No sales.
I’d had high hopes for a “reunion” lunch at a deli with my former associate, our suitemate (now an ALJ), and the lawyer whose office had been next door. None, so far as I knew, had bought “I Will Keep You Alive,” so I’d stashed copies in my car trunk (four, in case someone wanted two.) Lunch was fun, lots of talk of children (theirs), other lawyers, judges, former clients, and, briefly, a digression into dementiua (parental). But a desire for Adele and my book was never expressed. (Nor was notice taken of my new cowboy boots, faux snakeskin jeans, or bling, all of which had accreted upon me since our last meeting.)
Our friend Marilyn has a term “boontz,” which covers a situation where one’s entirely self-inflated expectations have been punctured, though remaining unknown to anyone but the person affected. Anyone, I had been “boontzed,” probably in four-star fashion.
[I would add the next day I returned to the deli for take-out, and a bus boy said, “Cool bracelts, dude.” You just have to know your audience.]
In other news…
Word has reached us from Manhattan of the first Book Group to devote a meeting to IWKYA. The audience, all women, all Caucasian, all elderly, all of whom had experienced something analagous, was knocked out. They were taken by Adele and my love story, her ability to convey the intensity of her feelings with such clarity, my ability to convey my experience with such control and humor, and the symbiosis of our different voices working together.
Even if you don’t fit this demographic, the book is worth a look.