59

Nem leaned against the wall at the back of the room they called Author’s Hangout, a large space where the store held author talks and workshop events. She looked across the standing-room-only crowd toward the small, low stage she’d set up earlier. A majority of the audience clutched books on their laps or against their chest, if they were forced to stand. An excited hum of voices buzzed through the room as everyone awaited one man’s arrival.

Seven pm on the dot, the noise descended to an instant hush. In the silence, Nem could hear her own rhythmic breath. She felt as though she was part of something incredible, but her excitement wasn’t because she was a fangirl; it was because this evening was going to change her life.

William Barnes had appeared in the doorway and now made his way to the stage at a talking-pace with Diane. Her boss appeared animated and kept touching the man’s arm. Too many times Nem thought. She’d clipped back her hair with an oversized black and red-polka-dotted, sparkling bow; her attempt at an evening look.

Both nodded and smiled at each other as they stopped at the small steps to the stage. Diane placed a hand on his arm, yet again, and leaned in to whisper something before motioning for him to continue forward. He stepped up and walked to the waiting lectern where he tapped the microphone with a finger.

The sound echoed around the room and ignited a smattering of excited, pre-emptive clapping from a group of women seated at the front. One even squealed as if he was a rock star.

Barnes looked at them, clasped his fingers together as if in grateful prayer and mouthed a thank you smile. At this, the entire audience erupted in applause which lasted a good thirty seconds. When the clapping didn’t show any sign of dying down, he raised his hands and patted the air as if to say, right, that’s enough. Quiet down. He shrugged his shoulders and pulled a face to convey he felt embarrassed by the overwhelming response.

Humble. That was good, thought Nem.

Still, there was a smattering of applause, but he began to speak over it.

“Thank you for coming to listen to my blathering about my new book Hidden in the Shadows. I’m grateful for your support. We’ll have question time afterward. Ask anything, okay? I’ll sign books too, but my agent over there, Morris the Ogre as I call him, has me on a strict timeline. Ninety minutes is all I’ll have in total, I’m afraid.”

Nem began to analyze him. He seemed different from other authors she’d met. His confidence, as though born a best selling author, appealed. During his speech, which was fascinating, his charisma was obvious. He had an easy manner and wit which had the audience laughing and clapping. Then an instant later they were hushed, mesmerized by his fascinating stories of inspiration for his book.

Does being that good take practice?