by Tasha Black
“Sorry,” he said, tearing his gaze away from the posters at Q’s booth.
They continued back to Bea’s table in the corner.
Buck set down the box he was carrying.
“Hang on,” Bea said. “That’s not right.”
She was looking at the number on the table.
“Beatrix,” a woman called.
She was an older lady with long gray hair and a pair of dark rimmed glasses.
“Oh, hi, Pamela,” Bea said, looking impressed.
“Hello, darling, congrats on your movie deal,” Pamela said.
“Well, it’s not a done deal yet,” Bea said.
“I think I know of a way to get it done,” Pamela said with a wink. “I have an opening on the panel at the end of the con.”
“Y-you do?” Bea asked.
Buck wondered what this could be about.
“I sure do,” Pamela said. “You know the guy who does the CatFace cartoons for Scholastic?”
Bea nodded.
“Well, he’s down with the stomach virus,” Pamela said, wrinkling her nose. “So he’s off the panel. All I need is someone to take his slot. You know Esther Martine is on that panel.”
Esther Martine was a huge investor and producer. Her list of blockbusters was as long as her signature black a-line skirts.
“Wow, I’d love to—” Bea began.
“Of course that person would have to take his whole slot, including a featured table at the center of the hall,” Pamela said.
“Isn’t that—?” Bea began.
“Yes, that’s the You-Can-Comic spot,” Pamela said.
“But, I don’t know anything about teaching kids how to draw,” Bea said.
“I think you’ll be great at it,” Pamela said. “Besides, adventure is good for the soul.”
“Oh,” Beatrix said.
“Good luck with it,” Pamela said, turning on her heel. “I put your number on the table this morning. Let someone else have this miserable corner.”
“Thanks,” Beatrix called after her.
Pamela merely waved as she marched off to the next aisle.
“Holy crap,” Beatrix said, sitting on the table.
“What was that about?” Buck asked.
“The panel at the end of the convention is for the bigwigs,” Bea said. “There are a few members on that panel who could even get my movie funded, especially Esther Martine.”
“That’s wonderful,” Buck said.
“But You-Can-Comic is basically drawing lessons for kids,” Bea moaned.
“That sounds like fun,” Buck told her.
“I’ve never taught kids before,” Bea said. “And I really don’t like letting anyone in on my process. It’s kind of… personal.”
“You let me watch you draw,” Buck pointed out.
Beatrix opened her mouth and closed it again.
He waited, fascinated.
“You’re the only one,” she said. “I’ve never been comfortable with anyone watching me sketch until you.”
His heart throbbed in his chest. She felt as he did, this sense of sanctuary when they were close.
Perhaps he did not need to be as worried about this Dirk Malcolm as he had feared.
“I will help you,” he told her.
“How can you help?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But we will find a way.”
She nodded, looking slightly less worried than before.
He longed to touch her cheek, smooth her raven hair behind her shell-like ear.
But the way to help her now was to take action. Their future held plenty of time for tenderness.
7
Beatrix
Beatrix set her last box of posters on the table as Buck finished affixing her samples onto the wall at the back of the booth.
This table was so much larger than the one she had initially been scheduled for - she was glad she’d brought extra paperbacks and swag.
She looked out over the convention floor. She’d never had such a great location before. It was wild to think about what it would be like if the movie got made, and if people liked it. What would it be like to come to one of these and get mobbed like one of the big stars?
As if she had rung a cosmic doorbell, a man walked past her, a trail of assistants scurrying along behind him. He was tall with reddish-brown hair and piercing blue eyes. And she would have recognized him anywhere.
“Wow,” she whispered.
“What is it?” Buck asked.
“That was Dirk Malcolm,” she said.
“You wanted to talk to him about your movie,” Buck pointed out.
Beatrix shrugged, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
“You should go talk to him, before everyone comes in,” Buck pointed out.
He had a pained expression on his face that was hard for her to interpret. Maybe he was just nervous for her. Though there was no need, she was plenty nervous for herself.
“Beatrix Li,” a deep familiar voice said.
She turned straight into the Caribbean blue gaze of Dirk Malcolm.
“My manager said you wanted to meet me,” he said, one eyebrow raised.
“Uh, wow,” Beatrix said, unable to think of a better response.
“She’s friends with your friend Kate’s manager, Carol,” Dirk went on with a conspiratorial wink. “The ladies who lunch run Hollywood, or so I’m told.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Beatrix said, finally finding her voice. “I’ve always admired your work.”
Buck made a strange coughing sound behind her, but she ignored him. He was probably trying not to laugh at her. All her friends said she had a crush on Dirk.
“Well I’m a big fan of yours too,” Dirk said. “I read Door to Everywhere on the plane.”
Whoa.
“You liked it?” Bea managed to ask.
“I loved it,” Dirk said.
“Wow,” she said. “Um, thank you.”
“And apparently everyone else loves it too,” he said. “I see you’re at a different table than the one where they told me to find you. Fame has its perks, am I right?”
“Doors open in thirty seconds,” Pamela’s voice came over the intercom.
“Oh man, I guess I’ve gotta run,” Dirk said. “Maybe catch up with you later?”
“Sure,” Beatrix said.
“It was great meeting you.” Dirk offered her his hand.
Beatrix reached hers out to shake, but he folded her hand down and kissed her knuckles lightly, just like he had done to the leading lady in the alien movie.
She blinked at him in surprise.
He let go of her hand, winked, and dashed off, presumably to his own booth.
“Wow,” Bea said. “That went surprisingly well,”
Buck didn’t reply.
She turned to see his eyes were fixed on something across the room.
She scanned the area where he was looking.
The only thing going on over there was a gladiator reenactment group forming. They hadn’t been in Philly, but Bea had seen them at the con in Vegas. They seemed like fun guys. All of them were massive and they wore really cool costumes.
“Those are the gladiators. You want to check them out?” she offered. “Go on, I’m fine here.”
“Maybe I’ll just take a quick walk,” Buck said quietly.
“Cool,” Bea said.
She watched him leave. It was odd, he seemed almost cold. They had been getting along so well.
Though she had just met one of her heroes, and he had liked her book, Bea found that her good mood was suddenly gone.
She hoped that Buck would be back before the first kids’ session. Somehow it seemed impossible to face that without him.
Honestly, she didn’t want to spend one minute without him.
Hold onto your panties, her inner critic advised. Wait until the movie business is done.
It was good advice.
And it was easier said than done.
<
br /> 8
Buck
Buck made his way across the floor of the con. Though the doors had just opened a moment ago, there were already hundreds of people pouring in, laughing and trotting toward the tables.
Buck had no real interest in the men Bea thought he was looking at. He had merely been looking away from her, searching for the self-restraint not to beg her not to choose Dirk Malcolm as her mate.
But since she had thought he was interested and she might be watching him, he headed for the men she had called gladiators.
Buck’s understanding of gladiators had more to do with the Roman Colosseum than what he was looking at now.
These men were enormous, almost like his brothers, but each had a sort of theme to his costume. One had pink hair and an ax. He wore a leather costume with a rose on it. Another had a black mohawk and a ring through his nose and a shirt with the name of a band on it. A sword with a guitar shaped handle hung from his belt.
All of them appeared to be talking heatedly.
As he got closer, one of them, a man with long blond hair and a pair of brown leather pants noticed him.
“Hey, you’re a big dude,” the man remarked.
The others looked over at Buck with interest.
“Hello,” Buck said politely.
“One of the gladiators made the mistake of eating at the taco truck outside,” the man with the leather pants continued. “Do you want to make twenty bucks?”
“I am only one Buck,” Buck replied, confused.
The men all laughed.
“One buck, that’s… hilarious,” the man said. “I’m Adam, but I go by Blaze in the ring. What’s your name?”
“Buck,” Buck said.
“Oh, I get it now,” said Adam. “You’re one Buck. Ha. So what do you say - are you in? Will you help us?”
“Well, I’m here with my friend, so I need to help at her table,” Buck said.
“Oh, that’s fine,” Adam said. “We hang out in here during the regular hours of the con to drum up an audience. The actual workouts are off hours.”
“What’s it about?” Buck asked.
“It’s epic,” the guitar man said. “We fight in the ring to win the hand of a fair maiden.”
“Wow,” said Buck, impressed at this idea. “So the winner gets to marry their maiden?”
“Well, that’s the gimmick,” Adam explained. “You’re really just fighting in her honor - no wedding vows required.”
“Chicks dig it,” guitar guy put in.
Adam nodded and gave Buck a significant look.
“So are you in?” the guy with the rose asked.
“Sure,” Buck said. “What do I do?”
“Excellent,” Adam said. “Meet us at the stage door at two and we’ll begin your training.”
They all began shaking his hand, each with a stronger squeeze than the one before.
“I’m Alex,” said the guitar guy, crushing Buck’s hand when it was his turn.
“Charlie,” the rose guy said, giving him a hearty thump on the back.
“Nice to meet you all,” Buck said.
“Okay, we gotta go recruit our audience,” Adam said at last. “See you later.”
Buck’s new friends disappeared into the crowd.
He looked back at Bea’s table.
Several young women were standing chatting with her and a line had formed behind them.
Bea looked nervous. She was smiling but he could see the tension in her mouth from where he stood.
Buck hurried back to help her.
As he skirted the crowd he couldn’t help wondering about what Alex had said.
Chicks dig it.
He wondered if Bea would enjoy seeing him fight in her honor.
Even though she seemed like the type of woman who would gladly fight for her own honor, he felt instinctively that she might like to see him battle for her anyway. What Alex had said resonated within him, as if some instinct of this body of his was telling him an ancient truth about women and entertainment.
He hoped Alex was right.
Buck had told them he would help, and even shaken hands on it.
There was no going back now.
9
Beatrix
Bea was settling into the routine of greeting fans and moving them through the line.
Buck stood beside her. His posture was relaxed, but she felt protected by his presence.
He had shown up again just in time to play interference for her, keeping the most ardent fans from taking too much of her time by stepping in to offer them a pen or a poster.
Beatrix had gone to conventions since she got her first publishing deal. But her main challenge had always been playing it cool when hours passed and no one visited her table.
The steady stream of interested readers this summer was easy to appreciate. And the readers were much like Bea herself, introverts who came out of their shells only to talk about Sci-Fi and Fantasy and graphic novels.
But this mob scene was something new. It had to do with the movie that might or might not get made. And the more outgoing crowd who didn’t exactly speak her language was going to take some getting used to. This was a decidedly mainstream group - or as mainstream as you could find at a comic convention.
Bea liked their enthusiasm and curiosity though. And it was cool to think that Sci-Fi might be finding a new and broader generation of fans.
She had just begun to decide this was maybe something she could do regularly when the announcement came.
“It’s time for the day’s first set of planned activities,” Pamela’s voice boomed from the intercom.
Bea’s stomach dropped to her shoes.
“Watch a live make-up demonstration with special effects master Cecily Page at Table 58,” Pamela went on. “Match your strength against the Intergalactic Gladiators in arm-wrestling at Booth 74. Or hone your budding artist’s drawing skills with graphic novelist Beatrix Li at Table 7’s You-Can-Comic.”
“Hey, that’s you,” the woman Bea was speaking with said with a big smile.
“Yeah,” Bea said weakly. “I guess I’d better get to it.”
“Neat,” the woman said, popping her gum. “Best of luck with your movie. I’m sure I’ll see you on the Golden Globes or something.”
Bea tried to think of how to respond to that, but the woman was gone already, melted into the departing crowd.
Now there was nothing to do but picture what the heck she was going to do with a bunch of kids who wanted to see how she drew.
“You can do this,” Buck said softly from beside her.
She looked up at him and was happily surprised to see from his expression that he felt very secure in what he had just said.
She nodded and took a deep breath and then gathered up the stack of plain white paper she’d gotten from the main lobby as well as a handful of swag pens with her name on them.
Kids were already filling the folding chairs and tables in front of her booth. The area was cordoned off, but the parents and babysitters surrounded the ropes eagerly, as if they were about to watch an MMA fight.
“Should you greet them?” Buck asked.
Shoot. She probably was supposed to greet them.
She nodded grimly to him and headed into the fray.
“Hey kids,” she said as nicely as she knew how.
Kids were probably used to women who talked like TV princesses. Well, that wasn’t Bea. But she would try.
A little girl at one of the front tables looked up at her, eyes suspicious, mouth furiously gnawing her pen.
“What’s your name?” Bea asked.
“Rrrrate-ryn,” the girl said around the pen in her mouth.
“Caitlyn?” Bea tried.
“Her name is actually Braitryn,” one of the mothers called from over the ropes.
“Oh, I see,” Bea replied. “Um, nice to meet you.”
She continued past the first few tables, greeting children without trying to learn their names.
>
Some of the kids were pretty cute. They ranged in age from maybe four or five up to teenagers. Most of them looked like they wanted to be there, but some were rolling their eyes already, which definitely intensified Bea’s stomachache.
One pre-teen girl in the back corner at first seemed like an eye roller, but Beatrix caught her glancing up at her when she thought Beatrix was going to turn around.
Bea took in the girl’s jeans and Misfits t-shirt and her canvas shoes covered in homemade nail polish drawings and felt a pang. It was a little like seeing a younger version of herself.
She wouldn’t have wanted to look a grown-up in the eye in those days either.
When the hell did I become a grown-up?
At last enough seats were filled that Beatrix felt it was time to begin.
“Thanks so much for coming everyone,” she said, not loudly enough.
The kids continued to talk with each other.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, pumping up her volume. “I’m Beatrix Li. You might know me from my graphic novel, Door to Everywhere.”
There were some sounds of recognition.
“Today I’m going to teach you a little bit about drawing a comic panel,” she went on. “You’re probably thinking that you would never write a two hundred-page graphic novel. But I started just the way you’re going to - with a single panel.”
The grown-ups murmured their approval from outside the ropes, but the children remained unmoved.
“Everyone, get out your pen and paper,” Bea said bravely. “I want you to begin by choosing the setting where you want your panel to take place. Go ahead and decide on a background and see if you can get in one or two landmarks - like a tree, or a spacecraft.”
The kids exploded into action. Some began drawing immediately. Others stared at her as if she were speaking an alien language.
Those who had begun drawing almost universally seemed frustrated. Many began crossing out what they had done and some even flipped over the page to try again on the back.
Beatrix froze in place. She had bitten off more than she could chew here.
The room suddenly seemed to close in.
The floor pressed up and the ceiling sank. Braitryn’s loud pen chewing sounded closer and closer, as if she were about to chew up Bea herself.
