Page 3 of Roses for Rosie

“It can’t be that bad. You only live an hour away. It’ll be a quick in and out.”

“It is that bad. That hour might as well be halfway to hell.”

“It’s a cute little town.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Can’t we do a reading in the city instead? There’s a bigger audience to pull from, more readers. And then I wouldn’t have to stay in small town Podunk USA.”

“We have plenty of bigger events on the calendar for next month.”

I can’t believe I have to sink this low. I am a New York Times bestselling author. My latest book hit number three on the list and has stayed there for the past month.

Women all over the country are swooning over it. Women I would be happy to talk to, read to, take out to dinner and back to my hotel room. Just not the women in Jamesville.

Jamesville is a block long if it’s lucky. There are more cows there than people and the people who do choose to waste their lives in that shithole are not worth my time or energy. Bright lights and caviar are my thing, greasy spoon diners and tacky bed and breakfasts are most definitely not.

But my agent and my publisher have me by the balls here. Jan is right when she says that these readings are part of my contract. The small-town book club crones eat this shit up. If I want to stay at the top of the charts, I need these readers.

“Can’t we just do a Zoom call?” I ask in one last desperate bid to save myself the horror of this trip.

“You know these intimate events need to be in-person. It’s part of the deal.”“All right, fine. Give them a call and let me know when to be there.”

“Oh, that’s the best part. Nooks and Books likes to deal directly with authors. You can give them a call and set it all up yourself without the middleman.”

“Am I a secretary now?”

“No, Adam. Last I heard you are an engaging, flirtatious, charismatic bestselling romance author. At least that’s what your slavishly devoted readers think. Try to act like one.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Make time. Do you have a pen handy? I’ll read you the phone number.”

‘I’m not doing this,” I declare as I root around on my desk for a pen, knowing full well that I have about as much choice as I do when my grandmother pushes a third slice of pumpkin pie toward me after Thanksgiving dinner. “I’m ready for the number.”

“Great,” Jan says as she reads the number off to me. “And, Adam?”

“Yes, Jan,” I grumble.

“Be nice.”

“Always,” I grind out through gritted teeth.

She knows I will hate every minute of this experience, that I would rather have a root canal without Novocain than call this bookstore. She also knows that I will call and that I will turn on the Adam Smythe charm and have every ridiculous person I meet in that equally ridiculous little town eating out of the palm of my hand before I’m done.

Being able to write a compelling narrative and create irresistible characters is only a small part of what an author needs to do these days. That’s actually the easy part for most authors. Meeting the readers, traveling to events, and being the face of the book is the other part. Most authors hate it. They would rather bury their introverted selves away in some obscure funky coffee shop and peck away at their keyboards all day than interact with people.

Don’t get me wrong, I love to write. But what really lights me on fire is seeing people’s reactions to my words. Watching a woman get all dreamy eyed when I read a hot scene out loud pushes all my buttons. It makes me feel powerful, in charge, wanted, needed, desired.

The small-town book clubbers are too easy though. There’s no challenge in turning them on. Their lives are so boring in the first place that drivel written by freshman composition students could send them into paroxysms of adoration.

Readers are readers though and small-town book clubber’s book purchases count as much as anyone else’s.

I sigh as I pick up the phone. I might as well get this over with instead of dwelling on it. The sooner I book this event and get it done, the sooner I can start the real book tour. New York, LA, Chicago, Miami.

The venues are huge and early ticket sales have been promising. Tons of big names are slated to attend. Authors I’ve looked up to since I was a kid, publishers, Hollywood film producers, actors and actresses clamoring for the leading role when my latest book is made into a film will all be there. I can’t wait to get started, but first, Jamesville.

“Nooks and Books, where your next read is just a page away,” a chipper voice answers.

How cliché, how cheesy, how downright small town! I can’t believe I am doing this.

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