Page 21 of A Bookish Story

We’ve all decided Elizabeth is going to be a happy and cheerful author. The publisher wants people to be inspired when they see Elizabeth, to want to be her. When Dan, the photographer they’ve sent, agrees on the dress I picked, I know I’ve made the right choice. It’s a bright and colorful yellow and royal blue polka dot dress which almost matches the cover of the book. I’ve never worn anything quite this…loud.

Dan has artfully arranged dozens of copies of the special edition on a shelf. My instructions are to sit to the side of all these hardcovers, holding one of them, smiling into the camera. My legs are crossed in some, uncrossed in another. Head tilted to the left in one, to the right in the other. Smile. No smile. Eyebrow quirk. No eyebrow quirk. A few hundred or so poses later, we are done. Dan sets up a separate monitor where I’ll sit for the call. The roll-up backdrop behind me is one of French double doors and resembles a home in any corner of the country.

“Don’t be nervous,” Dan instructs as he fiddles with the monitor setup. “You look scared.”

How ironic. I look scared because I’m going on national TV pretending to be someone else? Lying to the entire country about writing the book everyone seems to want to read?

“Are you okay?” Ryan asks.

“Pretending I wrote a book without a real ending?”

I try a laugh but it comes out like a scream. “Look, I’ve pretended to be impressed with my date’s car, pretended to be thinner, pretended to be happy, and pretended to enjoy dry chicken. I can do this.”

But pretending isn’t really the issue. I pretend all the time since I’m a writer and lie for a living. The problem here is that I’m showing my face to the world. I’ve been told in the past I should never attempt to play poker. Everything I think and feel is apparently reflected way too easily on my face and Sofia tells me I have a smirk that apparently tells the world, “yeah, right.” Today it’s my job to wrestle that smirk into submission. The world will believe I’m proud of this book.

“No one can question you, remember,” Pepper says from the other monitor nearby, a hovering face. “As far as we’re concerned, you are Elizabeth Brogan.”

“I think what she’s trying to say is that just because we all know this is a deception, don’t think for a second anyone will doubt you,” Ryan says.

This is supposed to somehow make me feel better.

“Sure, I mean, why would they?” I laugh. “Who would do something like this?”

We all exchange nervous smiles and laughs. We would do something like this.

As we wait, Ryan stands a few feet behind me and out of camera range. He’s alternately wiping his brow and swiping away the lock of hair that consistently falls over his glasses. It’s almost a comfort to know he’s worried, too.

“I’m here if you need me,” he reminds me.

“Perfect,” Pepper says, reminding us she’s still the face behind a monitor nearby. “Just be sure not to be seen, and if Luci gets stumped by a question, you scribble down the answer fast and hand it to her. Just make sure you always remain off camera.”

“She won’t get stumped,” Ryan says, giving me more credit than I deserve.

But he adds shoving a hand through his rumpled hair to his routine of adjusting his frames. He’s worried.

Seconds before we go live on the web cam, I turn to Ryan, a slice of fear quaking through me like a tsunami.

“Ryan, I changed my mind.”

“No, you didn’t. You can’t.”

“How am I supposed to do this?”

He simply stares at me blankly with those magnetic midnight blue eyes. “Fake it.”

I reach out and give him a little push. “You’re not helping.”

And then three, two, one...

“Hello, Elizabeth! Welcome to the show!”

And with those few words I begin my tenure as Elizabeth Brogan.

CHAPTER 8

Carla, the reality star, is wearing blood red lipstick and beaming a toothy smile when she appears on the call. She’s just as beautiful as you’d think a former model married to a professional athlete would be.

“Now, don’t be nervous. I can see you are. This isn’t live and we’ll edit anything that doesn’t work. Just roll and relax those tight shoulders and let’s talk about your wonderful book!” She shimmies her shoulders and rubs her hands together, her long straight dark hair fanning over her shoulders.