Home.
Simplicity
by Laurel Darling Roethke. Page 11.
Annie gave it a 2 out of 10. She edged out a third piece of candy. What the hey. She’d
earned
it.
Then she picked up Henny’s excerpt:
Pfui.
She didn’t even bother to glance at the identifying line. “Right on, Nero,” she said aloud.
Pfui, indeed.
On the ground floor, Annie hurried out of the elevator. She was halfway down the hall by the meeting rooms when Willie Hazlitt came in the side door, lugging a hefty box. He stopped in front of the open doors to the White Ibis Room and beamed. And blocked her way.
“I knew if I was a good boy I’d be rewarded. And I am—the prettiest author liaison in publishing history. Come on in and note my good work.” He walked into theWhite Ibis Room, calling out over his shoulder, “Come look.”
He was so proud of himself, in such good humor, that Annie smiled and followed him into the room.
And yes, there were books everywhere.
“I unpacked all the boxes. God, you wouldn’t think there could be that many boxes! Everything’s set up for the open house tomorrow, all the new books from Mint Julep Press, sure to impress everybody.” He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Booksellers, that’s the ticket. Kenneth’s invited hundreds of them!”
Annie knew that was an exaggeration. There were maybe a hundred and twenty bookstore people registered for the book fair.
“Ken was torn. He wanted books upstairs, he wanted books here. I’ve still got some to scatter about in the suite for our little gathering this afternoon. Not, of course, a gathering for
hoi polloi.
Just the cream of the crop. The Medallion winners and a few select others. Including you.” He sighed. “Of course, then I have to pack all those books up and haul them to the booth.”
Annie gave it a try. “Kenneth?” she asked crisply.
Willie shook his head in mock sorrow. “I can’t imagine why you’d want Ken instead of me. I’m much better looking. Don’t you agree?” He strolled to a six-foot-tall cutout next to the first table and draped his arm over the shoulders. “Ken’s latest promo effort. I asked him what he’s trying to sell, his body or his books?”
Annie walked over to the cutout.
By this time, Kenneth Hazlitt had taken shape in her mind as a leering, hateful creature practically endowed with horns.
She said, as she so often did, the first thing that came to mind.
“You don’t look a bit alike.”
“Nope. My mama married his papa. We’re step-buds.”
The cardboard Kenneth was a big man, bigger than Willie, with thick curly blond hair and a round face. A huge grin stretched his wide mouth. Dimples creased his plumpcheeks. A big Panama hat tilted jauntily on the back of his head. A pink carnation poked from the lapel of his artistically crumpled white suit. In his hands, he held a book.
With a sense of shock, Annie read the title:
Song of the South.
“It’s not out, is it?”
Willie looked blank.
“The book.” She pointed.
Willie shrugged. “I don’t know. I get confused. I’ve only been with the company for two weeks. All I know is, brother Ken’s having a blast. But hey, I know lots more fun things to talk about. Like me. Why don’t we find the bar …”
Annie nimbly sidestepped the arm Willie tried to drape over her shoulder. “Sorry.” Her smile was blithe. “I’ve got to run.”
Annie watched the small plane roll to a stop.
The Hilton Head airport handled commuter flights. She’d just have time to get Alan Blake to the hotel and return to pick up Missy Sinclair, then head back for Jimmy Jay Crabtree. At least she didn’t have to trek to the Savannah airport again today. Leah Kirby was the only author who had refused to fly on a small plane. Not that Annie thought that an unreasonable decision.
Blake was the third passenger out. He paused for just an instant on the top step before starting down.
Full of himself, Annie immediately decided. Though perhaps he couldn’t be
Simplicity
by Laurel Darling Roethke. Page 11.
Annie gave it a 2 out of 10. She edged out a third piece of candy. What the hey. She’d
earned
it.
Then she picked up Henny’s excerpt:
Pfui.
She didn’t even bother to glance at the identifying line. “Right on, Nero,” she said aloud.
Pfui, indeed.
On the ground floor, Annie hurried out of the elevator. She was halfway down the hall by the meeting rooms when Willie Hazlitt came in the side door, lugging a hefty box. He stopped in front of the open doors to the White Ibis Room and beamed. And blocked her way.
“I knew if I was a good boy I’d be rewarded. And I am—the prettiest author liaison in publishing history. Come on in and note my good work.” He walked into theWhite Ibis Room, calling out over his shoulder, “Come look.”
He was so proud of himself, in such good humor, that Annie smiled and followed him into the room.
And yes, there were books everywhere.
“I unpacked all the boxes. God, you wouldn’t think there could be that many boxes! Everything’s set up for the open house tomorrow, all the new books from Mint Julep Press, sure to impress everybody.” He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Booksellers, that’s the ticket. Kenneth’s invited hundreds of them!”
Annie knew that was an exaggeration. There were maybe a hundred and twenty bookstore people registered for the book fair.
“Ken was torn. He wanted books upstairs, he wanted books here. I’ve still got some to scatter about in the suite for our little gathering this afternoon. Not, of course, a gathering for
hoi polloi.
Just the cream of the crop. The Medallion winners and a few select others. Including you.” He sighed. “Of course, then I have to pack all those books up and haul them to the booth.”
Annie gave it a try. “Kenneth?” she asked crisply.
Willie shook his head in mock sorrow. “I can’t imagine why you’d want Ken instead of me. I’m much better looking. Don’t you agree?” He strolled to a six-foot-tall cutout next to the first table and draped his arm over the shoulders. “Ken’s latest promo effort. I asked him what he’s trying to sell, his body or his books?”
Annie walked over to the cutout.
By this time, Kenneth Hazlitt had taken shape in her mind as a leering, hateful creature practically endowed with horns.
She said, as she so often did, the first thing that came to mind.
“You don’t look a bit alike.”
“Nope. My mama married his papa. We’re step-buds.”
The cardboard Kenneth was a big man, bigger than Willie, with thick curly blond hair and a round face. A huge grin stretched his wide mouth. Dimples creased his plumpcheeks. A big Panama hat tilted jauntily on the back of his head. A pink carnation poked from the lapel of his artistically crumpled white suit. In his hands, he held a book.
With a sense of shock, Annie read the title:
Song of the South.
“It’s not out, is it?”
Willie looked blank.
“The book.” She pointed.
Willie shrugged. “I don’t know. I get confused. I’ve only been with the company for two weeks. All I know is, brother Ken’s having a blast. But hey, I know lots more fun things to talk about. Like me. Why don’t we find the bar …”
Annie nimbly sidestepped the arm Willie tried to drape over her shoulder. “Sorry.” Her smile was blithe. “I’ve got to run.”
Annie watched the small plane roll to a stop.
The Hilton Head airport handled commuter flights. She’d just have time to get Alan Blake to the hotel and return to pick up Missy Sinclair, then head back for Jimmy Jay Crabtree. At least she didn’t have to trek to the Savannah airport again today. Leah Kirby was the only author who had refused to fly on a small plane. Not that Annie thought that an unreasonable decision.
Blake was the third passenger out. He paused for just an instant on the top step before starting down.
Full of himself, Annie immediately decided. Though perhaps he couldn’t be
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