Jovial Dunstan Does It Again

I can't describe the exact feeling I got, when she came to the table. Being my first book signing, I kind of expected the empty bookstore that I sat in. Delilah was an unexpected guest; how would you explain a high school crush coming in? I didn't feel any of the old aching; high school was a decade, plus some, back. I had been in the store, Book Banana ("peel in to a book" was their unusual motto), for about an hour at this point, and had been preparing to pack up early.

I was in a suit. My first since prom; I was never invited to weddings, and no one close to me had died yet. This one was ill-fitting, a little second-hand thing. The color was right; it made me feel important to stride around in it – so self-important, little Dunstan Shepman and his first book signing. "Nice suit," she'd said, slyly, getting my attention. I hadn't seen her come in.

"Ah, Del – been a few years," I said, unsure of a witty response. I looked down at my lapels. I grasped them, giving them a snug tug. "This puppy was supposed to attract people to follow me in, and buy a few of these suckers."

"I'm sure they don't suck," she offered.

"Well, I.. yeah, I don't think they do." I wiggled in my plastic chair a little. "Here, look –" I say, angling the short story collection for her to see. "Remember all that stupid shit I made you read in Math? None of it's here; I've got better stuff now—"

"Aw.. but I LIKED Runaway Starship – what are you doing now?"

"Now? I'm doing a book signing."

"No – stories. What are you writing these days?"

"Scary cop stories. I've watched too much TV, I think. This collection is about a group of corrupted cops, telling each other about their worst applications of the law."

"I think I like the scifi shit better," she said, tossing hair over her shoulder. It's auburn now. Very nice. And, longer. It was so radical, so overdone in high school. These days, it looks like she's outgrown The Clash, and given in to Bob Seger. I can't say if I like that better. She looked smoother, somehow. Softer, even. She's grown in to her subtle curves. Overall, she looked very much like the kind of lady I'd go for.. minus that delicate solitaire engagement ring. It winked at me, knowingly.

"In that case, lookie here: Rocketship Overload," I said, gesturing to the novel on the other side of the table.

"So, you're still doing scifi!" she cheered. "I thought signings were usually for the first book?" she asked, a little sharply.

"Oh –" I ejaculated, "The first one was so low-selling that they thought lumping them together in one event would promote more business." I studied her face, looking for telltale wrinkles. She had minute crow's feet. I had a feeling that my impression of today would linger on, becoming the character outlay for a new story. Maybe a scifi one.

"How did you find me?" I asked, stacking a few books.

"There was an ad in the paper. I thought I'd better come, n' check it out for myself." She crossed her arms expectedly. She shifted her feet to rest back on one leg.

"And so – here I am. No one came, besides you."

"So, tell me then, Mr. Big Writer," she chuckled, "What are you doing after this? Wanna grab some coffee, maybe?" Her little smile was just what I needed that day.

I felt brave, at that moment. "Only if you'll tell me about the lucky sonovabitch who nabbed your heart," I said, amused. I watched her face freeze, then crunch up. "Whoa, whoa – what, is it something I said?"

She nodded, thrusting her well-lacquered hands up to her blossoming face.

"Eh.. did he die?" I ventured.

Her head pumped a solid "yes". "I see," I said, suddenly full of fleeting thoughts. Part of me said, Go, man: she's single; a bigger part of me said, Good god, Dunstan, you asshole… "Well, I can't think of anything appropriate to say; 'sorry for your loss' sounds insincere, and pointless."

"Thanks anyway.." she whispered. She composed herself quickly enough. "I'm sorry, Dun. He died a year ago, and it's still hitting home. I really ought to take this fucking thing—" she said, her voice raising, as she flashed the ring, "—Off. So people will quit asking. But.. at the same time, it means a lot to me; I'm still committed to the guy.. even after…"

"I.." I began, my mind stalling preemptively.

"Don't worry about it. I need to stop breaking down every time someone accidentally brings it up." She sniffed, very unladylike. Snorrrrt.

"Let me clean up here," I said, changing tactics, before my brain could betray me once more. "We'll go have that coffee. What say we swap some nasty gossip about the people we didn't like? I recall you being fond of that, once."

She smiled, a weak reflection of agreement. Her whole demeanor seemed watered down just then. If I could capture her in literature, it would be this moment: her hands clasped like a motherly school teacher, her crisp hip-30s get-up askew; little tendrils of hair escaping her practiced bun. Here she was: vulnerable, and with me. We were alone to our own recollections, both trapped in the past, for one reason or another.

I thrust my hand out for a shake.

"Allow us to start over; let's go get that coffee."