Wish You Were Her(50)
Who answered the phone at the shop? Who was she to you? You’ve hardly mentioned her in any of your responses. I know we’ve unofficially agreed to never share too much personal information via these exchanges but I’m curious.
Your friend
[email protected]
to: [email protected]
RE: Allegra
Dear Friend,
Allegra. She was the one who answered the phone. She’s eighteen, like me. She’s an actress and George’s daughter. She’s an enigma. And she gave me some hard truths while I was waiting for you.
I wish you had been there. It might have spared me from a lot of humiliation and some other feelings I don’t fully understand yet.
Jonah
Chapter Eighteen
As Jonah stood in the green room, checking authors in, he couldn’t help but overhear other volunteers as they expressed doubts about Pamela H. J. Wilcox’s arrival.
“She won’t come,” one volunteer murmured to the other, as they arranged physical copies of the program.
“She hasn’t done an interview since the show came out,” said another, filling the mini-fridges with sandwiches and drinks. “She’s sick of people asking about the last Court of Bystanders book. She’s definitely not coming. Courtney couldn’t even get her on the phone.”
Jonah was starting to feel a little nervous himself. Allegra had promised to arrange the author’s appearance when Quentin Morrison had dropped out—but Allegra had yet to appear. He was apprehensive about Pamela’s presence, even without his gossiping colleagues.
A children’s author suddenly marched into the tent, having just finished his story-time reading in the smallest venue.
“How was it?” asked Kerrie, appearing on Jonah’s left. She spoke to the author warmly but he ignored her, going straight to the mini-fridge. He withdrew two bottles of white wine, shoving them unceremoniously into his satchel. Then he was off.
“I didn’t know children’s authors could be so thirsty,” Jonah mused.
“They write for kids, that doesn’t mean they drink like them,” Kerrie said, as they both watched the author march to his car. Jonah met her gaze and they both shared a laugh.
“Are we okay?” Jonah finally asked her, keeping his voice low and his tone gentle.
“Yeah,” she said, just as quietly. “We’re good.”
“Great.”
“But only because you’ll never get her,” she added, a little venomously, in a way that felt totally out of character. He saw a flicker of shame cross her face, but underneath it he could see she was hurt and embarrassed. He couldn’t blame her. He watched her blink back tears as she walked away and he cursed himself for being so clumsy with her. Obliviousness did not excuse the fumbling of someone’s heart.
Kerrie went to help with setting up the main tent, clearly determined to make it presentable whether Pamela H. J. Wilcox arrived or not.
“The whole event sold out in eight minutes,” the first volunteer whispered. “That’s never happened, in the history of the Lake Pristine Book Festival.”
Jonah did not need them to finish their thought. If Pamela did not show, after such a reception, it would fall onto the festival and they would have to give everyone their money back with a groveling apology. The possibility made Jonah feel ill.
The invited authors were always told to arrive at least ninety minutes before the start time of their event, and so the green room was starting to fill up with literary figures. Some were nervous debuts, others regular guests of the festival. Jonah watched with interest as a face he recognized appeared at the entrance to the green room.
A young publicist was bustling one of Jonah’s favorite literary fiction writers toward the table he was manning. The publicist smiled up at Jonah but he felt his heart deflate in weak disappointment at the rude manners on display from her companion.
“Food better be nicer than the crap they serve at—”
“Let’s just sign you in, Rodger.” And then, turning to Jonah, genially: “Rodger Altringham. He’s here for his event at noon.”
Jonah’s eyes drifted to the author, but the man was glaring angrily at his smartphone.
“Here’s his pass,” Jonah said, handing the publicist Rodger’s laminated name badge and lanyard. “Welcome to the Lake Pristine Book Festival.”
Rodger did not even spare him a glance, heading for one of the green room sofas instead. His publicist offered up an apologetic smile, but Jonah continued to feel dejected.
“Oh, my God, here she comes!” The slightly hysterical chattering from the young volunteers alerted Jonah to Allegra’s arrival. While the volunteers all wore bright yellow t-shirts with the festival name printed on them, Allegra had elected to wear a pale pink sundress with large dark glasses. She smiled at the volunteers and then nodded at their matching apparel.
“Mine didn’t fit, I’m afraid.”
“We can get you a different size,” one of them said instantly, their words a little garbled and overly loud.
“She’s fine,” Jonah said. “She’s perfect.”
Allegra finally looked at him and, for the first time since their initial unfortunate meeting, he dropped the mask. He let her see all of the things he had been terrified of anyone noticing—especially her.