The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Twenty-Five

June 4

“Good morning,” says Susan with a big smile and I can’t help but smile too. It’s Carmel, what can I say? Even if you don’t want to smile, you smile. It’s like a reflex.

She’s a woman in her fifties, wearing a pair of shorts, a sleeveless shirt with gold sequins and flip-flops. I wonder if everyone in Carmel is as bohemian, and based on what I remember, I think they are. I wouldn’t mind living here. What am I saying? I’m only here for a few days.

“Will you have breakfast today?” asks Susan.

“Maybe just a coffee. I have to be somewhere soon,” I say.

“Do you need me to call you a cab or are you using that phone thing? My son is on it.”

“Lift?” I ask, gulping.

“Yes! That’s the one. Funny name.”

The idea of taking a Lift is making my heart beat faster. It did even in New York, which didn’t make any sense. I hope my agony will end soon, so I won’t feel this anxious every time I see a rideshare driver or someone simply brings up the topic.

“No, it’s fine, thank you. I’ll walk,” I say.

“Alright then. Let me bring you that coffee,” she says, again smiling.

Susan not only brings me a cup of coffee—a good, strong one—but also a large plate of mini sandwiches with melted cheese and ham and fruit. I must look like I need all this food. The truth is I’ve been losing weight lately and I didn’t have that much to lose in the first place.

David calls again, but I reject his call. I wish he’d stop. I’m in a good mood and feel so close to finding out who Max is. I can’t have anything or anyone get in the way of that.

Half an hour later, I’m standing in front of the bookstore. It was my first thought when I tried to make my ‘plan of attack’ for finding Ethan Delphy. If he’s so famous and lives here, the booksellers must know where I can find him.

I walk over to the romance shelf but can’t find any of his books.

“Excuse me,” I say to the bookseller. “Do you have, by any chance, Ethan Delphy’s books?”

I don’t want to come on too strong, so I’ll just act interested in getting his autograph or something after buying the novels. I don’t know yet. I haven’t thought this part through.

The woman grins. “Ethan’s, of course,” she says and walks over to the bestseller section. “All three of them and we’re counting down the days to his fourth.”

She’s visibly excited. “He’s a big celebrity around here. And not just here, obviously. But we’re extra overjoyed because he’s one of our own.”

Extra overjoyed, oh my. The woman is in her sixties, so she must’ve known him since he was a child. No wonder she’s so starry-eyed and proud like a mamma bear. Carmel is the size of a block in New York. I exaggerate, but it’s small, nonetheless. They all must know each other.

“He’s such a nice, humble young man. He didn’t let all the success go to his head.”

I do my best to keep a straight face and stay within my ‘fan’ act.

I buy all three books.

“You can pre-order a copy of his new novel now if you want,” says the woman.

I obviously plan on reading it way before June 17, but this will show my interest.

“Yes, of course, I’ll do that.”

She takes my details and when we get to the mailing address, I pause. I don’t have an address. “Can I just pick it up when it’s available?”

Not that I’ll still be here on June 17, I mean… I don’t know, but I don’t think so. What would I do in Carmel for two weeks? I don’t have money to last me that long in California, that’s for sure. I barely have enough for four to five nights at the inn and if I add food and so on, it’s less. Maybe I should’ve planned this better.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were a tourist. It’s just that I never saw you before. That changes things. Did you know Ethan’s going to be doing a book launch event in our bookstore?”

“Is he, really?”

I knew it was in Carmel but didn’t know it was this particular bookstore. Although, now that I think about it, there are only two in town, so I had a fifty-fifty chance.

“Yes. He always does the first event at home. You should come. Get his autograph too and maybe a photo with Ethan. He’s so nice. He takes photos with everyone.”

“I wish I could read his new book sooner. So excited about it,” I say, testing the waters.

“It’s worth the wait, trust me. I read it,” she says and winks. “His best yet. So lovely.”

“You have? Could I maybe get your copy then? I’ll pay for it.”

The woman chuckles lightly. “Sorry, no. It’s only for, you know, booksellers and select people. It was an early version. Absolutely lovely,” she adds, dreamy eyes and all.

Select people. I should be one of the select people. It’s my story! Mine.

“You should definitely come to the book signing event. June 17,” she says. “Not long now. You have to register online though. We might have a spot left,” she says although I didn’t indicate I want to get on the list. What I want is to meet him now. And read the book now.

“It’s a long, long list,” she says as she’s looking at something on the computer.

I try not to roll my eyes, imagining crowds of women—I don’t know why I think they’re mostly women—crowding this small bookstore, as he’s reading some mumbo jumbo from his undoubtedly pretentious literary works. His photo is on the back of both books. The Steve Jobs one. I stop myself from chuckling.

She nods. “You’re in luck; we have a few seats open. I’ll add your name.”

“Thank you,” I say, all smiles.

“Very well then,” says the woman, ready to move on to the next customer.

“You said Ethan Delphy lives in town?” I ask in my most innocent tone.

“They all moved down to Florida a few years ago. But he comes back to see his sister and of course, to launch his books,” she says, grinning proudly.

I frown. Then what am I doing here? I can’t stay until June 17. “His sister?”

“Yes, she owns the coffee shop at Seventh and Dolores.”

I’m bummed about this. But at least I have something to work with.

Outside the bookstore, I catch my breath. I was never one for manipulating people to get what I want and was even accused by Janice of being incapable of getting more than the obvious answers from politicians. Take that, Janice. I can be deceiving too. Not sure that’s something to be proud of, maybe only because I proved her wrong.

It’s about a ten-minute walk to the coffee shop. Good. I have time to clear my head. Calm my nerves. Come up with a plan. The idea of having to manipulate yet another person makes me queasy. The idea of using this guy’s sister, who would soon find out the truth, is profoundly uncomfortable. You’d better be worth it, Ethan Delphy, and tell me what I need to know, I think as I make my way to Dolores Avenue.