Beth and Alexis spent the remainder of their day laughing and enjoying each other’s company. They lunched with their father — after Alexis changed back into herself — and then Alexis helped Beth with hair and makeup in preparation of the banquet.
Beth modeled and Alexis responded enthusiastically, “You look wonderful! Carter will be so proud.” The mention of Carter brought an unconscious hand fluttering toward Beth’s heart.
Later, when Alexis stopped the car near the rear entranceway where the banquet room was located, Beth clutched her evening bag with the thumb-drive tucked securely inside. She gave her sister a quick, affectionate hug. “I wish this wasn’t my last day in California,” she said.
Alexis returned her hug and flashed that famous heart-stopping smile. “I wish you two would settle in Colorado, and then you wouldn’t be so far away.”
Another reminder of Carter brought a flash of hope that propelled Beth from the car with an ethereal smile. However, once she left the safety of Alexis’s vehicle and approached the building, she saw a variety of security guards and experienced a revival of anxiety. Trying not to look over her shoulder like a criminal, Beth joined a group of people clad in formal wear, who were moving through the doors. When Beth flashed her tag and the guard waved her through the door without comment, she sighed with relief.
Once inside, dressed in her borrowed jewels, new green dress, and dainty heels, Beth walked with an air of confidence down the corridors, her shoes clicking on the glossy tiles. As an early arriver, she moved easily through the wide-spaced hallway and into the banquet room. An attendant stationed near the door pointed in response to Beth’s inquiry to the table marked ”Reserved” near the stage.
When she found the place card with her name neatly printed in bold block letters, Beth pulled out a chair and took her seat. There were six place settings around the table. Leaning sideways, Beth saw “Adrian Adams” printed on the card placed to her right and felt positively giddy.
The banquet area held a multitude of tables. The room appeared to be filling steadily with people of every description. There were sounds of folks shuffling toward their seats, talking and laughing, and caterers moving about discreetly, making last minute adjustments. The scent of hot food wafted in from some distant, unseen serving area.
Beth glanced around her, searching for Carter’s face in the crowd. She realized she would never be able to spot him in such a large mob. She felt relieved that Carter had her cell phone number. He had assured her they would meet up after the festivities were over. Briefly, Beth wondered how she could ever have imagined meeting Adrian Adams without assistance.
An older couple, beautifully attired, joined Beth’s table. The short man had sparkling green eyes and a pale mustache, and his companion, a large-bosomed woman with dark gray hair and circles of rouge on each plump cheek, sat down next to Beth. In richly articulated tones, the woman said, “Good evening. My name is Mildred. This is my husband, Samuel Worthington.” Beth accepted the woman’s bejeweled hand and nodded to her husband.
“I’m Bethany Ashton. I’m very pleased to meet you. Did you say ‘Mildred Worthington?’” Beth allowed the name to roll around uselessly within her memory. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall why.
Two men dressed in business suits appeared, pulling out chairs across from Beth. She guessed them to be somewhere in their late thirties. This left only Mr. Adams’s chair vacant. She had hoped the famous writer might join them before the banquet started.
“Excuse me,” she said to the woman beside her. “I seemed to have lost my program. Can you tell me when Mr. Adams will speak?”
“Yes, dear, Adams is the first speaker,” the woman answered in her distinct and cultured voice.
“Are you — are you the Mildred Worthington?” Beth stammered. “The one who writes children’s books?”
“Why, yes. I’m flattered you know my work.”
“I grew up reading your books!” Beth stared with wide-eyed wonder and then suddenly blushed pink all the way down to the tips of her toes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—” Beth let the statement die.
Mildred answered with a good-natured laugh. “I’m not offended, my dear. I am old enough to no longer care when someone refers to my age.”
“Are you still writing?” Beth wanted to pinch herself, hardly believing she could find herself seated between two of the greatest writers of all times.
“Oh my, yes. We currently live in the south of France. Most of my publications, however, never seem to catch on in America these days.”
The lights grew dim. A spotlight hit the podium above her. Beth’s next sentence died on her lips. Her eyes fastened like a magnet onto the platform. Somewhere, a band began to play.
Henrietta Huxley, wearing a navy blue evening gown, wobbled on chunky heels toward the center of the stage. She uttered the typical acknowledgments of appreciation for those responsible for this year’s successful conference. After a round of applause, she cleared her throat. “We are privileged to have with us one of our country’s most illustrious authors with accolades too numerous to mention.” The orchestra played a drum roll. “Therefore,” Henrietta said, milking the moment, “without further ado, I would like to introduce Mr. Adrian Adams!”
A man stepped forward. Everyone in the room stood to their feet with heartfelt applause as the famous author walked to the podium in the center of the stage. Everyone that is, except Beth. She thought she’d just received a hefty dose of a paralyzing drug injected into her legs, Beth remained glued to her seat.
The audience sat down. Beth heard the author’s deep voice, speaking clearly into the microphone. “What’s in a name? Some of you this week have called me ’Teacher.’ Several call me ‘Sir.’ A few even call me ‘Friend.’ Many who don’t know my face will recognize my pen name, Adrian Adams, but few people, other than family, close friends, and those who work within the publishing industry know me by my given name, Carter Phillips...”
Beth closed her eyes. Her fists clenched into painful balls.
Mildred Worthington touched Beth’s hand. “Miss Ashton?” she inquired. “Are you ill?”
Beth managed to stand. Heedless of the curious glances around her, she hurriedly weaved her way in and out of the tables, heading to the back of the room.
Somehow, with her whole world crumbling about her, Beth stumbled through the door. She made it just outside the exit, and then her face crumpled… and the tears came.