can’t do that.”
The air suddenly grew thin and she sat up straighter. A low buzz filled her ears. She’d been in college the last time she felt this way, but it was happening again. She gulped and opened her mouth, like a pitiable fish thrown from a tank.
“Are you okay?” Chris was looking at her.
She waved her hand in front of her. “Panic…attack.”
Joining the debate team her senior year had been a bad idea. During her first debate, she had looked out toward the faces staring back and was sure they were filled with malevolent expectancy. They were there to judge her. She had frozen. The entire classroom went still and the strange ragged noise of wood being cut with a serrated knife filled her ears. She realized it was her own labored breathing and she was losing air fast. Panic overtook her, and the next thing she knew, she was running from the podium, trying to find the first receptacle she could vomit in.
That day, only a handful of people was there. A book tour would have lots more people in much bigger rooms.
Oh, fuck.
“Breathe,” Chris was saying.
Look at the bar top , she told herself. You’re in a bar with Chris.
Way too slowly, her breathing returned to normal and the ear-ringing stopped, but she was damp with sweat. The bartender delivered Chris’s beer, and Paige lifted hers and practically drained it as she held up one finger to order another.
“Easy there, Turbo. It’s only four p.m. Listen. Maybe you could go to a shrink or get hypnotized. There are ways to get over stage fright.”
There was no way she could ever get up in front of people. That’s partly why she was a writer and photographer. She could send out her words instead of speak them and could remain on the non-flash end of a camera. “I don’t see that anything would work.”
“Well, you’ve gotta try.”
Her second beer was brought over and she cradled it as if clinging to a lifesaver on the Titanic .
“How am I gonna do this? It’s less than five months away. I’m supposed to go out on the road, for gosh sakes. Talk in front of people .” A sudden chill streaked from her spine to the top layer of her skin, and she shook as badly as if a tooth filling had hit foil.
“Xanax?”
“Well, I guess that’s a possibility. I would be facedown at the bookstores and just sleep through the entire tour.”
“Yeah, I forgot you’re a lightweight.”
She swallowed another big gulp of liquid courage, hoping if a little buzz washed over her, the situation might not seem so desperate.
“Keep going like that and you’ll be the next Ernestine Hemingway.”
“Okay, you’re not helping.”
Chris swiveled her stool and faced her. “This is something you have to do to help yourself. There’s a way, you just have to find it.”
“I seriously don’t think I—” Her cell phone rattled underneath her car keys. She lifted it off the bar top and saw that the phone number was unfamiliar. “Hello?”
“Paige?”
“Avalon?”
Paige ignored Chris’s reaction, which was a perfect imitation of a choirboy’s face as he tried to hit a high note.
“Am I interrupting you?”
“Not at all,” she said. She didn’t want to miss a word, so she plugged a finger in her other ear to minimize the bar noise. Chris elbowed her, mouthing, “That’s Avalon? What does she want?!”
“Would you like to go out with me? On a date?”
Stunned, she dropped her finger from her ear and knew her mouth had dropped open.
Now Chris was saying, “What’s happening?” so Paige swung around, slapped her knee, and made her most furious face.
“Paige?”
“Yes? I mean, yes, I’d love to.”
“Are you free tonight? I know it’s rude to give such short notice, but—”
“Tonight’s fine.”
“May I pick you up?”
She gave her the address, running frantically through the apartment in her mind, making a huge list of what she had to clean and straighten. It had been a hellhole recently and Chris had been her only recent
The air suddenly grew thin and she sat up straighter. A low buzz filled her ears. She’d been in college the last time she felt this way, but it was happening again. She gulped and opened her mouth, like a pitiable fish thrown from a tank.
“Are you okay?” Chris was looking at her.
She waved her hand in front of her. “Panic…attack.”
Joining the debate team her senior year had been a bad idea. During her first debate, she had looked out toward the faces staring back and was sure they were filled with malevolent expectancy. They were there to judge her. She had frozen. The entire classroom went still and the strange ragged noise of wood being cut with a serrated knife filled her ears. She realized it was her own labored breathing and she was losing air fast. Panic overtook her, and the next thing she knew, she was running from the podium, trying to find the first receptacle she could vomit in.
That day, only a handful of people was there. A book tour would have lots more people in much bigger rooms.
Oh, fuck.
“Breathe,” Chris was saying.
Look at the bar top , she told herself. You’re in a bar with Chris.
Way too slowly, her breathing returned to normal and the ear-ringing stopped, but she was damp with sweat. The bartender delivered Chris’s beer, and Paige lifted hers and practically drained it as she held up one finger to order another.
“Easy there, Turbo. It’s only four p.m. Listen. Maybe you could go to a shrink or get hypnotized. There are ways to get over stage fright.”
There was no way she could ever get up in front of people. That’s partly why she was a writer and photographer. She could send out her words instead of speak them and could remain on the non-flash end of a camera. “I don’t see that anything would work.”
“Well, you’ve gotta try.”
Her second beer was brought over and she cradled it as if clinging to a lifesaver on the Titanic .
“How am I gonna do this? It’s less than five months away. I’m supposed to go out on the road, for gosh sakes. Talk in front of people .” A sudden chill streaked from her spine to the top layer of her skin, and she shook as badly as if a tooth filling had hit foil.
“Xanax?”
“Well, I guess that’s a possibility. I would be facedown at the bookstores and just sleep through the entire tour.”
“Yeah, I forgot you’re a lightweight.”
She swallowed another big gulp of liquid courage, hoping if a little buzz washed over her, the situation might not seem so desperate.
“Keep going like that and you’ll be the next Ernestine Hemingway.”
“Okay, you’re not helping.”
Chris swiveled her stool and faced her. “This is something you have to do to help yourself. There’s a way, you just have to find it.”
“I seriously don’t think I—” Her cell phone rattled underneath her car keys. She lifted it off the bar top and saw that the phone number was unfamiliar. “Hello?”
“Paige?”
“Avalon?”
Paige ignored Chris’s reaction, which was a perfect imitation of a choirboy’s face as he tried to hit a high note.
“Am I interrupting you?”
“Not at all,” she said. She didn’t want to miss a word, so she plugged a finger in her other ear to minimize the bar noise. Chris elbowed her, mouthing, “That’s Avalon? What does she want?!”
“Would you like to go out with me? On a date?”
Stunned, she dropped her finger from her ear and knew her mouth had dropped open.
Now Chris was saying, “What’s happening?” so Paige swung around, slapped her knee, and made her most furious face.
“Paige?”
“Yes? I mean, yes, I’d love to.”
“Are you free tonight? I know it’s rude to give such short notice, but—”
“Tonight’s fine.”
“May I pick you up?”
She gave her the address, running frantically through the apartment in her mind, making a huge list of what she had to clean and straighten. It had been a hellhole recently and Chris had been her only recent
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