Taming the Author

34: Don't Think Twice

WARNING: Long chapter.

***

I watched Loramina tear the brown paper of the package on the center table with curious eyes. I occupied the only available space on her couch. All the other chairs were hoarded by Rupert's things. I guessed Errol dropped of whatever he found in Rupert's condominium there for Loramina to look at.

I was surprised when her efforts on the package didn't reveal a stack of heavy bricks.

I leaned closer to the table to examine three neatly stacked hardbound books. "Grandpa," I muttered, reading the title.

The novelette! Three hardbound copies of the novelette!

She stared grimly at the books and took a deep breath.

I glanced at her. I figured one of the books was for her - a copy she would keep for herself. Then she stood up and rummaged her drawer for something.

I gingerly picked up one of the books. It smelled of freshly printed book paper and I felt the urge to ask for one of them. I examined the cover and admired the image of a pair of brown old spectacles against a white-washed background.

I wondered if they were Rupert's glasses.

I flipped the first few pages of the book. The dedication immediately caught my eye - two words that almost brought me to tears.

To Rupert

Loramina walked back to the table with a fine-tip calligraphy pen and a notepad in hand. She slumped down on the carpet and started scribbling on the paper.

I leaned slightly forward, watching her write what seemed like a fan dedication. I examined the lines of the handwriting and realized it looked eerily familiar.

I swallowed, remembering the expensive autographed Lorewind books I kept in my cumdach. As a Lorewindian, owning the limited autographed copies of Lorewind hard-bounds was a must. I didn't mind throwing tens of thousands for a book with Claus Lorewind's signature. It came with the territory of faithfully following an author who would never personally meet fans for a book signing.

I held my breath as the tip of the pen gracefully glided across the paper. I memorized the curves of the "C", the tilt of the "l" and the waves of the "w" as I gazed lovingly at the signature on my autographed books.

No, the limited autographed books didn't have signatures stamped from the printing machine stencil. Each book - all 300 of them - was signed with a calligraphy pen. No signature on each book was alike. I've compared mine with enough Lorewindian-owned books to confirm it.

Each signature was written by hand by one person - by the young woman slumped on the living room floor clad in a pair of Big Bird sleeping wear, using the calligraphy pen she was holding.

"You... You really signed 300 limited autographed hardbound books?" I asked, still dazed at the realizations I was forming.

"Grandpa said Claus wouldn't be respectable if he attended a book signing wearing a ski mask," she replied; her eyes fixed at the note she was carefully writing on the paper.

I couldn't help but laugh at the idea of Loramina walking into a bookstore wearing a ski mask. Even with men's clothes, she would be too short to pass as an imposing big-shot author. And the ski mask would make her look like a horror movie buff, or a scary criminal out for a killing spree.

"I have to agree with Rupert," I said, sighing.

She nodded.

I smiled. We just had a brief but friendly conversation! I wondered if this meant I could talk to her again like nothing regrettable happened between us. So I thought of other things to talk about - things that would be light, related to what we were there for, and something that wouldn't make us remember the rift we had.