He exhaled an elaborate sigh. “Go between the booths and put on your outfit. Look at the chart back there and go stand at your post.”
I shoved through the crowd and wedged myself into the narrow space that we used as an office-slash-staging area. There was a mirror on the wall, a plot of our booths, some folders with papers in them, and enough space for three or four people to gather behind a makeshift curtain. I hung my garment bag on one of the hooks and unzipped it. Inside was a gingham pinafore, a bonnet, and a plush, stuffed shepherd’s crook. Oh, no, no, no.
I snatched an agenda out of a hanging folder and read:
Shayla, first shift: Handing out press kits and hand puppets for Little HPC’s 25th Anniversary Re-release of Cuddle the Lamb: A Bedtime Story, southeast corner of Booth Number 3, side aisle
Shayla, second shift: Straightening pamphlets and literature on the table/coffee run.
I scanned down the page to see what jobs other assistants and interns had been assigned during my missed meeting. Matty was, of course, on the main aisle in front of booth 1, wearing his designer sweater. His second shift was meeting the breakout novelist of the year at a swanky hotel and escorting him here for his book signing and acting as his handler onsite. Maggie had been crossed off the list and someone had penciled in “office coverage.” This was seriously the worst day ever. I wouldn’t even have her here for moral support. I scanned down the list:
Carly, first shift: Handing out HPC bookmarks / Greeting guests in front of booth 2, main aisle
Carly, second shift: Handler for Theodore Reichel / book signing Booth 1, 4 p.m.
No way. Carly was an intern who hadn’t been in the office more than a couple of months. I worked 50-plus hours a week, and had for over three years. I was in line for an associate editor position. Fucking broken filling. Fucking Matty.
I peeked out the curtain and saw Carly standing by a small table off to the side, filling a shoulder bag with bookmarks. I made a beeline straight for her.
“Carly, change of plans,” I said, snatching the bag and turning her by the shoulders toward the staging area. “You’re me and I’m you,” I declared. “Lizbeth said,” I lied. “Cuddle the Lamb by booth 3, then you’re doing coffee. I can already tell you I want the biggest latte you can get me. Full caf.” I gave her a little shove. “Go.”
I took my position on the main aisle, pasted on a smile, and greeted passersby.
“Hi, have you read the latest from Haversmith, Peebles, and Chin? Thanks, have a good day. Complementary bookmark? Come back at 4 to meet author Theodore Reichel, in a rare public book signing. Here you go, something to mark your page. Join us at 4 for a book signing from famously reclusive novelist Theodore Reichel,” I hawked, shoving bookmarks into people’s hands. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matty down the aisle. He looked furious. I turned my back to him. “Book signing at 4! Care for a bookmark?”
Plunging my hand repeatedly into the sack of bookmarks, opened the cut on my hand from the old crazy lady’s ring. I knew I shouldn’t leave my post and draw attention to myself, but I got skeeved out at the thought of infection. That ring could have germs residing between its prongs dating back to the Titanic. I looked around for Lizbeth and didn’t see her. Making my move, I stayed off the main aisle and came around the back of the staging area.
“…but she was assigned the lamb puppets and the bonnet. And she was an hour late,” I heard Matty say behind the curtain.
“My hands are tied. What would you have me do, fire her?” Lizbeth answered.
“Why not? Louise is about to go on maternity leave, so she won’t miss me. Carly is excellent for an intern. She could cover Louise for the last few weeks, and I could just move to Shayla’s desk and work for you. Problem solved.”
“I wish, but I can’t do it. You know who her father is. Besides, things are shifting. In three months, I’m planning to put you into an associate editor spot.”
I sucked on my finger. She was skipping me to promote Matty, that sneaky little medicated bastard! I should pull back the curtain and quit right here and now. Wouldn’t Hank make a meal out of that? “Well, Shayla,” he’d say, “can’t say I didn’t see this coming. Not everyone is cut out for publishing. Takes a thick skin. You’ve always been sensitive, like your mother. Never should have moved her out of Rhinebeck. Dutchess County was more her speed than Manhattan.”
I hated that it was due to Hank’s reputation that I was even hanging on by a thread. It was so unfair! I hated riding on his coattails, but bailing on my job without something better on the horizon would just confirm what he already predicted: I wasn’t born to be a big dog.
I went back to my post, half-heartedly distributing the contents of my bag of bookmarks. At one point, Matty stomped up behind me, and spat, “You’re supposed to be on Cuddle the Lamb.” I stared straight ahead, pretending he wasn’t there. Game on, Matty, I thought to myself. You’re going to need all the Valium and Klonopin you can lay your hands on. I hated being petty, but I couldn’t just stand by and watch him take my promotion. I sensed I couldn’t fully trust him, but I always think the best of people. I hadn’t realized he was a true snake.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. 3:55. I had no idea where I was supposed to pick up Theodore Reichel, and really, there was no one I could ask. I’d have to be shrewd. At the side of booth 1 there was a small, makeshift dais with a table, a stack of his books, and a handful of pens. OK, that’s where I’d take him once I found him. Check! Maybe he was being dropped out front by a car service.
Still dressed in her pinafore and bonnet, Carly whooshed up behind the chair and unrolled a screen-style floor display featuring Theodore Reichel’s face looking serious about the blown-up jacket of his book, and snapped it neatly into place. Shit, shit, shit! I was supposed to be doing that.
To my horror, I saw Lizbeth coming up the aisle, leading Mr. Reichel. That was supposed to be my job, and now my boss was doing it herself.
“Mr. Reichel,” I said, rushing up to them. “I’m Shayla, and I’ll be here to help you with anything you need.” I wedged myself between him and Lizbeth and took him by the arm. “If you’ll step this way, your chair is all set up for you.” Lizbeth looked irritated, but allowed me to guide the elderly gentleman to his seat. She could hardly make a scene. Okay, hurdle one jumped, I thought to myself. If I just keep doing one right thing after another, she’ll forget about my being late. “Can I bring you some water?” He nodded and grunted what I assumed to be assent.
“Back in just a sec,” I said, racing for the staging area. There was a plastic tub of bottled waters floating in what was probably once ice, but was now slightly unclean water. I took out a bottle and wiped it on my dress. “Psst, Carly!” I called. I needed to get her and her Little Bo Peep get-up out of sight. She was a walking reminder that I wasn’t doing the job I’d been assigned. “Lizbeth told me to send you on a coffee run,” I lied. “A cup of tea for Mr. Reichel, and don’t forget my latte. Bring Matty an Americano with an espresso shot.” She looked at me funny. I shrugged, “That’s what he asked for,” I told her with wide eyes. Matty only drank decaf.
I could not believe what was coming out of my mouth. I never lied. To me, it was always more trouble than it was worth. Besides, it felt slimy. Who was I? Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound, I thought. “No,
