“Yes. He always does the first event at home. You should come. Get his autograph too and maybe a photo with Ethan. He’s so nice. He takes photos with everyone.”

“I wish I could read his new book sooner. So excited about it,” I say, testing the waters.

“It’s worth the wait, trust me. I read it,” she says and winks. “His best yet. So lovely.”

“You have? Could I maybe get your copy then? I’ll pay for it.”

The woman chuckles lightly. “Sorry, no. It’s only for, you know, booksellers and select people. It was an early version. Absolutely lovely,” she adds, dreamy eyes and all.

Select people. I should be one of the select people. It’s my story! Mine.

“You should definitely come to the book signing event. June 17,” she says. “Not long now. You have to register online though. We might have a spot left,” she says although I didn’t indicate I want to get on the list. What I want is to meet him now. And read the book now.

“It’s a long, long list,” she says as she’s looking at something on the computer.

I try not to roll my eyes, imagining crowds of women—I don’t know why I think they’re mostly women—crowding this small bookstore, as he’s reading some mumbo jumbo from his undoubtedly pretentious literary works. His photo is on the back of both books. The Steve Jobs one. I stop myself from chuckling.

She nods. “You’re in luck; we have a few seats open. I’ll add your name.”

“Thank you,” I say, all smiles.

“Very well then,” says the woman, ready to move on to the next customer.

“You said Ethan Delphy lives in town?” I ask in my most innocent tone.

“They all moved down to Florida a few years ago. But he comes back to see his sister and of course, to launch his books,” she says, grinning proudly.

I frown. Then what am I doing here? I can’t stay until June 17. “His sister?”

“Yes, she owns the coffee shop at Seventh and Dolores.”

I’m bummed about this. But at least I have something to work with.

Outside the bookstore, I catch my breath. I was never one for manipulating people to get what I want and was even accused by Janice of being incapable of getting more than the obvious answers from politicians. Take that, Janice. I can be deceiving too. Not sure that’s something to be proud of, maybe only because I proved her wrong.

It’s about a ten-minute walk to the coffee shop. Good. I have time to clear my head. Calm my nerves. Come up with a plan. The idea of having to manipulate yet another person makes me queasy. The idea of using this guy’s sister, who would soon find out the truth, is profoundly uncomfortable. You’d better be worth it, Ethan Delphy, and tell me what I need to know, I think as I make my way to Dolores Avenue.

Twenty-Six

I call Alisa on my way to the café, but she doesn’t pick up. She might be in a meeting.