Thank You for Listening(10)

Sewanee laughed, gave Adaku’s arm a firm squeeze, and beelined away.

As she hustled down the hallway, she felt her jaw lock.

As she reentered the convention floor, she felt her chest tighten.

As she found her way to the Romance pavilion and located the correct ballroom for the panel, one word pounded in her head. Why. On a loop. Why. Why. Why.

This was how quickly her mental state could change. This dangerous, invisible undertow was the one thing in this life that still scared her, made her wonder if she was wrong to have forsaken medication after the first year, to have given up on therapy earlier than that. Because this wasn’t good. Because in her mind, it was seven years ago and she was lying in that hospital bed wondering why they had bothered saving her.

THE BALLROOM WAS filled to overflowing with authors and fans. They were sitting on the steps, leaning against the walls, propped on their friends’ laps. The well-chosen panel–smart, talented people who had upended the childhood dictum to be seen and not heard–had kept the room engaged. There was Alice Dunlop aka Dixie Barton; Mildred Prim, a Royal Academy of Dramatic Art–trained septuagenarian Brit with an obsessive following from the famous Highlander series she’d narrated for the last twenty years, who simply used her ironic maiden name for Romance; and Ron Studman. Ron was one of the few Romance narrators who relished being seen, because he wanted people to know that even if you were more than middle-aged, with an ever-increasing waistline and an ever-decreasing hairline, you could be a sex symbol, too, if you had the goods. And the goods, in his case, was his voice, and the fans loved him for it.

Ron currently had the crowd eating out of his hand. There were catcalls from a group of women in the front row when he did the voice he was best known for: a sexy Irish vampire named Seamus.

Sewanee had covered everything Mark had asked her to. Why do you think audiobooks are booming right now? How do you prepare to record a book? What is the best approach when recording a sex scene? Why people who out a narrator’s pseudonym should be publicly drawn and quartered. It was time to wrap it up, so she asked a question that would give the panel one last opportunity to shine. Why are Romance novels so popular? As each member answered, Sewanee’s spirits rose. She had done her job and done it well. Mark would be happy and the organizers pleased. She was looking forward to the night ahead with Adaku, who deserved to be celebrated, who deserved every goddamn ounce of success she was enjoying.

Ron was the last panelist to answer and, being Ron, didn’t disappoint. “Women are discovering the full extent of their pleasure. Shame is a thing of the past! Happily ever after is possible. It might even be sitting right in front of your eyes!” Then he winked at the audience.

“All right,” Sewanee said to the room. “Thank you, panelists, for your insights. We have a few minutes left, so let’s open it up to questions.”

One of the women in the front row jumped up and asked Ron if he’d sign her chest. Hoots all around. Ron obliged.

A woman a few rows back stood, took the mic. “Hi. I think I speak for all of us when I say: Who is Brock McNight?” The crowd cheered. “Seriously! We have to know.”

Ron made a show of zipping his lips and the rest of the panel shook their heads.

The next question was also about Brock McNight. As was the next. Then Sewanee said, “Any non-Brock-McNight-related questions?”

Someone had a question for Sewanee: “Do you narrate Romance?”

“No.” She realized it came out more emphatically than she’d intended. She beamed and pointed to the panel. “I leave that to the experts.”

“Sewanee does all the tough books,” Ron chimed in. “The ones no one else can touch. Fantasies with three hundred characters, war sagas with twenty different accents, the Classics, literary doorstops. The longer the better, the bigger the better, she does them all.”

“That’s what she said,” Sewanee quipped and the audience laughed. She’d learned long ago to leave them laughing; BlahBlah had taught her that. “Okay, so how about one more round of applause for our wonderful–”

Sewanee noticed a young, barrel-curled blonde stand and smooth her pretty sundress. She called out, “Sorry, y’all! One quicky little question?”

Sewanee glanced at the clock on the back wall as the floor mic made its way to the woman.

“Thanks so much,” the woman said. “And thanks so much for taking the time to come talk to us?” She had a significant Southern drawl. So significant Sewanee wondered, briefly, if she were putting it on. High, nasal, and with the propensity to uptalk. “Um, my question is? What’s the best way to get into the business?”

“I can give you more info at the booth,” Sewanee answered, “but once you’ve got a draft of your book you should be thinking about audio–”

“Oh, no!” the woman giggled. “I’m not an author! I’m an actress?”

Sewanee stalled, her brain misfiring.

Ron took the wheel. “Well, first thing you should do”–he leaned into the microphone and dipped into his Irish vampire voice–“is come see Seamus after the panel.”

“Ron,” Sewanee scolded, “Seamus on you!” The audience laughed. “Okay, everyone, thanks for–”

“I mean, I love reading?” The girl tucked her hair behind her ear and continued. “And I’m taking some acting classes in L.A.?” Oh God: they had one of those this isn’t a question so much as a comment people on their hands. “And, like, I don’t know, it just seems like the perfect job?”