Page 39 of Battle of the Bookstores

BookshopGirl:RIGHT?? Like, “yes, I will use your mental labor for my benefit and not compensate you in any way.”

RJ.Reads:He clearly doesn’t know that the #2 commandment of readers is “Thou shalt not exploit the goodwill of the independent bookseller only to forsake them for an online mega-store.”

He manages to make me smile again, even though I’m still seething inside.

I needed that sale.

Fortunately, I have an event tonight that should help me take a huge leap ahead in this competition. It’s with someone I’ve admired for years: Kenneth Michael Rutherford, international bestseller, short-listed for the National Book Award for his debut novel,Tell Me No, Tell Me Yes.

His second book came out two days ago, and I—yes, I, Josie Klein of Tabula Inscripta—have booked him for an author event this evening.

It’s a coup. A miracle. How did I manage it? After trying (and failing) to get a response from his publicist, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I sent a message through the Contact Me page on his website, gushing about his first book—and about his latest, which I haven’t read (his publisher didn’t send an ARC). I said I’m his biggest fan, and if he has any openings this summer, I’d be delighted to host him for an author event. To my shock and delight, he replied and said he had an opening during pub week. This all happened ten days ago, and since then, I’ve been feverishly planning.

After Rutherford posted about the event on his social media, hundreds of orders poured in for signed copies, which I received yesterday via rush delivery from the publisher. And now it’s happening. I, Josie Klein, college dropout and humble bookseller, am hosting one of the most respected literary authors of the twenty-first century.

I can’t help sharing the news with RJ after setting up chairs for the event.

BookshopGirl:I’m hosting an author this evening and I’m SO nervous.

RJ.Reads:Who?

I pause; if I tell him, he can easily find out where Rutherford is appearing tonight, and then he’ll easily find me.

The thought sends a ripple of discomfort through me. If RJ knew who I really was, I’d feel pressure to be the persona I’ve created over the past five years here at Tabula—the polished, professional bookseller who never lets her guard down. I’d start second-guessing everything I share, censoring myself. It would never be the same.

BookshopGirl:Oh, never you mind. ;) But it’s someone I really admire.

RJ.Reads:You’ll do great. And remember, you’re doing a favor to the author. There grateful to be their, talking to people who care about there book.

RJ.Reads:*they’re. *there. *their. (smacking forehead repeatedly)

RJ.Reads:Sorry. typing too fast.

BookshopGirl:?It’s not a big deal. I appreciate you listening.

RJ.Reads:Happy to. And thanks for not judging my typos.

BookshopGirl:How could I judge you when I’m worried I won’t be able to forma coherent sentence when I meet this author?

RJ.Reads:If you’re half as well spoken as you are well written, everyone will be impressed. You’ve always impressed me.

His words give me a warm burst of confidence. I vividly remember when Penelope Adler-Wolf hosted Kenneth Michael Rutherford at her store two years ago. She live-streamed the event, and I watched the whole thing, not only because I loved Rutherford’s book, but because I wanted to memorize how PAW moderated: her command of the crowd, her ease around an author who’d leave me stammering.

That was the moment I decided I wanted to be just like her, a literary tastemaker, facilitating important discussions of books. And here I am, taking another step in that direction.

—

But first: mymeeting with Xander.

We meet at Beans, and I give him the good news about the sold-out event tonight while he checks his phone and nods vaguely. Then he launches into his news.

“Josie, your profits are up compared to last June,” he says. “I’m impressed.”

My heart leaps; I know this—I’ve been tracking every penny—but it’s nice to hear him confirm it.

“Unfortunately, you’re slightly behind Ryan,” he says, and my heart drops. “It’s close, though, and you have time to make a comeback. But you better pull out your A game.”

“Of course,” I say through a smile, though internally, I’m wilting.

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