Page 38 of SapphicLover69
“We didn’t want to miss the reading,” Demi continued. “Meeting all these sapphic authors is just the max!”
“Hello to you too, Luna,” I added, assessing her with a fake evil eye. Though she had seemed shady at first, I was convinced she couldn’t have pulled off the plot to kill me last night.
She flicked her head in recognition without uttering a word.
“It starts in ten minutes,” Nan mentioned, her multicolor hair glowing three shades lighter in the sun.
Winter glanced at her watch, then at me. This time, I didn’t release her hand just because fans had bounded up. I smiled with pride in myself. I could do public displays of affection, even if years of repression had trained me otherwise.
“Well, then, we should get a move on,” I said, standing. Winter—attached at the hand—rose with me. “The twenty-third-floor foyer will be a madhouse.”
I voiced an excuse to the girls that five would be too crowded in one car to score a minute more private time. Standing beside Winter alone in an elevator sent tingles coursing through me at thoughts of what I could do to her in the tight, secluded space … my hands exploring, mouth claiming, muscles clenching.Maybe just a kiss,I considered. As I leaned in to occupy her personal space, my heart thumping and anticipation racing, the car lurched to a stop, a bell dinged, and two more women bustled through the doors. With a grimace of discontent at the lost moment, I straightened and greeted conferencegoers who had become familiar faces over the weekend.
We stepped out into the crowded lobby, which brimmed with excitement. People were abuzz talking about the fire, who would get awards, the folks who won the raffles, the authors in the reading, and the adventures they’d had in the French Quarter the night before. Their attire ranged from shorts and T-shirts to cocktail dresses and sporty blazers. Winter’s black tee with the words, “Frak Frell If Nothing Else Sci-Fi Taught Me to Swear” was witty and funny, especially since I hadn’t heard a swear word—fictional or otherwise—come out of her mouth since I met her. Although I didn’t know what the terms referenced, I relished the fact this shirt fit her tighter than her other ones.
“There you are!” called Tammy, who garnered attention even without the vigorously waving hand. Keeping Winter’s grip securely in mine, I wiggled between conversing pairs and groups to where Tammy stood with her hands resting on the back ofBeth’s wheelchair. Elaine ambled over from the direction of the restrooms so that all five of us formed a clump in the middle of the frenzied writers, readers, and support personnel.
“We’re here,” I answered, trying unsuccessfully to avoid bumping others.
“Are you coming to the reading?”
I glanced over my shoulder upon picking out Catherine’s elegant voice from the din. She stood beside Valery Preston, peering at her with a questioning expression.
“I think we’ll miss this one,” Valery answered politely. “None of our authors are participating, so we made an appointment to interview a romance writer, Marty Sanderson. I think her work shows potential.”
Winter must have picked up on my attention to the exchange because she leaned in and whispered, “Well, duh! She’s a finalist; of course, she has potential.”
Cary stuck a powerful pose behind Valery as if protecting her rear, displaying her typical expression of displeasure.
“I’m sure she would make an asset to your slate of outstanding authors,” Catherine praised. “Femlove Ink has played a pivotal leadership role in growing the art form we all hold so dear.”
Her comment raised a question in my mind, so I turned to Beth. “Hey, how many of the finalists are published by Femlove?”
Beth pursed her lips, considering for a moment. “Almost half,” she concluded. “The rest are spread among the smaller lesbian and LGBTQ presses and independent authors. It’s not unusual, but they don’t dominate the winners like they did when Valery was on the board. While it may sound like a conflict of interest, back then there were only a handful of lesbian publishers and now there are over a dozen with accolades to their names, not to mention scores of accomplished, independent writers. It used to be if readers didn’t see a recognized publisher’s label, theywouldn’t even buy the book. They equated ‘self-published’ with poor to nonexistent editing and an amateurish effort. Today—thanks to proficient authors like you—being independent doesn’t always mean substandard.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Aspen,” Tammy added. “You’ve won here before, and, with three chances, I’ll bet you get at least one of them.”
“You’re with a publisher,” I mentioned.
“Technically, I’m a hybrid author. Past and Prologue Press publishes my Viking series and my women knights’ tales, but I self-publish books that don’t fit those subgenres. If I write the New Orleans connection pirate tale, I’ll put it out myself.”
I nodded, considering all the angles as we entered the large room to hear our fellow authors share favorite scenes from beloved stories born of their imaginations, the children of their hearts.
When we entered Chin B to grab a seat before they were all gone, I observed Teresa, my shadowy tail from Thursday and Friday, sitting alone in a corner. Seeing as the rest of her row lay empty, I led our gang that way and took the seat beside her.
“Glad to see you made it back,” I commented without too much ado.
She was dressed in black again, her long, dark hair still stringing across her face as she hunched in her chair. She shrugged. “I like Jules Novik’s books too. Sometimes I think I should’ve been born a few centuries in the future instead of now.”
Winter peered around me at the young woman and commented, “I could introduce you after the reading.”
Her eyes rounded, and a look of amazement crossed her face. “I can’t believe you’re all so nice. Aspen Wolfe, Tammy Fairfield, and now … who are you?”
“This is Winter Bliss,” I presented with pride radiating from my core. “She’s a science fiction writer like Novik.”
“Galactic Iliad?” Teresa blinked.
“Yeah!” Enthusiasm blossomed in Winter’s countenance. I got up, shuffled over, and traded places with her.
