by Bill Walker
Brian and Gerald exited the car and the man approached.
“Hi, Mr. Weller, I’m Jim. Everyone’s waiting upstairs. It looks like we’re going to have quite a crowd.”
Brian nodded. “I have a friend of mine, who’s bringing her son. Could you have them escorted in when they arrive?”
“Absolutely, just give me their names.”
Brian told him and the man wrote it all down on a small pad he’d produced from inside his jacket. When they took the elevator up to the store level he realized how different the Prudential Center was from what he remembered. Everything had changed, plus it had mushroomed into a complex that stretched from Boylston Street to the north to Huntington Avenue on the south.
Jim led Brian and Gerald through a series of service entrances that felt like an endless labyrinth, finally reaching the store through its loading dock.
The store itself was impressive, almost intimidating. Two floors of shelves packed with books of every variety, and both floors several thousand square feet in size. A group of employees met them on the second floor near the front entrance. Through the plate-glass windows Brian saw a line of about twenty-five people. Behind them, a nervous-looking employee guarded the escalators leading down to the arcade. That meant there were more people waiting below. A lot more.
The manager, a harried man in his thirties, stepped forward and introduced himself and the half-dozen others. Brian did his best to remember their names, but gave up trying, thankful they wore their badges.
Next came the pictures, one with all the employees together and then ones with each of them individually. Brian played the good sport, hugging the women and shaking hands with the men.
Afterward, the manager led him to a table in the back. Brian’s eyes widened. Next to the table was a pallet’s worth of books.
“I hope this is okay, Mr. Weller,” the manager said, noticing Brian’s reaction.
“Everything’s fine. I just hope we sell them all.”
“You kidding? I hope we have enough.”
Brian laughed and took his place at the table.
Eat your heart out Stephen King.
His cell phone rang again. He was going to have to remember to shut it off once things got going.
“Hello?”
“So we meet again.”
Brian’s stomach lurched. It was Ruby.
“How did you get my number?”
“You should know by now that I have my sources.”
“So, you’re Mr. Big, so what? What do you want?”
“I want you to do your business, Mr. Weller, and go back to L.A., where you belong. I want you to leave Joanna alone, and I especially don’t want you filling my son’s head with any pie-in-the-sky dreams.”
Brian felt a rush of anger for Joanna, and particularly for Zack.
“You have a problem with your wife? Take it up with her. As for your son, I would think you’d want to encourage his talent. He could be great someday.”
The man was silent for a moment.
“Don’t push me, Weller. You may be a hotshot writer, but you’re still a punk to me. Leave my family alone.”
Ruby hung up and Brian fought the urge to call the man back. But that was pointless. What would he do, challenge Ruby to a duel with black powder pistols at twenty paces? Brian laughed at the absurdity of that image, which served to take the edge off his anger. But there was also an undercurrent of fear he couldn’t dislodge. Ruby sounded desperate. Had to be if he was calling out of the blue like this. And because of that Brian wondered to what lengths the man would now go to protect what he thought was in danger. The implications weren’t pretty.
Before Brian could ponder it further, the store manager opened the front doors of the store, letting in the first twenty-five people in line.
The onslaught had begun, but Brian knew this was nothing compared to what might be just over the horizon.
29
“WHAT TIME IS IT, Mom?” Zack asked, drumming his fingers on the Volvo’s dashboard.
Joanna glanced over at him, trying not to let him see her smile. “You asked me that five minutes ago.”
The boy sighed, and adjusted himself in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “I hate these seats.”
“Never bothered you before.”
Zack turned to his mother and stuck out his tongue. They both laughed. “Guess I must be nervous,” he said.
Joanna reached over and gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Brian’s a nice man. You’ll like him. And I’m very sure he’ll like you.”
“I know that, but will he like my stuff?”
Joanna moved the Volvo into the right-hand lanes. The Prudential exit lay a mile ahead.
“We’re almost there,” she said. “Just relax. I’m sure he’ll like what you’ve done. You’re a terrific writer.”
The boy gave his mother one of his patented looks. “I appreciate that, but you’re just—”
“I know— I’m just your mom.”
Zack smiled again and turned his attention to the passenger window. They were just emerging from the exit when they spotted the news vans and the crowd milling around outside the Barnes & Noble.
“Oh, wow,” Zack said, his eyes widening.
“Looks like we’re going to be having a late lunch,” Joanna commented.
It took them nearly fifteen minutes to find parking, finally opting for the Danker & Donohue garage on Newbury. They walked the quarter mile to the store.
The boy’s expression turned melancholy when he saw the crowd up close. It looked even bigger. Joanna tugged his sleeve, motioning toward the escalator. “You need to trust your mom,” she said.
Leading the way, she and Zack wormed their way up to the front of the crowd. A bookstore employee, a heavy-set man in a green jacket standing behind a velvet rope, regarded her with a weary look. “Ma’am,” he said, “you’ll have to go back to the end of the line. Mr. Weller’s informed us that he’ll sign books for everyone, or until we run out. And that’s looking more and more likely.”
Joanna squinted at the man’s badge. It read “Jim.”
“Jim, did Mr. Weller by chance let you know a couple of friends of his were coming by?”
The man’s hard expression immediately melted away, replaced by a sheepish grin. “You must be Joanna and Zack,” he said. “My apologies.”
He turned and waved to someone up on the second level. A skinny kid with too much hair gel in his spiked locks raced down the escalator.
The younger man shook his head in amazement. “Is this something else, or what?”
“It’s something, all right. Listen, Harv, these two people are friends of Brian Weller. He’s asked us to have them escorted in.”
The younger man straightened up. “Sure thing.” He turned to Joanna and Zack. “Follow me.”
Joanna grabbed her son’s hand and the two of them followed the young man up the escalator. The line broke at the door, where several employees, one with an attendance counter, were letting people in a few at a time. Joanna realized Zack still held onto her hand, something he’d stopped doing when he was eight years old. His grip was tight. God, he really was nervous. She looked at him. His eyes were intent and purposeful, showing nothing of what he must be feeling. She was so proud of him.
Once inside, the young man led them to the back of the store. There were about fifteen people lined up in front of the table where Brian sat. He was signing books as fast as the store employees handed them to him. But he appeared at ease, smiling at the middle-aged woman at the head of the line. She could just hear the tail end of what he was telling her.
“...and please tell your husband that I appreciate his loyalty and that I hope he feels better soon.”
Brian looked over at Joanna and winked at her then resumed signing. The young man named Harv, leaned over and spoke into Joanna’s ear. “Would you like anything to drink?”
“No, thank you. Zack?�
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The boy shook his head without taking his eyes off Brian.
“No problem,” Harv said. “We have a couple of chairs set up over there behind Mr. Weller,” he said, pointing them out. “Make yourselves at home.”
“Thank you, Harv,” Joanna said.
She nodded to Zack, and the two of them walked behind the table, scooting around what was left of a serious stack of books. She had no idea how many they’d started with, but the man at the door was right. There looked to be far fewer books than people wanting copies. She hoped there wouldn’t be any problems for Brian.
She turned to Zack and watched him. He was so absorbed by what Brian was doing, his wide eyes taking everything in. She’d known that he was a fan of Brian’s work for a long time, at first concerned that his young mind was reading such hard-hitting adult fare. But her unease had dissipated when she’d come to realize that her son saw life for what it really was. It had frightened her that a boy so young could see the intricacies of life so clearly, and yet it had filled her with pride and awe when she’d read the stories he’d written. So mature, so filled with honest emotion, especially the latest one. It made her cry, for it was Zack’s eloquent way of trying to reach his father, and it had fallen on deaf ears.
Joanna felt her face flush and she turned away from her son, blinking back the tears. Erik was so consumed by his ambition that he didn’t see what was slipping through his fingers. She’d even tried to get him to read Zack’s last story, had watched him as he’d started it, but he’d soon complained of being tired and put the pages on his nightstand, where they remained for days, until she’d put them away.
Erik Ruby was afraid of his son.
He was afraid of losing him and afraid of truly knowing him. She just wished she knew why. What was it that drove that wedge between them?
She shook her head and watched Brian stand for a photograph with a heavyset man who’d brought his own camera. He placed his arm around the man as if they were old friends, mugging for one picture, then taking another, more serious one, one she was sure the anonymous man would treasure. It was clear Brian reveled in making contact with his readers, just as he’d said. Her heart went out to him when thoughts of his personal tragedies ran through her mind. She had doubts about her own abilities to handle anything close to what had happened to him; and she prayed she would never have to find out how real those doubts might be.
Another hour went by, with Brian turning to her several times, mouthing, “Are you okay?” and “Sorry about this.”
She smiled back each and every time, not wanting him to think she was in the least bit uncomfortable or bored. And the truth was, she wasn’t. It was so pleasant and so easy just being near him.
The pile of books grew smaller and smaller. Several times, store employees would come from the front, survey the inventory, frown and shake their heads then return to the waiting crowd.
When there were perhaps two-dozen copies left, a balding man whom she assumed was the store manager approached the table, knelt down and had a whispered conference with Brian. The man looked worried. Brian placed his arm on the man’s shoulder and spoke to him and Joanna saw the manager relax. The two of them stood up and shook hands and the manager trotted off toward the front of the store.
Brian turned and came over to where Joanna and Zack were seated. They stood up and Brian hugged Joanna then stuck out his hand to Zack.
“Hi, Zack, I’m Brian. Your mom’s told me so much about you that I already feel we’re old friends.”
The boy cracked a shy smile and shook Brian’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Weller,” he said.
Brian smiled. “Please, call me Brian. My dad was Mr. Weller.”
Zack’s smile widened.
“What just happened?” Joanna asked, nodding in the direction the manager had gone.
Brian shook his head. “It would seem my publicist is more of a powerhouse than I give him credit for. As you can see, we’ve run out of books and the manager told me there are at least two hundred people still waiting.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I told him I’d be happy to return before leaving town and sign any books that people pay for over the course of the week.”
“That’s so nice of you,” Joanna said.
Brian shrugged then nodded toward the few people still waiting at the table. “They’re worth it. Every one of them. It’s the least I can do for what they’ve done for me.”
Joanna nodded, feeling a rush of emotions. She knew exactly what he meant.
“I should finish up here and then we can go. I’m starved. Any place good around here?”
“There’s a Cheesecake Factory across the way. How’s that?”
“Sounds wonderful. Will they have something for you?”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage,” she said.
Brian grinned and returned to the table, where he quickly signed the remaining books. The manager returned from the front and shook Brian’s hand again. “I appreciate your willingness to come back, I really do. There were some pretty irate people out there, just now, but they took that news pretty well.”
“I’m glad,” Brian said. “When do you think you’ll have the books?”
“Probably in about three days. It’ll take that long to get them from the central warehouse in Jersey.”
“Great. I’ve got four more gigs over the next week. How about I come back the morning of the seventeenth. I’ll have a few hours before my flight leaves to tie all this up.”
“That’s perfect,” the manager said. “The front is pretty clear or would you prefer us to take you out the back way?”
“The front’s fine. My friends and I are going to grab a bite to eat. Thank you so much for having me.”
Brian grabbed his leather jacket and the three of them headed toward the front of the store, the manager leading the way. The last of the crowd had melted away and Joanna was relieved they didn’t have to run a gauntlet to get to the restaurant. She realized she was ravenous.
They took the escalator down, crossed the Huntington Arcade and entered the Cheesecake Factory. It was crowded, as it always tended to be. Getting a table anytime soon didn’t look promising. But when Brian headed for the hostess, Joanna saw the young woman look at him with a wide-eyed expression and she relaxed. How tempting it must be to take advantage of worldwide recognition. Brian spoke to the young woman then came back over to them.
“They can have a table for us in ten minutes. That okay with you guys?”
Joanna nodded. “That’s record time for them,” she said, grinning.
Brian laughed then frowned when his cell phone rang.
“Excuse me,” he said, pulling it from his pocket and flipped it open.
“Yes?” He listened for a moment then laughed. He pulled the phone away from his face and turned to Joanna. “My publicist. He’s giving himself a hernia from patting himself on the back.” Joanna and Zack laughed, and Brian went back to his conversation. “Yes, Kevin, you’re the best, but let’s hope these little Mom and Pops don’t get mobbed like this. I can handle the big ones. Just don’t want to see these little bookstores get trashed. Okay? All right, talk to you later.”
He put away his phone and chuckled. “I really think he’s as blown away by this as I am.”
“But surely this isn’t the first time something like this has happened to you,” Joanna said.
“No, but the book’s been out for a while now. This kind of reception is highly unusual.”
“Well, you’re an unusual man.”
Brian laughed. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She touched him on the arm. “You’d better.”
The hostess approached. “Your table’s ready, Mr. Weller.”
The three of them followed the hostess to a secluded booth in the rear of the restaurant.
“Is this okay?” the hostess asked, looking nervous.
“It’s perfect. Thank you.�
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She smiled, passed out the menus and left.
The three of them sat and got comfortable. The waitress appeared moments later. “May I bring you some drinks?”
“You know, I think we’re ready to order,” Brian said, “unless you two need a moment.”
“I think we know what we want. Zack?”
The boy nodded and the three of them ordered.
When the waitress left, Brian turned to the boy. “So, aside from writing, what do you like to do, Zack?”
The boy shrugged. “I like to play guitar.”
Joanna saw Brian’s reaction, a combination of shock and delight.
“Really?” Brian said. “Who’s your favorite band?”
“Green Day.”
“He blasts that ‘Idiot’ album day and night. Drives us crazy,” Joanna said.
Zack smiled devilishly.
Brian laughed. “Well, maybe you won’t believe this, but they’re my current favorite, too, though I still love all my old favorites, like Hendrix and Cream.”
Zack perked up. “Those guys are totally killer.”
“In fact, I saw Green Day in L.A. not too long ago, during their ‘American Idiot’ tour. Got to jam with Billie Joe backstage.”
“Whoa, really? How cool. Did he let you play one of his Juniors?”
“Sure did, the Fifty-six sunburst single-cut. The one he calls ‘Floyd.’ Light as a feather, too.”
“Wow. I really want one of those. The new one’s really suck.”
“Zack!” Joanna said, looking horrified.
The boy shot his mother a guilty smile. “Sorry, Mom.”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes at Brian, as if to say “Kids!”
“I know what it is for me, but what is it about playing guitar that does it for you?”
Zack leaned forward. “It’s like therapy, you know? I can be sitting there trying to write something and it just won’t come, not for anything. Yet, when I pick up my guitar and start wailing, it’s like my mind switches into another realm, you know? It recharges me. Usually, after a little while, the words start coming again. Then I can’t stop them. The chicks dig it, too.” The boy laughed.