Page 132 of People Skills

‘I have. I’ve just finished a first draft of a new novel.’

The crowd bursts into applause, and I look at Xavier in surprise. A novel! I can’t hide my delight.

‘You’ve finished a draft of a novel!’ I can’t stop myself from grinning like an idiot. ‘What can you tell us about it?’

‘It’s another family drama. And a relationship drama with multiple points of view. The main characters are a father and son. And both are grappling with their respective marriages.’

Xavier pauses and smiles at the audience, all self-effacing charm. He’s comfortable on stage. A crowd-pleaser indeed. Author Xavier is rising once again.

‘I realise it all sounds very vague. I am very out of practice at describing my work. But, if I had to say it was about anything, I would say it’s a novel about family. And love. And heartbreak.’

‘Love and heartbreak,’ I repeat.

He nods, looking at me intently.

I don’t know quite what to say. I am distracted for a beat too long before I recover. ‘Well, I’m sold,’ I say. ‘It sounds great. Does it have a title?’ My voice is a little too high, a little too upbeat.

‘It’s currently called Chess Lessons.’

I swallow, and try desperately to keep my face relaxed and unmoved.

‘That’s a…a good title.’ I turn to the audience. ‘I have a feeling we’ll all be reading and raving about this novel in a year or two.’

I open the discussion for questions, and there are several about the screen-free time and what we think about reading rates and education and AI, to which Xavier, pandering shamelessly to the crowd, says, ‘Fuck AI and every single tech bro who has never read a novel. They should all be reading Jane Austen.’

And then I look out into the audience and I see, of all people, Grady Anderson standing with the microphone in his hand.

‘I thought it was interesting you mentioned reading Jane Austen’s works. When I wrote my last novel, I reread Dostoevsky and I found his work to be more relevant than it’s ever been. It really opened something in me. I wouldn’t be the writer I am’—he pauses, and turns to the audience, looking faux-humble—‘For those who might not know, I’m Grady Anderson, I’ve written six novels that are ostensibly shelved as crime but are more accurately represented under the banner of literary fiction. And yes, I can speak to the power of reading the classics. In fact I think this is where we’ve gone wrong with—’

Xavier picks up his microphone. ‘Grady, mate, that’s fascinating but I didn’t hear a question in there,’ he says cheerfully.

Grady looks irritated and he purses his lips. ‘Well, if you give me a moment, I’ll reach my point,’ he says.

I pick up my microphone and point into the crowd. ‘I think this lady here in the red has a question?’ I say. ‘Why don’t we jump over to her and then come back to you, Grady. Just raise your hand when you have your question ready.’

And just like that, Grady is dismissed. It takes him a second to realise, and he remains standing for a few more seconds before sitting down.

My eyes meet his briefly, and I hope he can see how much I enjoyed silencing him. He doesn’t raise his hand, and we never go back to him.

The last question of the session is from an older woman in a gorgeous blue coat. ‘This is a bit of a personal one,’ she says, which sends a cold shiver down my spine. ‘Xavier, you talked about how reading Jane Austen helped your writing, but I want to know, what kinds of things did you learn about love from reading her books?’

‘Oh. Well. Bold to assume I learned anything at all,’ Xavier says, and the audience laughs a little. He glances at me quickly before looking back at the audience and continuing. ‘You know, Austen writes these beautifully hopeful books, where no matter how their lives are constrained, her characters find a love that suits them. And it’s hard to read her work and not take on that sense of hope. I noticed that I began to feel more hopeful about my life when reading her books, hopeful about writing, being able to write again and, also, I started to feel…’ He pauses, looking like he might regret continuing but he’s already halfway through the sentence. ‘To feel hopeful about love. About wanting love, and finding love.’

I’m watching him as he says this, and he looks over at me, and I worry that my face is revealing too much, that his face is revealing too much, and he must have the same thought because he turns his attention back to the audience, smiling and shifting gears. ‘And, obviously, I learned to never trust a man named Wickham. Or Willoughby. Just to never trust a man whose name starts with W at all. Even Wentworth. He was far too slow to tell Anne his feelings.’

Again, his eyes meet mine.

I need to get off this stage because everything he says is making me feel like I might burst into flames, or tears. Thankfully, time is up and the session ends.

I can see how eager people are to talk to Xavier. Luckily the local bookshop always stocks his novels, although I imagine most of the audience already have them. I see a lot of people lining up at the signing table with their copies from home for him to sign.

We walk backstage together, and when we’re out of sight and alone, he touches my arm. We are both flushed and smiling, carrying the happy high of a successful event and all the applause.

‘You were so good at that,’ he says.

‘Please. It was easy when the crowd is hanging on every word you say,’ I say. ‘Go out there and chat to your adoring fans.’

He doesn’t move. His hand is still on my arm.