by Joy Penny
“‘Famous’ is a bit of a stretch,” said Pembroke, “but yeah, I guess. Within a certain community.”
Brielle frowned. There seemed to be an accusation there under Pembroke’s words, the kind the two of them used to vent about—the “you’re not welcome here, faker.”
Pembroke tapped her fingers against the back of her book. “Did he actually… invite you here?”
“Yes,” snapped Brielle, actually feeling herself raise her nose in the air. “I’m actually one of his guests.”
Pembroke scrunched her nose. “Why would he invite his cleaning lady? That he’s known for a week… Oh my god.” She covered her mouth and hissed. “Have you slept with him?”
“Don’t be crass,” said Brielle. She didn’t much like this post-graduation Pembroke. Or maybe that was how Lilac had seen her all along. Quiet but judgmental. Off doing her own thing and looking down on anyone who thought that dating was actually something humans did, not something to be completely avoided. So instead of admitting the truth, she let her draw her own conclusions. “That’s none of your business.”
“I wasn’t sure if he could even…” Pembroke gestured with one hand, not very clearly, but there was little else she could mean.
It was Brielle’s turn to scrunch her nose. “You know, I don’t get—”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” called a voice over an overhead speaker. “If you could take your seats—or your places, really. Sorry there’s practically standing room only. We’re about to get started.”
Pembroke pushed past Brielle to make her way back to the presentation area.
Brielle squared her shoulders and squeezed through people to walk beside her. “This isn’t over,” she hissed. “I’ll talk to you afterward.”
Even though Pembroke nodded, Brielle wasn’t very confident she’d heard her.
Chapter Ten
Archer often asked himself why he did these things in the weeks leading up to his events. He really wasn’t sure why he did these things when they made him feel so… Looked at. Examined. Unreal.
But he knew that a part of him really liked it. A part of him liked moving his world beyond Pauline, his mother, and his basketball buddies. A part of him liked to see the people who sent him fan messages in person. (Fortunately, any trolls who sent him messages seemed reluctant to venture out to meet him face-to-face. The closest he got were some rambling people who thought he had a textbook knowledge of the comic and could follow every long-winded conversation they had about the story—which was also not even up to him.)
He’d made it both exponentially worse and exponentially more thrilling by inviting Brielle along. He still couldn’t believe he’d done that… And that she’d accepted.
He sat in his chair in the alleyway alone—it’d taken a bit to convince Pauline she didn’t need to wait there with him like a parent dropping an elementary school student off, and besides, her van was kind of in the way of the door swinging out—tapping his knees, trying to calm the discomfort he felt for so many reasons.
Finally, George opened the door and grinned, shaking his hand. “Thanks for coming, man.”
“Thanks for having me.”
George stepped out into the alleyway so he could hold the door. “Careful of all the boxes. We tried to clear a path.”
Archer grimaced as he navigated his chair through the mess of a backroom He didn’t say anything, though, because he appreciated the extra effort George had gone to, even if he felt like a towering pile of boxes might fall down on his head at the slightest wrong move. And since this was the second time he’d had a signing here, he was used to the tight space.
“Your girlfriend saw someone she knew, but I told her where to sit.”
Archer stopped moving at that, realizing he’d just chalked Brielle’s absence up to her waiting in the audience. Then he realized George had just called her his “girlfriend.” “She’s…” he started, then realized how juvenile it would sound if he insisted she wasn’t his girlfriend. And was it so bad that George thought that hottie was his?
Wasn’t that maybe, just maybe, within the realm of possibility soon anyway? If he could get over his reservations and actually make his secret fantasies a little less secret.
But she was planning to get a job out of town. And he was… He was different. Not worth slowing some woman’s life down or outright derailing it.
But then again… Did it have to be something serious? Couldn’t they just enjoy each other’s company… for now?
Archer swallowed. But that was it. He didn’t want to enjoy her company just for now. He’d only known her a week and it was stupid to even imagine anything long-term—he’d never imagined himself with anyone long-term—but he knew one thing:
When she left, she would take a little piece of his heart with her.
He could handle that if his love was unrequited. He could handle that if he never knew whether or not his love was requited. But if they gave into these feelings he had, the feelings he sort of, maybe, thought she might be developing for him, and then they had to go their separate ways?
His heart would shatter beyond repair.
He shouldn’t even be encouraging her.
George didn’t notice Archer’s sudden crisis of conscience. He plastered himself gently against the boxes to shift around Archer. “You’re right on time,” he said. “Let me check with the front and see if we should get started.”
He left Archer alone in the backroom. Archer paced with his wheelchair, pushing the wheels back and forth. He’d been so consumed by the idea of being in a relationship that he’d almost forgotten George had said Brielle hadn’t come with him because she’d met someone she knew. Who did she know at a comic book store? She seemed mildly interested in comics, but… What if the person was a guy?
He really didn’t know much about her, did he?
Archer wasn’t sure how long he spent there. He didn’t even feel like checking his phone. He heard “ladies and gentlemen” over the loudspeaker, followed by some more mumbling, and then George opened the door to the store.
Archer felt like a rock star.
A rock star in a no-name town with several hundred fans instead of several hundred thousand, but a rock star nonetheless.
He waved and did his best to smile as he sent his wheels rolling, eager to make use of the meager free space they’d left for him. Staff members actually held the line back with their arms extended, like they were keeping fans from jumping him. (More likely, they were keeping fans from standing in his path to the table so they wouldn’t get their toes run over, but Archer’s fantasy decided not to acknowledge that.)
He rolled past the cutout of The Mystified, alter ego of Derek Diggerson, and up to the small mic at the table that had some of his works on display. He cringed a little to see Wheels there, but the comic store probably needed the opportunity to sell out whatever backlog of copies they’d ordered years ago when it had come out.
“Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat. An electric shock practically ran through him. They’d seated Brielle right in front of him. Brielle, with those too-tight-jean-covered legs crossed so perfectly, with that top that moved like water over her whenever she shifted, revealing a deep dip of her perfectly-toned skin.
Her mouth was parted slightly, her eyes focused on him.
If it weren’t for the fact that the girls beside her suddenly squealed, and his gaze roved over the row, he might have totally missed that his mother was sitting right next to Brielle.
Thankfully, George sat beside Archer and led the panel, asking all the questions and helping re-direct Archer’s focus when his panic started overtaking him. He wasn’t sure how he would have gotten through it otherwise. Actually, almost as soon as it was over, he barely remembered how he’d gotten through it. It was like he blinked, was enveloped by this feeling like he wasn’t even there in his own body, and then it was over. Now the interested customers were lining up to have him sign their books.
His gaze kept
flitting to where Brielle and his mother were sitting, but the line had already blocked them from view.
Not seeing them—not knowing if now that the presentation was over, his mother was asking Brielle questions—was worse than seeing them after all.
“We love your work! Do you remember us?”
Dazed, Archer looked up and realized he’d instinctively took the latest volume of The Mystified from a young woman’s outstretched hand, that the girls who were sitting in the front row just a few seats over from Brielle were now standing in front of him.
“Sorry?” he said, willing himself to focus. He slid the book in front of him and picked up a black Sharpie.
The girl on the left practically bounced. “We’ve met you before. We came to your signing here last year.”
“Oh.” Smile, Archer, smile. “Thank you!”
The girl on the right opened a copy of Wheels she had on her, and sure enough, it was already signed and already had a drawing of his main character scribbled on in green marker. He cringed, but he tried not to let it show. He hated looking at his old work, and Wheels—panned the Internet over for its “contrite” and “clunky” story, the one comic story he’d ever written himself—was the worst offender.
“Gini?” he said, reading the book inscription.
She shut the book and giggled. “He remembered!” she gushed.
Oops. Is it too late to tell her I read the book inscription?
George leaned over and whispered, “Just a few minutes with each, if that’s okay?”
“Oh, right.” Archer shook his head. “Do you want a quick drawing…?” He looked up, waiting for the other one to tell him her name.
“Becca,” she said, her lips souring just a little. “Sure. Derek’s cat please.”
Archer laughed. He hadn’t even meant for the animal to be that cute, but it was a fairly frequent request. He wrote a note thanking Becca for her readership and signed his name, grabbing a brown Sharpie to start the sketch of Lina, The Mystified’s (Derek Diggerson’s) feline friend.
“Um,” said Gini, “I asked this last year, but… Are you married?”
Archer’s pen stopped moving. “No…?” Why was he framing it like a question?
Gini squealed and glomped onto Becca’s shoulder. Becca rolled her eyes. “But there was a woman in the ‘Reserved’ section who doesn’t work here…”
“That was probably his mom,” insisted Gini.
“The other woman, the one spilling out of her top.”
Archer sputtered. Actually sputtered out loud. It wasn’t even like Brielle was that busty. Yet he clearly wasn’t the only one drawn to her cleavage.
Gini looked over her shoulder, wincing. “Oh. She’s not there anymore.”
Archer’s heart sank—not that he expected her to leave without saying anything to him, even if she had another ride home. It would make Monday awfully awkward if she did.
Archer quickly finished up Becca’s drawing and slid it her way, smiling again. “Thank you so much for your support,” he said, blowing on the page to help dry it. He winked. “Maybe I’ll see you next time.”
Becca cradled the book to her chest, beaming, stepping slightly aside to let Gini through. Gini reached into a tote bag she had over her shoulder, rifling through what easily looked like half a dozen books, and plunked the latest The Mystified down in front of him. She slid her signed copy of Wheels behind that, looking up at George. “They said we had to limit it to two copies signed, and at least one had to be bought here.” She dug into her tote and waved a receipt around. Archer noticed an identical copy of the latest The Mystified still in her tote as she shifted things around. “So I was hoping you could sign my Wheels a second time?”
Pushing down his feelings of disgust at his own work (without which, he reminded himself, he was unlikely to have gotten The Mystified gig), Archer smiled and reached to put Wheels atop the pile to get signing it out of the way.
Gini actually leaned forward and placed her hand atop his as he did. “You don’t know how many times I’ve read Wheels. You don’t know how much it means to me.”
Archer cleared his throat and tried to gently pull the book closer to him to free his hand. “I’m so glad to hear. Thank you.” He’d gotten a few messages from people like that, especially other people with disabilities, which, he had to admit, made him feel just a little bit proud, despite the problems with the work.
It took some doing, but Archer did manage to free his hand and open the book. “Which character should I draw this time?” he asked, writing a second note on the page across from the first.
“Do you want to get coffee after this?” asked Gini.
“Gini!” Becca slapped Gini’s arm playfully.
“What?” Shrugging, Gini readjusted her tote bag strap. “I want to tell him how much the book means to me, and this guy who works here keeps staring daggers at me, so I figure we should step aside and let the rest of the line get their autographs.”
Archer just stared up, shell-shocked. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit he’d seen a few fans online talk about him being attractive—if he didn’t admit that made him feel good, despite everything, even led him to daydream about a gaggle of hot fangirls surrounding him, and Becca and Gini weren’t that bad-looking at all, far from it—but he’d never had to deal with these kinds of compliments outside of the comfort of his own head. If he’d detected flirting at any of his previous signings, it didn’t really mean much because no one had outright said anything.
“I, uh, have plans,” Archer mumbled. He quickly scribbled a squirrel—it was important to the plot of Wheels, and he’d already drawn Todd, the main character—and blew on it before sliding it back to her.
“How about another day?” asked Gini, undaunted. Her eyes sparkled. “I live just a couple of hours away.”
“You live a couple of hours away?” asked Archer, opening up her other book to write an inscription. His usual “thanks for your support” message seemed awfully dull and dumb in this situation, but he scribbled it anyway. “And you came all this way?”
“More like six,” said Becca, and it was her turn to get playfully slapped by Gini.
“I can make the trip for you,” said Gini. She raised her eyebrows in such a strange, seductive way that it was all Archer could do to focus on the generic drawing he added of Lina. When finished, he didn’t even blow on it before closing the book and pushing it back at Gini. When he dared to meet her stare again, he swore she looked like an eager puppy.
“I, uh…” Archer’s gaze roved around the store. He found her. Brielle was over in the corner behind some of the crowd milling around, standing but looking unfazed by the crowd around her. She had her wrist looped through one of the shop’s bags, which looked heavy with purchases, and she was engrossed in a graphic novel. He wasn’t sure from this distance, but he was pretty sure he recognized Wheels. Of course she’d be reading that one.
Still, she was reading his work. She’d bought his work. He could have gotten her free copies if she’d asked.
He turned back to Gini and smiled. “Thank you, but no. I have someone.” He didn’t have to explain more. Let her think what she would. The “someone” he had was just someone he couldn’t stop thinking about. Someone he would give anything to be with—in theory—if he just knew it weren’t impossible.
“Told you,” said Becca.
“Oh,” said Gini, clearly disappointed. She gave him a faltering smile. “But I can still give you my number—”
“Thank you, ladies,” said George, leaning in front of Archer to sort of stand between them. “But we have a long line here.”
Gini’s face soured as she looked George up and down. She gathered her books and walked away, and Archer lost sight of the pair in the crowd.
He signed for over an hour without incident, although he had a strange, fluttering feeling whenever one of the women especially seemed overly enthusiastic—not that anyone else outright flirted with him the way Gini had. Eve
ry few people, he caught a glimpse of the front row and saw his mother still sitting there, her lips pursed, engrossed in her phone. He kept glancing to the side as well to keep an eye on Brielle. She stayed there reading for quite some time, although he was sad to discover she’d moved and he lost sight of her about forty minutes into it.
He tried to focus on the fans. It was why he was there, after all. He hadn’t arranged this signing to show off to Brielle—he hadn’t even known she existed less than a week ago—but he had to admit that a small part of him really wanted her to be impressed. And that wasn’t fair to the people who’d traveled to meet him today.
He let go of all of his anxieties and all of his distractions and just enjoyed interacting one-on-one with his fans and their crazy theories and their genius-level memories about every detail of everything he’d ever worked on. It wasn’t until he found himself in front of another cute girl—this one with those 1950s-style glasses that were all the rage again among hipsters and a streak of blue hair—that he remembered this wasn’t just any other signing.
“Do you want them personalized?” he asked, referring to her copies of Wheels and The Mystified volume 18.
“Sure, thanks.” She spoke so softly, it was hard to hear her over the roar of the crowd behind her. There wasn’t anybody left in line, but he knew George often scheduled these types of things to coincide with sales and tabletop games, so the size of the crowd had barely diminished.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Pembroke,” she said.
“That’s a pretty name.” Archer was sure he wasn’t imagining the slight flush on her cheeks. He started writing his usual message. “Which character do you want a drawing of?”
“Oo,” she said, gaining more confidence. “That’s really hard for me to decide!”
Archer grinned, tapping the copy of Wheels. “Well, you get one per book signed. And they don’t have to be from the same series. I could do Derek or his cat or even Superman or your grandma if you have a picture…”
Pembroke laughed. The smile lit up her face, and Archer could have easily seen himself falling for her if he were ten years younger. “Then I’ll have both Todd and the squirrel, please,” she said, referring to the protagonist of Wheels.
