“People must be buying them in Barnes and Noble, the traitors, and bringing them here,” said Andrew. “Oh well, more people in my store, can’t be all bad. Buy some books!” he suddenly shouted. Todd reckoned that Andrew had been at the free wine. So had Tina, who was lurking behind Andrew. She suddenly darted out, said, “That was okay,” and left the building.

“Wow,” said Andrew. “The last thing she liked was The Basketball Diaries. You’re in good company, Todd.”

The store was empty now.

“That was great,” said Andrew. He extended his hand. “One day I will be able to tell my grandchildren that I met the author of All My Colors.”

“I guess,” said Todd. He pulled a smile out of the hat. “Now what—” he began.

“I have to go,” Andrew said. “I live a long way from here and my wife works. Got to be up with the lark to get the kids ready for school. Can I give you a ride to your accommodation?”

“No thanks,” said Todd, who had been hoping for more Bass and bourbon. “My car is here so I can drive myself back.” And enjoy the pleasures of the candy bar machine in the corridor, he thought.

“Well, great,” said Andrew. “Good luck, Todd.”

Todd watched as Andrew made his way back to his car. He had a desultory look around, in case there was a gang of new young teenage fans waiting to invite him to a crazy party, but there was no one. He trudged back to the Volvo and drove to his motel, hoping it wasn’t too late to check in.

The motel receptionist—a motherly woman in her early fifties wearing a badge with WANDA written on it—was pleased to see Todd.

“I have been waiting up specially,” said Wanda. She handed him a small sheaf of paper.

“What’s this?” asked Todd.

“Your messages,” Wanda said. “Somebody’s been trying to call you since lunchtime.”

Todd’s first thought was Sara. He riffled through the sheaf. A New York number. Nora.

“Thanks,” he said.

Wanda winked. “Next time, check in earlier,” she said.

Todd stifled the urge to wink back at her. Instead he picked up his bag and headed for his room.

It was pleasant enough. There was a painting on the wall of something brown. The TV had no remote but it worked fine. The bed was firm and the linen clean. And there was a telephone on the desk. Todd picked it up and called the number Nora had left. It was late in New York but Todd figured leaving that many messages meant he was supposed to call as soon as.

After three rings, Nora picked up.

“Todd!” she almost shouted.

“Hi, Nora,” said Todd. “Is everything okay?”