Page 21 of SapphicLover69
“World-building it is,” Beth concluded.
We exited into a din of excitement. The conference-goers came in all shapes and sizes, from tattooed, muscled butches with crew cuts to dainty femmes in tight skirts. They were tall, short, black, white, trans, nonbinary, with a scattering of plus-sized and petite women of each identity. One wore sunglasses and carried a red-tipped white cane. Another guided her electric wheelchair into a conference room while a handsome woman maneuvered through the throng on crutches with her leg in a cast. My heart swelled to see so many diverse peoplecome together over their love of sapphic literature. Then I remembered one had essentially threatened my life.
At least I was starting to recognize more faces. Weaving our way toward Chin B, I bumped into Q.L. Shade and Marty Sanderson conversing outside the open doorway.
I struck a confident stance and curved my lips in salutation. “Good morning. Are you ready to create some brave new worlds too?”
“I think it’s more we’re intimidated by the thought of being our own editors,” Marty confessed.
“Intimidated?” Q.L. scoffed. “Speak for yourself. I simply don’t have time to do everything.”
“Hey, Winter,” Marty greeted and waved, ignoring Q.L.’s rebuttal.
“Disgusting!” growled a voice behind us. I glanced over my shoulder to spy the Femlove Ink. Publisher’s booth along the wall a few feet down from where we stood. Valery Preston might look like a million dollars, but her character wasn’t worth two cents in my book. Sure, she’d done all that advocate work for lesbians and deserved recognition, but why’d she have to be an exclusive bigot when it came to other queer people? Her assistant, Cary Snearface, with her square jaw and bristling cut of silver hair, diverted her hateful gaze once she noticed me staring back at her. The two of them continued whispering conspiratorially, sparing an occasional scowl our way. I wished I could hear their venomous dictates and superior utterances.
When Selina Fowlerton sashayed up to the table in her swoon-worthy dress and heels, Valery’s expression instantly transformed into a lavish bouquet of kindness. Cary tried to follow her lead, but I had yet to see her with a truly pleasant expression. They both wore stylish business suits again today, Cary’s with slacks and Valery’s with a skirt.
“I wonder what they do with all the empty space inside their heads, considering how small-minded they are,” I muttered. Despite their age, experience, and notoriety, I couldn’t bring myself to think well of the publishing powerhouse and her aid—or was it bodyguard? Who knew? Maybe someone had made threats against Valery too; or hadshemade the threats? Still, who was I to them? A lowly, self-published author they had summarily rejected five years ago. An insect.
I didn’t think anyone had heard me, but I caught the appreciative gleam in Q.L.’s keen eyes as she flicked her chin at me in recognition.
“Let’s get seats before the room fills up,” Tammy directed to move us along.
“Good idea,” Elaine concurred. “Q.L., may I sit next to you?”
“I would be honored,” she replied and took Elaine’s arm.
I can’t quite recall seeing a sight so peculiar or sensational as the six-foot-tall trans woman taking the arm of her squat, physically-impaired comrade to be escorted into a chamber brimming with their competitive peers. Even as my lips curved in blessing, Winter looped her arm through mine.
“We’re going to sit near the front,” she murmured. “Tammy and Beth are taking the back row to watch for anyone acting suspicious. Isn’t that the sweetest thing?” Her gaze locked onto Q.L. and Elaine, and an adorable smile brightened her creamy face. “So sad about Shane. How does Elaine do it? I’d be so devastated, I’m not sure I could get out of bed.”
I realized how out of touch I’d been since sacrificing my online presence. Once they arrested my stalker, maybe I could go back. I’d be starting over, but at least I would know what was going on in my world.
“She’s amazing—that’s for sure,” I answered in a hush. “So, does that mean you have a sweetheart waiting for you back in theland of cows and snow?” I suspected she didn’t, but, before my imagination got the better of me, I figured I should ask.
Winter giggled, lowered her chin, and shook her head. “No sweethearts for me, I’m afraid—not yet, anyway.”
“I suspect Wisconsinite women are missing out on a grand prize by overlooking you.” I didn’t intend to flirt, and, luckily, we arrived at our seats before I could step in it even deeper.
“Aspen!” R.B. Taylor occupied the second row with two empty seats to one side and the tastiest-looking athletic woman in jeans and a Literary Laurels rainbow T-shirt, bearing a purple stripe in her side swept, short ebony hair, occupied her other side. The striking butch’s energy almost outshined R.B.’s, and I hadn’t thought that possible.
She greeted me with a friendly hug. “This is Jeri Callisto,” R.B. introduced. “She writes paranormal, vampire, and werewolf stories when she isn’t battling fires back in Kingston, Ontario. This is her first year to have a finalist for Best Horror Novel.”
“Pleased to meet you, Jeri,” I said. I took on her firm grip with one of my own. Aspen Wolfe doesn’t have a weak handshake, or a weak anything, for that matter.
“And your friend?” The queen of romance royalty peered around me at Winter, who looked like she was trying to hide. Her blue eyes went wide behind her glasses, and I clamped my hand over hers on my arm so she couldn’t bolt in terror.
“Winter Bliss,” I answered, trying to project a glow of pride. OK, so I didn’t have a hot Canadian firefighter on my arm; I had a nerdy Cheesehead. Still, I appreciated her for her loyalty and sweetness. “She’s published a few science fiction books so far and is growing a following in the genre. This is her first time at a writer’s conference.”
“Hey, Winter.” R.B. reached a pristine hand to her. With my elbow in her ribs, she took her hand and blinked without a word. “How are you enjoying the conference and New Orleans?”
“Great,” she squeaked out.
“I simply couldn’t miss a chance to meet all the best authors and absorb the atmosphere of North America’s most fabled, haunted city,” Jeri confessed in her eastern Canadian accent.
“OK, everyone, if you’d please take your seats, we’re ready to begin.” The microphone squealed, hurting my ears as the moderator made the announcement.
“Later,” R.B. signaled with a smile, and we all settled down to gain valuable insights on how to create a world that readers could see, hear, touch, taste, and smell as tangibly as if they had lived there for years. I hoped Tammy, Beth, and Elaine were gaining insights into the identity of my elusive stalker.
