Page 28 of Where There's Smoke

I coughed, tryingreallyhard not to laugh. “Not a zombie fan?”

“Or not a fan of veal-like brains?” Ranya asked.

Anthony wrinkled his nose. He eyed me, his face still a little green, but then chuckled and shook his head. “I guess this beats the hell out of you being too stressed to handle the debate.”

Ranya grinned triumphantly. “Anything to distract him.”

Shrugging, Anthony extinguished his cigarette in the door’s ashtray. “Whatever works.”

Moments later the limo pulled up to the venue. As soon as the three of us got out, my security team joined us, and a few members of the venue’s staffherded us inside and down a hall. They showed us to an empty conference room marked CAMERON & STAFF.

“Someone will come get you ten minutes before you go on,” a staff member said. “You’ve got forty-five minutes until then.”

“Thank you.” I pretended my heart hadn’t just gone into double time. Forty-five minutes. Oh fuck.

Breathe, Cameron. Breathe.

“I’m going to go get some food,” Ranya said. “You guys want anything?”

“After that conversation in the limo?” Anthony snorted. “No, thank you.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. It kinda made me hungry.”

Anthony grimaced again.

“What about you, Cameron?” She looked at me, eyebrows up.

“No, I’m good.”

“All right. I’ll be back.” As she shuffled away, she adopted a low, moaning voice. “Brains, braaaains…”

After the door shut, my pulse jumped. Oh, God. I was alone with Anthony. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last, but anytime I found myself encased inside walls with no one but him, my pulse went crazy. Even when he was quietly engrossed in something else. Especially when he was quietly engrossed in something else.

Like, say, right now.

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He leaned against a white plastic table, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger as he stared intently at something on his cell phone screen.

All this nervous energy conspired to make me twitchy, so I shifted my weight. Again. Then walked to one side of the room to read an incredibly dull poster about administering CPR. To the other side of the room for an equally boring education in emergency exit procedures. Back to the CPR poster. Then across again, this time not even paying attention to what was on the wall. My steps on the hard floor gave me something to think about besides the ticking clock or my pounding heart, and at least I was moving.

“You all right?” Anthony’s voice startled me.

I glanced up and forced a smile. “Yeah. Nerves. You know how it goes.”

“You’re ready for this, though, right?”

“Absolutely.”

He watched me for a moment, his eyes tracking my nervous pacing. Then, evidently satisfied I was ready enough he didn’t need to grill me, he nodded and returned his attention to his phone’s screen.

He didn’t need to know I was nowhere near ready. Deep down, I knew full well I’d be one hundred percent ready the second I stepped up to the podium. But right now? Backstage? With what may as well have been a doomsday clock on the wall counting down the seconds until I’d damn wellbetter have the answers to all of California’s social, economic, cash flow, education, and environmental problems? Fuck. Fuck.Fuck.

About twenty minutes after she left, Ranya returned with a bag from the Kentucky Fried Chicken a block or so away.

“My God.” She dropped into a folding chair. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get in and out of this place without being firmly attached to some politician’s coattails?”

I laughed. “And you thought it would be easy?”

“No.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a few cardboard and Styrofoam containers, pausing to lick a stray drop of gravy off her thumb. “But Jesus Christ, I thought they were going to give me a body cavity search or something.”

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