obviously had a good day, well worth her making the trip, but disappointed for me. I really wanted to get the first in theNeither This nor Thatseries. Twisted’s book is my absolute favourite. But she’s down to only a few copies of the later books, so I plump forTangled Threats on the Nomad Highway,a book I’ve not read yet.

Although I must be the hundredth person she’s talked to today, she’s so lovely and treats me as though I’m her first, even recognising my name from some of the comments I’ve made in her reader group. She’s so down to earth and friendly, she makes an impression on me, just like some of the other authors I’ve met.

I suppose that’s a bonus for them for attending a signing. If you connect with an author, you’re more likely to read all their books. But whatever, she signs the book I’ve purchased, making sure she spells my name right. Then she hopes I enjoy the rest of my day and, reluctantly, I move on.

That ends up being the only purchase I make, but I leave with a huge mental list of books to read, and swag to remind me of all the authors’ names in case I forget. I make them a silent promise to read at least one from each of the authors I’ve met.

The venue is starting to empty, and authors begin packing away their books. Not wanting to hold up any of them from getting their well-deserved break, I leave, albeit with a smile on my face after having had such an amazing day.

I might have only ended up with one book, but it’s one I know I’ll always treasure.

I’m tired, hungry and thirsty, but I’ve got a long journey home, and stopping off to eat at one of the chain restaurants is probably going to be cheaper than eating here at the venue. I decide to get on my way.

The traffic’s a little heavier from when I first arrived, but it doesn’t really take me long to get out of Houston and on the freeway. My phone is playing a selection of my favourite songs through the car’s audio system, and I’m still buzzing from having a great day. For an introvert, I feel what I’ve done is quite an accomplishment.

A sign’s coming up, advising me this is where I can get a cheap meal. I pull off the freeway and stop. I grab my backpack and take it rather than digging down to extract my wallet.

Going to the counter, I order my food and beverage, wait for my number to come up, then take my meal to a table in an empty area near the back. Making sure I don’t have grease on my fingers, I take my prized book out of my backpack and examine it. Almost scared to open the pages in case I muck it up, I read the blurb, gaze at the cover, and peek carefully at the inscription inside. It’s the first signed book I’ve ever had, and I still can’t believe the author signed it for me. But she did. After a moment’s perusal, I put it back in my pack.

I flick through the bookmarks and leaflets I picked up, to occupy my time while eating my burger, mentally cataloguing those which I first want to look up. When I’ve finished eating, I slip them into my bag, my eyes falling on the chocolate dick which makes me smile.

“Hey, a pretty lady like you shouldn’t be eating alone.”

I startle, having been so lost in the book world, I hadn’t seen the man walk up. Quickly, I turn toward him, my eyes opening wide as I see he’s tattooed and wearing a cut which, along with a hefty chain securing his wallet to his belt, and his boots, the left scuffed by operating the gears, screams that he’s a real-life biker. Stunned with this feature of my dreams coming to life, I’m lost for words for a moment.

He's not alone. Two companions similarly dressed are with him. I quickly realise that rather than my fantasy being answered, these bikers are nothing like those I read about in books. Their features are hardened, their skin battle scarred. While big, at least one carries a full paunch. One’s teeth are yellowed with gaps showing he’s lost some, and the one who addressed me has an unpleasant leer. I get an unpleasant whiff of stale sweat.

My excuse isn’t made up as I grab my pack and start to stand. “You can have the table, I’ve finished.”

The first biker puts his hand over his heart. “Darlin’, you wound me. Just wanted to have some pretty company for a while.”

I may have a fixation for fictional bikers, but the real thing has my heart beating fast from fear and is a million miles from arousal. Danger exudes from the trio, and I’d rather be anywhere but here right now. My innate recourse is to be polite and give in to their demands, but something tells me that wouldn’t be good for my health.

I continue to get to my feet, my hand gripping my pack as I swing it over my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I have places to be.”

While not particularly crowded, I take comfort in that there are sufficient people around to make me feel safe, a fact the biker’s glance around shows he’s equally aware of. With a smirk and a mock bow, he steps to one side, allowing me to leave.

I scuttle away, only belatedly realising I haven’t put my garbage in the trash, but I’m certainly not going to go back to rectify my omission. Instead, I head straight for the ladies’ bathroom, quickly sliding in, hoping I’ve evaded any of them if they had any thought of coming after me.

A pit stop was what I was going to make anyway. I’ve still got a distance to drive. After doing my business, I wash my hands, stare into the mirror and laugh at myself. The bikers hadn’t wanted anything more than to unsettle me and have a joke at my expense. Unless, the likes of them, so far removed from the handsome specimens who populate the pages I read, think they’d have a chance with an ugly duckling like me.

Now I’ve been faced with the real thing, I’m more certain than ever, I’ll be sticking to bikers of the fictional variety.

I hurry myself up, the altercation having unnerved me. The bikers had presumably come into the restaurant to eat, as well as taunt the curvy girl. If I tarry too long, I run the risk that they’ll have finished and will be leaving the same time as me. I decide if I see them in the parking lot, I’ll fake a medical situation and run back to the bathroom again.

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