Argh Ink

I know, I’m a slug and should have done two different posts here but you have no idea how tired I was. (Somewhere, Bob is saying, “Wimp.”) The Cincinnati signing was fabulous, even more fabulous because Lanie wore her flamingo shoes, just a great crowd with great questions. I honestly don’t remember what we said; we get up and talk and I have no recall when we’re done. So if we insulted anybody, I apologize profusely. You could probably make something up and I’d believe you (although Bob was there . . . no, he won’t remember, either).

Then we went back home (well, my home) and we meant to get some work done but pretty much said, “Good night” and went our separate ways because we needed sleep. The next morning, Bob was still trying to figure out the start of the next book, but I was having trouble choosing a heroine–our conversation was long and not very interesting–and then I said, “Well, what about Petal?” who was a supporting character from another book I’d intended to write and then got sidetracked on. Petal was an astrologer/tarot card reader, and Bob said, “Tarot cards, I know nothing about tarot cards, that’s good.” So I dug out all my tarot books and decks while he went out to the road and installed my new mailbox and complained about the ants that were crawling up the post–they’re evidently the kind that bite and he was fairly indignant about them–and then looked at all the tarot stuff I had spread out on the kitchen table and said, “Uh huh.” So never mind on that.

But in a huge violation of his basic personality, he decided he wanted his new Mac now instead of being sensible and waiting until Leopard came out, so we called Kathy, the fabulous Cincy/Dayton escort, and left a message that we’d meet her at the Union Center B&N where we were doing a stock signing with Linda Keller so that I could take him to the Kenwood Apple store to buy a new computer. And by God, he did. I thought for sure his normal cautious, better wait and see and just talk about buying it for two years, sensible self would overrule him, but he bought the computer. And then didn’t open it. I’d have been playing with it in the car, but when he left for the plane, it STILL wasn’t open. Oh, and I bought a new ergonomic keyboard to keep him company buying things. Which I opened immediately while he snorted.

Then we drove up to Union Center and had something fattening at the Panera there while he haranged me about this idea that he was fixated on about some island and a hundred million dollars, and I kept saying, “Theme park. They don’t leave the theme park. This isn’t a thriller they don’t have to go all over the world. THEME PARK.” And then he’d say, “Get a heroine, then you can tell me no island.” We were still arguing about it when we met Kathy, who has been with us before and is used to the arguing, and I kept saying, “Well, I like the librarian idea,” and he kept saying, “A hundred million dollars is not too much,” and we signed a lot of books. And that was pretty much the afternoon, Kathy schlepping us from book store to book store while we argued about who the heroine was and where the book would be set and who the hero was (although Bob pretty much had that down) and every now and then one of us would say, “We don’t even know if we’re going to DO another book,” which is still true. At some point in there, Bob suggested that I do a stripper nun, but I think he was just really tired. And then we did cable TV in Kettering, which is always a great show to do, and then it was time for the Last Signing. Five days. It seemed short but we were holding on by our fingernails by then. Thank God for Kathy, a goddess among escorts.

Kathy dropped us off at the Cheesecake Factory where we were supposed to meet a couple of Cherry Bombs, but it turned out they’d taken over the whole place, Cherry Bombs to the right of us, Cherry Bombs to the left of us, zillions of them, all bearing flamingo gifts (except for one rebel who brought us another Moot, which made Bob look at me and say, “You know, I have no idea what I did with Moot” and for the first time, I believed that he’d really lost the poor baby) and chocolate, and Dee and Gret had hit every Cracker Barrel between here and Canada to find pink flamingo T-shirts with gold sequins, so I changed into mine and it’s fabulous. And bright. But we got to see everybody before the signing including Jill who’d managed to spill something that looked like coffee or Coke all over her Agnes t-shirt but she looked fabulous anyway (we can dress her up but we can’t take her anyplace; sigh). Such nice people, really. Well, strange, of course, but LOVELY.

Then we went to the new Books and Co. which is fabulous, and there were a zillion people there, many of them from my past life including great people knew from Beavercreek Schools like Mollie’s first grade teacher who was so good to her (Hi, Linda) and Stephanie, one of Mollie’s best friends from high school, who said “Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” when I signed her book and made Bob snort his KitKat and choke. He keeps forgetting I had a life before I met him. “Mrs. Smith? MRS. SMITH?” Yes, Bob. I was married, I taught elementary school, junior high, and high school, and I raised a kid all in Dayton, OH. You have no idea of the stuff you missed. “MRS. SMITH?” I’m going to be living with that one for awhile.

But the signing was great, and Bob even had an epiphany in the middle when he was explaining that DLD had a High Noon theme and that some of Agnes was based on Shane, and then he stopped and said, “Oh. Maybe I should look at a Western for the next book, too,” and I was in Speaking Mode and just kept talking. So this morning, he said, “Westerns,” and I said, “Uh, Stagecoach, The Searchers, Liberty Valance,” and he said, “Liberty Valance, John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart,” and we’d already talked about belief as a theme, and there’s a line Bob loves from Liberty Valance that some journalist: “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend,” and we’d been talking about a paranormal theme part with legends like the Bermuda Triangle and the Marie Celeste, and it started to feel like a book, depending on whether we go with Petal or the librarian, although I’m starting to think maybe I’ll make Petal a librarian, and of course, we still don’t know if we’re going to do another one since we don’t know how Agnes will do and if she tanks, it’s back to solo novels.

And then I drove him to the airport, and since he hadn’t bitched about the wastebasket (which I’d emptied) or the coffee pot (which was clean), I actually stopped the car and helped him get his stuff out of the back. And now he’s gone and I’m curled up in bed typing on the laptop (I love wireless) and tomorrow I will go back to Always Kiss Me Goodnight and Dogs and Goddesses and clean my office.

So we survived the Flamingo Tour. A huge thank you to anybody who came out to see us–you all made us feel wonderful–and another thank you to anybody who bought the book. And don’t forget to save your receipt to get the $3 rebate from the coupon on the website. It’s the least we can do for you.

We’re back from a great signing at JoBeth in Lexington–it makes such a difference when people have great questions because we’ve heard our own song and dance so many times that it’s hard to keep it fresh, and so far everybody has had great questions–and now I’m in my room catching up on the news via TPM and Salon and Bob is in his room next door reading a Mac magazine that he mocked me for buying earlier. There’s a connecting door between the rooms, but he’s e-mailing me about how good the magazine is.

Whoa. Update. Here’s our e-mail conversation:

From: bob
Subject:
Date: August 28, 2007 9:15:07 PM EDT
To: jenny
watching a DVD that came with the magazine on how to use iMovie– very
good tutorial

From: jenny
Subject:
Date: August 28, 2007 9:15:07 PM EDT
To: bob
And you made mock when I bought it.

From: bob
Subject:
Date: August 28, 2007 9:18 PM EDT
To: jenny
true
i was wrong

He must be really tired.

I’m a slug. I was supposed to post this last night but I collapsed into bed. Two great interviews yesterday with Barbara from PW and an audio interview with Steve Bertrand for the B&N site, and then on to one of my fave bookstores in the world, Anderson’s in Naperville (see, I can spell it) where we met incredibly wonderful people like Cathie Linz who has a gorgeous new book coming out in October and our own Celia who gave us the “Make the Cannoli” slogan. Then we went back to the hotel and I was supposed to blog but passed out on the bed instead because I needed the sleep desperately and had to get up at 5:30 to meet Bob in the lobby at 6 and of course he e-mailed me at 5:40 and said he was ready to go down–these military types who get up before dawn can be trying to travel with–so we hit O’Hare and flew to Lexington and now I’m showered and ready to put on make-up so I can go do TV. Bob, of course, looks terrific without the whole hair and make-up thing. And then the Bob-and-Jenny-Show does Jo-Beth in Lexington.

Sleep. I’m getting some on Friday.

One of the big perks of a book tour is very nice hotels with everything covered by the publisher. SMP pretty much gets a deal with me since I don’t drink (it’s the liquor that’ll kill the budget) although I have been known to do some damage by buying the $50 Snickers in the mini-bar (there was NO MINI-BAR in the hotel last night; oh, the humanity), but it’s still very nice to know that I can pick up the phone and order anything I want and SMP will, in turn, pick up the tab. On the other hand, staying in a hotel has its drawbacks, especially if you have a very common name: I got an obscene phone call at 5:30 this morning.

I was fast asleep so it took me awhile to realize it wasn’t some kind of specialized wake-up call. The guy said, “I know you’re staying at the Omni, I saw you in the elevator” and then called me “chubby” which was weird since I’m really more along the “fat” line and it didn’t really go with the string of obscenities (none of which were really inventive or interesting; I used to teach junior high and high school, and I’ve heard a lot better there) not to mention the anger. After a minute or so I woke up enough to figure out that this was NOT my wake-up call (I kept saying, “Huh?” and I might even have said “Thank you” at first) , so I said, “I think you have the wrong number” and hung up. Then I took another couple of minutes to really wake up and called the front desk. They said somebody had called looking for a different name and then asked for my name which is extremely common, so I think it really was a wrong number; it’s not like the guy had said, “I saw you in the gift shop buying two Snickers and a bottle of water.” So some poor wench in this hotel is being stalked by an angry ex, I’m betting, since I’ve gotten real obscene phone calls before, and there’s usually some kind of minimalist narrative flow that tells you he’s not using both hands to hold the phone, and this was more of a string of insults using standard angry-guy name-calling.

But how lame is he? A rabid-ex phone call made through a hotel switchboard? I told the operator I was traveling with a man but the call wasn’t from him. If Bob wanted to call me obscene names, he’d just say them in the elevator and he’d be a lot more creative, plus that’s not his style; he tends to yell about specifics in a non-obscene manner. Actually, he’s never sworn at me, now that I think of it, and he’s been pretty mad. Plus it wasn’t his voice. This guy had kind of a wimpy Ross-on-Friends voice and Bob’s got more of a growl. This guy sounded like one of those run-of-the-mill twenty-something MBA types, the kind in the unimaginative suit who gets too loud in a bar, and I’m thinking that jealousy just got to him at 5:30 AM. (This could also be the novelist in me kicking in.) Or somebody’s stalking me and you’ll never see me again, although the “I think you have the wrong number” probably put him off some since I doubt that was the reaction he was looking for. He’s just lucky I wasn’t awake; I’d have asked for his goal and motivation. We writers use everything.

Anyway, the more I woke up, the funnier it seemed that I’d thought it was my wake-up call. There are hotels that offer you a choice of calls–the recording, music, a real person–but so far nobody has offered me the f—–g c–t call (I’m usually not wimpy about spelling things out but I don’t want this blog tagged as a porn site). Which made me think of the other kinds of wake-up calls that a hotel could offer like the Good Mother Call (”Rise and shine, sweetums, it’s another beautiful day for Mama’s darling”) and the Bad Mother Call (”Get your ass out of bed or you’re walking to school, and I’m not kidding this time”) or the Ex-Military Drill Sergeant Call (”Wake up, you f—–g maggot”) or . . . And then I realized that I had to leave the hotel in two hours, and if I wanted a shower and breakfast, I was going to have to get up anyway. So it was a kind of wake-up call after all.

So I will remember Pittsburgh this year as a great booksigning, two Snickers from the gift shop, and the obscene wake-up call. Well, that’s the Midwest for you.

So we’re in Pittsburgh, where half the highways are closed for construction, but the city is beautiful and peaceful, plus we did a great booksigning at Mystery Lovers (there is no other kind of signing at Mystery Lovers) and then Richard and Mary Alice and Kathy took us out to a great dinner where Bob said, “I’ll have what she’s having” which, as Mary Alice said, proves we’ve been together too long. So Pittsburgh has been absolutely lovely except for the small argument Bob and I had walking back to the hotel where I said Pittsburgh was in the Midwest and he said it couldn’t be in the Midwest because it was east of the Mississippi, and I said that most of the Midwest was east of the Mississippi, and he said, “Well, then what’s the Midwest west of?” and I said, “The Hudson River,” and it all went downhill from there.

Well, we’re tired. Bob had to get up at four and I didn’t sleep at all because I always worry about missing planes when they’re in the morning since I usually sleep until ten or eleven, so I end up staring at the ceiling thinking, “Don’t oversleep, don’t oversleep,” which ends up with me not sleeping at all, and yes I have an alarm clock but I don’t trust it, which I explained to Bob which is when he snorted in scorn, and I got off the elevator and said, “Scorn, that’s what I need more of,” and the elevator doors closed and we called it a day.

But the signing was fun, as it always is with Mary Alice and Richard, and we met lovely people (Hello, Sarah) and got to see old pals (hello, Kathy and Nancy) and then they asked us to sign the bathroom wall because that’s what you do at Mystery Lovers except Bob’s name was already in there and mine wasn’t. Hmmmm. So I wrote “For a good time call” over Bob’s name and then wrote something sweet and touching over my name and I felt my work was done. And that was even before the geography incident.

We’re living the dream in Pittsburgh. And now it’s 8:30 and I’m going to bed because tomorrow is Chicago. Which is in the Midwest, and I don’t want to hear any garbage about the Mississippi River from a guy born east of the Hudson. I’m a Midwesterner. I know the Midwest, Bronx Boy. Although he does like the purse I bought in Little Tokyo which is black and white stripes appliqued with a skull with a bow on it, so clearly he learning to Appreciate Accessories which I feel is a step in the right direction. The right direction being toward the Midwest.

Four more days. I think we can make it without killing each other, depending on how fast he drops his obsession with geography.