Today's Reading
"Tessa, our book club loves you!" A woman in a periwinkle-blue cardigan reached out and touched Tessa's arm as she walked by. Tessa stopped and turned to her, smiling.
"I love you, too," she whispered, and now it seemed like every woman had a cell phone out, pointing it at Tessa, the tiny flashes popping like celebratory fireworks. Capturing the moment, Tessa thought, and she wished she could do the same thing, save up every morsel of this, wrap herself in it, reassure herself that dreams could indeed come true.
"And we love Annabelle! She's so kick-ass!"
Tessa's laughing response was drowned in applause, and the room became a sea of periwinkle-blue book covers, some held in readers' arms, some arrayed in a massive multibook display, backdropped by the oversized cover of All This Could Be Yours hanging behind the podium. The portrait of her protagonist, Annabelle Brown, on the cover, with her tortoiseshell glasses, periwinkle earrings, and signature attitude, seemed to watch over the whole event, amused and approving. Confident. Empowered. Never surprised.
All this could be yours, Tessa thought. Her husband had said that to her, joking, arms wide, the day they got engaged. The phrase had stayed with her, but the more she thought about it, the more sinister it sounded. How chilling the exact same words became in fiction when Annabelle's boss said them, offering her that life-changing choice. Tessa's editor had instantly loved it. "Double entendre," Olivette had pronounced. "Perfect."
Now Tessa sent a silent thank-you to the writing gods, and to Annabelle, too. Maybe all this, and more, already was hers. After all this time, and after all of her own life-changing choices. For worse, and for better.
"Come on, you all, let Tessa by!" An amplified voice came from the front of the event space. Lisa Mooney, chignoned and chic in black linen, clapped her hands to get the crowd's attention. "You want to hear her talk, don't you?"
Tessa's publicist had forewarned her that the savvy and influential Lisa was the doyenne of the women's fiction world—and that a successful event at Excelsior Books almost guaranteed another week on the best-seller lists. Tessa crossed her fingers, wishing, as she stepped onto the dais. Then paused as Lisa motioned her to wait.
The bookstore owner tipped the black gooseneck microphone closer, then quieted the audience with two palms.
"You don't need me to introduce Tessa Calloway," she began.
"One life!" someone in the audience called out.
"Moms with dreams!"
Tessa touched a hand to her heart, seeing the women's faces now, rapt and attentive, so many of them, like Tessa herself, wearing Annabelle's signature periwinkle-blue earrings.
Lisa went on with the familiar paragraph of the careful introduction publicist Djamila Parekh had crafted for booksellers and librarians and book clubs—recapping the viral moment when Tessa walked out on her corporate career to focus on husband and kids in Massachusetts, her late-in-life debut novel, her starred reviews, the instant New York Times bestsellerdom. Her devoted followers, and the almost cult of the life-empowering Annabelle.
Tessa had heard that intro, sometimes twice a day, for more than three weeks now, as her book tour, triumphant at every stop, took her to different cities and different bookstores and different audiences. Three weeks to go. Aren't you exhausted? Henry would ask. But she wasn't, not a bit, who needed sleep? She was flying on love and success and, she had to admit, financial necessity. Which Henry—and their brand-new mortgage—did not let her forget.
"So let's give a big Indianapolis welcome," Lisa was saying, "to our darling Tessa, who has introduced us to the instantly iconic Annabelle Brown."
Tessa took a step forward, but Lisa stopped her again.
"Wait. Let me ask you," Lisa said. "How many of you have had your lives changed by Annabelle? How many have learned from her sass, and her spirit, and her confidence? Let's see a show of hands as we welcome Tessa to the microphone. I am honored to present—Tessa Calloway."
Tessa opened her arms in gratitude as Lisa gestured her to the podium, the audience now a swell of waving hands, women cheering, some brandishing their periwinkle books in the air like prized trophies, or symbols of their sisterhood.
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