Jeanne Glidewell - Lexie Starr 06 - Cozy Camping (7 page)

* * *

Using the GPS feature in Emily’s car, we had no trouble driving straight to the Barnes and Noble on Dell Range Boulevard, not far up the road from Frontier Mall where we thought we might do a little shopping later on. When we walked into the bookstore, we saw a crowd of people gathered around a table in the most prominent location in the building. In the midst of the mob, I heard the squeaky laugh of Fanny Finch a time or two. I didn’t want to get anywhere near her table, but I could visualize the author busily signing books for her adoring fans with the air of the Queen of England addressing the commoners.

“Go get your book, sweetie, and let’s get out of here,” I said to Veronica.

While Veronica wandered around the store looking for a copy of
Fame and Shame
on a shelf in the biography section, and Wendy went over to the snack bar area to buy all three of us a bottle of water, I felt obliged to walk over to where another table was set up with two dejected-looking ladies sitting behind it. No one was in line to make a purchase, but I thought it would be a pleasant diversion to chat with them about the books they’d written. As I approached, I noticed several tall stacks of unsold books on the table in front of them almost shielded them from view. I knew from overhearing Fanny’s conversation with Emily that these ladies were the “wanna-be best selling authors” known as Norma Grace and Sarah Krumm.

Both Norma and Sarah looked bored and disgusted, and Norma was tapping her ballpoint pen against the edge of the table in an attempt to relieve her boredom. I felt bad that Fanny Finch was monopolizing the crowd, even though I realized her book was quite relevant in Cheyenne this week, with Vex Vaughn headlining the concert at the rodeo arena on Monday evening.

I stopped to dispose of my gum in a trashcan. By the time I reached their shared table, which was almost hidden behind a row of bookshelves, and a long way from Fanny’s table, they were searching for something inside a box of books and having an animated conversation. I heard Sarah say, “I can’t believe Fanny got them to put us over here by the restrooms so we wouldn’t be within sight of all the people who want to purchase her book. Can you, Norma? Not only is she hogging the attention, as usual, she’s managed to get us put back in this secluded area where hardly anyone will even notice we’re here.”

“I’m sure that was her intention,” Norma replied. “It’s not like she doesn’t do that at every book signing event we go to. Sometimes I feel like pushing her in front of an oncoming bus. I really despise that conceited blowhard!”

“Me, too! I don’t know why we even go to these book signing events with her.”

With that last exchange between the two ladies, I found myself wanting to do a little more eavesdropping in order to better hear Norma’s response. I like to think it was more of an “inquisitive mind” kind of thing rather than it being the inherent “nosy Nelly” trait I was saddled with. I squatted down in front of Norma’s table to mess with the shoestring on my left tennis shoe, as if it had come undone and needed to be retied. I didn’t think I would be noticed by the two authors, who were still involved in their lively discussion.

“I know why, Sarah,” Norma said, as she pulled a cell phone out of the box. “We have the same agent as Fanny does, and if Nina didn’t let us go to book-signing events with Fanny, we wouldn’t get to go to any at all. As much as it pains me to admit it, you and I are nowhere near to being in the same league as Fanny when it comes to book sales and writing careers. Of course, that’s due to the ‘accident’ she orchestrated at that one book-signing event a few months ago. Still, we’re lucky Nina agreed to represent us, and we don’t want to make any waves and risk being dropped as her clients.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sarah replied. “I don’t know about you, but it took an act of God for me to get an agent, not to mention mailing out hundreds of query letters. My self-esteem was practically bleeding from so many rejections before I got a positive response from Nina.”

“I know the feeling. I could have wall-papered my living room with the rejection letters I collected before Nina accepted me as a client. I was just a query letter away from the self-inflicted death of my writing career. The few agents who took the time to reply to my queries invariably sent a form letter that basically said, ‘
No way, Jose! Don’t quit your day job, lady!
‘ I feel extremely fortunate to have Nina as my agent. And the fact that she was able to sell my book to a notable publisher was even more amazing. You and I both know, it’s not the kind of book that would appeal to the masses like
Fame and Shame
obviously does.”

“Same here,” Sarah agreed, with a long-suffering sigh before standing up and looking down at me as I finished retying my shoe. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” I replied, caught off guard. “I’m fine. I was just trying to get a knot out of this shoestring and retie it before asking you two about your books.”

When both of their faces lit up with delight, I knew immediately I was going to have to buy a copy of each book, whether they interested me or not. And, as it turned out, it was the latter. Norma Grace’s book about her life as a so-called “Coupon Queen” and Sarah Krumm’s tome on the principles of multi-generational households and their effect on society did nothing to pique my interest.

I had clipped coupons in the past only to forget to dig them out of my fanny pack and hand them to the checkout cashier when actually buying a product I didn’t really need in the first place. And living in a multi-generational household wouldn’t appeal to me for very long. I’d give it a month at best before I started circling classified ads in the
Rockdale Gazette
and presenting the list of available apartments to Wendy. And she’s the only close relative I had left, except for Stone, who already shared a home with me. I loved my daughter more than life itself, but there was such a thing as too much togetherness.

However, I was pretty adept at feigning interest in things I had no interest in. I perfected this talent after having been married for a year to a man who could talk about the pros and cons of different kinds of bait and tackle for hours on end. Stone, on the other hand, could not resist yawning and sighing when I babbled on about a deal I’d found on faux leather shoes and how I thought I should return to the store to buy one in every color they offered. In fact, he’d once fallen asleep as I was telling him about my desire to search the Internet for a good chicken Florentine recipe. I was just explaining the importance of using the perfect seasoning combination of garlic, basil, and thyme, when Stone’s head fell back on the couch and he began to rattle the blinds with his snoring.

I exchanged introductions with the two ladies, while Norma was signing her book, which she guaranteed would save me a lot of money on groceries and household products. I asked Sarah about the crowd around the third author’s table, as though I’d never heard of the book or its author.

“Oh, that’s Fanny Finch, signing copies of her book about the country and western singer, Vex Vaughn. Personally, I find the sensational facts she attributes to ‘a reliable source’ to be questionable and unethical, but apparently, there are a lot of people who like that kind of thing. Personally, I think she used a liberal dose of creative license in the process of debasing the singer.”

“But it appears a lot of people enjoy seeing a famous person humbled, or in this case, demeaned,” I replied in agreement. “Not me, however. If the singer wanted to air all his dirty laundry in public, he’d write his own autobiography about his life. I find it rather distasteful, myself.”

“Exactly!” She responded, as she handed me back my change for her book, which she’d already signed. “Just between us, she treats Norma and me as if she’s Cinderella and we’re her ugly stepsisters. In her opinion, we are so far beneath her that it’s an injustice that we’re even allowed to participate in book-signing events with her. I’m pretty sure she’s appalled we’re even allowed to breathe the same air she does.”

“You should ignore her high and mighty attitude. You’ve both earned your own degree of success, and you deserve respect for it,” I said, with as much conviction as I could muster.

Wendy had joined me at Norma and Sarah’s table and handed me a water bottle. After glancing at the titles of the two books in my hands, she looked at me quizzically. Before she could humiliate me by asking what on earth had prompted me to buy the books, I said, “I know you’re dying to read these books too, honey, but you’ll just have to wait until I’ve read them first.”

“Oh, darn!” She said, not bothering to pretend she had any interest in reading the two books.

“Where’s Veronica?” I cut in quickly, before Wendy began inquiring about why I had any desire to read a book on either topic.

Wendy pointed toward the crowd across the room, and said, “The only copies of Fanny’s book that are available are at her table, so Veronica’s standing in line to buy one and have it signed.”

I heard Sarah gasp, and I was too embarrassed to explain the situation, so I thanked them for signing my books and walked away with Wendy in tow. We each sipped our water while we sat on a couch in a reading nook of the bookstore. We chatted about everything from the recent recall of a popular brand of baby strollers, to how to treat an alpaca with stomach ulcers caused by an overproduction of gastric acids. We even discussed possible names for my imaginary grandchildren as we waited over an hour for Veronica to join us. I was chewing over Wendy’s name choice for a son, should she have one. I wasn’t sure I could ever get used to referring to my grandson as
Major,
no matter how popular Wendy insisted the name was. I didn’t want to feel as if I should salute my grandson every time our paths crossed. I was trying to visualize telling an ER physician that “Major” had a crayon stuck up his nose when Veronica walked toward us with the coveted book about her favorite singer clutched tightly in her arms.

That inherent nosy-Nelly trait reared its ugly head again as I looked at the likeness of an incredibly handsome man wearing a black cowboy hat and holding a well-worn guitar on the cover of
Fame and Shame
. I wasn’t surprised to see it was the same book the pretty redhead had been reading at the pool earlier that morning. It was apparently being snatched up by many readers.

I was ashamed of myself for suddenly wondering what kind of “sensational facts” were laid bare on the pages of the best-selling book. But I vowed never to read it—not even to satisfy my curiosity.

* * *

I can’t remember the last time I laughed as hard as I did when Stone, Wyatt, and Andy got off the shuttle bus dressed like actors in a John Wayne western. From their brand new ten-gallon hats and pointy-toed boots, to the oversized silver belt buckles on their braided leather belts, they looked like they’d just pilfered stuff from Ty Murray’s closet.

The most amusing part was that I could tell they all thought they looked pretty hot in their new cowboy regalia. At least Andy actually owned a cattle ranch, and the expensive purchases he made might come in handy for him. Stone’s new get-up, however, would collect dust and moths in the basement for the rest of its life after we returned to Rockdale, Missouri. I didn’t point this out, however. I had a multitude of “must have” shoes doing the exact same thing in my closet.

“I see you all spent a lot of time, not to mention money, in a Western Wear shop this afternoon,” I said, with a smile. “And you can’t imagine how smart you all look in your new costumes.”

“Costumes? These are not costumes, Lexie Marie!” Stone said adamantly. “This is Western apparel, which is very stylish and suitable for the occasion. We stopped by the Wrangler Western Wear store downtown after we had delicious prime rib sandwiches for lunch at the Albany Inn next door to it. We put on our new gear before we went to the rodeo, which, by the way, was awesome. In my next life I want to be a rodeo clown.”

I wanted to tell him he was already halfway there in that get-up. But as silly and out of character as Stone looked, I could tell the men had thoroughly enjoyed their afternoon together and I was happy for them. Wendy, Veronica, and I had also had a pleasant afternoon shopping at Frontier Mall and visiting the Capitol building, the Union Pacific “Big Boy” locomotive steam engine, which was on display in Holiday Park, and the historic downtown area. I remembered seeing the exact western wear store that had drawn the three men into its web.

I had been surprised when we stopped at a gift shop and Veronica bought a number of souvenir-type trinkets to hand out at Rockdale Meadows, a nursing home back home, where she told us she visited every Thursday to play cards with some of the residents. She spent time with many of the residents that seldom had visitors and who always welcomed someone to converse with. There was definitely more to this young lady than met the eye, I was discovering. She was certainly caring and thoughtful.

We’d also stopped for tourism information at the visitor’s center along I-25, which was conveniently located close to the Cozy Camping RV Park. We picked out a few cards from the rack advertising tourist sites we thought we might want to take in while we were in Cheyenne. If time allowed, we all agreed we should consider taking a day trip to Rocky Mountain National Park, not far south of town in Estes Park, Colorado.

That evening, we accepted Emily’s invitation to take Stanley’s extended cab pickup truck, which was much roomier than her economy car, to Poor Richard’s Steakhouse for supper. We indulged in wonderful cuisine and entertaining camaraderie as we discussed the events of the day. I, in fact,
over
-indulged on the “wonderful cuisine” and I could feel my jeans getting snugger and snugger with every bite of my Buffalo sirloin steak and loaded baked potato, not to mention the full plate of food I’d selected at the delectable soup and salad bar. In lieu of passing on dessert, I promised myself I’d get up early the next morning and swim a couple dozen laps at the pool before breakfast. Then I’d spend a relaxing day with my husband and friends at the campground. It sounded like a perfect day to me. Too bad it didn’t work out that way.