Erin Ringling walked around the block twice, a block away from the restaurant.
In short, clipped, just barely audible sentences she reminded herself that was an award-winning journalist and that she would at no point in time divulge to Lauren Frances Rooney that Kirtland’s Recoil was her favorite novel of all time and the best debut novel ever, To Kill a Mockingbird included.
She would ask the limited questions she had written in her notebook and let the conversation run where it may.
Lauren had come out of the publishing ether, no large social media presence, no academic credentials, no Pushcarts. Nothing.
Her novel was originally self-published, then championed by Harry Ziegler, a notoriously harsh but influential writing professor at the University of Arizona.
Published under L.F. Rooney, at first Lauren’s identity had been a mystery, and she was still enigmatic, resisting interviews even after Lord, Strauss and Bigelow had given her a seven-figure deal.
It was very unusual for a first-time author, and Erin felt like she smelled “stunt.”
After Ken Torro at the Chicago Trib had been turned down multiple times and complained about it in his book column, Erin had been granted the first real face-to-face interview.
Erin had no idea what Lauren looked like, though she heard a rumor that the author had gorgeous dark red hair. She had reserved Booth Twelve at Franko’s and told Lauren the reservation was under Ringling.
Jared, Franko’s GM knew Erin well. Lauren would be taken care of splendidly as Erin arrived purposely late.
She breezed through the door of Franko’s, looked around for Jared, didn’t see him, then marched back to Booth Twelve.
Erin immediately saw a thick expanse of amazing dark red hair on a head facing away from her, toward the east windows. In the other side of the booth was a man of about eighty in a rumpled beige coat.
He wore oversized dark sunglasses.
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