Page 6 of SapphicLover69
“I’m hungry!” Tammy declared and pushed up from the table, shooting a gleaming gaze toward the food. “I’m getting in that line before all the good stuff is gone. Anyone coming?”
It took a great deal of restraint for me not to leap up and race her to the spread, but Aspen Wolfe never rushes. She’s always cool and poised. However, my manner of rising to follow her didn’t interfere with me doing so. “I could eat,” I mentioned, while my stomach growled in affirmation.
“Sure,” Winter concurred and hopped up like a cartoon bunny.
“Someone needs to guard our table,” Tammy directed with a loving glance at Beth. “Shall I bring you a plate?”
“Thanks, babe. You know what I like.”
With Beth there, I left my purse—which I was likely to forget and lose before the night was over—since this form-fitting, neck-plunging dress had no pockets. Perky little Winter had pockets in her black jeans. A whimsical, math-themed blouse splashed with color hung over her petite frame like a parachute Albert Einstein might have designed. I didn’t know why I was paying any attention to her when all I wanted to do was devour every delectable morsel in sight.
I piled my plate with shrimp, boudin balls, crab cakes, fried okra, bite-sized stuffed jalapenos, sliced baguette with jambalaya dip, and melon slices. Then I added dessert bites of bourbon balls and king cake truffles. It was all I could do not to drool on the way back to our table.
Despite the urge to retreat in solitude to enjoy orgasms over my food, I tried to engage while savoring the spices, flavors, and textures as languidly as possible.
“And what can I get you ladies to drink this evening?” asked the waiter.
I ordered a white wine, Tammy asked for a beer, and the other two got fruity cocktails. I seldom drank alcohol, and we never had it in the house growing up, but I envisioned sophisticated and desirable Aspen Wolfe nursing a glass of wine through the evening. Giving it a taste, I concluded it wasn’t half bad.
Winter jabbered on with Tammy aboutDune: Part Two,which made no sense to me coming so many years—decades—after the original. While they oohed and aahed over how exciting and fantastic the new movie was, I closed my eyes to bathe in the sounds of the music. Low vibrations from the string bass pulsed through my body while the close harmonies and rambling runs on the piano struck just the right chord. The clarinet claimed thelimelight with a soulful tune, beckoning listeners to drift away into sensuous ecstasy.
Lazily opening my lids, my gaze drifted around the lounge until I spied another familiar face on the other side—R.B. Taylor. No one knew what the R.B. stood for or if they were her real initials, but her luscious auburn hair spilling over flawless, porcelain skin exposed by the plunging back of her dress couldn’t be faked. Now there was a gorgeous woman—slender and chic, her features perfectly symmetrical, wearing style with casual ease as she lifted a glass to ruby lips. She made everything look so effortless.
Still, R.B. Taylor was stiff competition, one of the most recognized names in sapphic romance. Last year, her twenty-second book won Best Contemporary Romance Novel, a collaborative set of short stories she contributed to took Best Anthology, and she was bestowed the coveted Maureen Duffy Award for literary excellence. Yes, the sleek beauty was sapphic fiction royalty, and I yearned to meet her while I was here. Maybe she would give me a few tips. Perhaps we could even become friends. I was still a newcomer, an outsider, yet, at some point, I desired to achieve enough notoriety to be included with the likes of Taylor and Selina Fowlerton. I guess that was the real reason I had become so concerned about my appearance. They were both surrounded by handsome, buff butches or shapely, attractive femmes, and plain old me was neither.
“We must all attend the panel on ‘How to Deal with Book Pirating.’” Beth unfolded an itinerary onto the table once her plate was empty.
The change of subject brought my attention back to my company. None of them fit the molds either, yet I felt extremely comfortable in their presence. I suppose that counted for something too.
Winter’s eyes widened, and she pushed up her glasses. “I’ve heard about that. How terrible!” A hilarious scowl rippled across her face. I imagined a tiny shrew standing with hands on her hips, giving an angry tirade about someone stealing her cheese. “At least I don’t have to worry about it since my books aren’t top sellers. Who’d want to plagiarize me?”
“Oh, you need to come, learn, and be on the lookout,” Tammy commanded in a no-nonsense manner. “This is a raging atrocity, and the pirates aren’t just targeting best-sellers. I’ve already found two of my novels copied word for word except for changing the main character’s names and slapping on a new cover.”
“It’s not happening while the book fair is going on tomorrow, is it?” I wondered aloud, alarmed by Tammy’s revelation. I hadn’t thought I had to worry about that either, but maybe I did. “I don’t have anyone to watch my table.”
“No,” Beth answered, referring to the schedule. “It’s Saturday morning from ten to twelve in Chinoiserie B on the 23rdfloor. Even though it’s the bigger room, we need to be early to get a seat.”
My masterclass was set for tomorrow afternoon at four in the smaller Chin A, across the reception lobby from Chin B. An advertising and marketing panel discussion was being hosted in the big room that I would have liked to attend. They probably wouldn’t have anything new to tell me I hadn’t already dug around and discovered, anyway. Still.
“Gosh,” Winter exhaled. “What’s opposite it?”
“A presentation geared toward readers on how to choose the book you really want to read and avoid the ones you don’t,” Tammy inserted.
Winter let out a sound of relief. “Maggie Harkness is giving a class on how to create three-dimensional alien and monster characters for your sci-fi and fantasy series, and I must bethere for it. I think having flat, boring aliens who mostly appear as mindless monsters out to kill my human space explorers is holding me back. Reviewers are always impressed with my science; it’s the fiction part I need to be more creative with.”
“That’s good,” I commented. “We all need to be constantly improving our craft, striving to be better writers. I get so caught up in trying to learn new ways to sell more books, I sometimes forget that, in the big picture, writing a better narrative will lead to more sales.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have zounds of sales,” Winter replied flippantly and ran skinny fingers through her dark hair.
I laughed. “You really are naïve, aren’t you?”
“I need to use the restroom now,” she announced abruptly, excusing herself. She sprung up and dashed away.
A horrid barb pierced my emotions, and I said to Tammy and Beth, “I didn’t mean to upset her. I just meant that I barely sell enough books to pay my rent.”
“Naw, she’ll be fine,” Tammy assured me with a wave of her hand. “She’s just a little star-struck, I suppose. Because she buys everything you write, she must think every other sane human being would do the same—as they should!” she added with a wink and polished off her bottle.
“I think her Mai Tai has more to do with her bathroom run than your comment,” Beth added with a comforting smile.
