Chapter 28

Mellie would have told anyone who asked that the entire tour experience blurred into one long mess, filled with signings and interviews and impersonal hotel rooms. But she would’ve been lying. Because she thrived on this—the lack of sleep, the horrible food, the hurry-hurry-hurry to the next stop, the next town, the next airport.

The only thing that bothered Mellie was Charming. She missed him. She missed seeing him, consulting with him. She even missed wishing she could flirt with him.

When this tour was over, she’d get off the plane, run to his beautiful bookstore, wrap her arms around him, and give him the biggest, best kiss of her life. She would literally throw herself at him, and if he balked, she would step back and say it was all a thank-you for saving her.

Because that was what he had done.

The wonderful man.

Mellie was hearing daily how the numbers on the books were trending upwards. After her Minneapolis appearances, the book started selling well in the Midwest. After she did some syndicated radio interviews, people showed up early at the stores to make sure they got copies of the books.

And by the time she reached Philadelphia, the stores had sold out of their copies of Evil before she arrived. The people who showed up at the signing had bought the book a few days before.

Things started to go sideways in Philadelphia, though. Until that point, she thought she could predict the questions in the interview:

1. What caused you to write the book?

2. Did the idea come out of your own life?

3. Do you really believe stepmothers are misunderstood?

4. What made you choose fairy tales as your vehicle of self-expression?

5. What was it about the Snow White story that spoke to you?

Those questions usually comprised the entire interview, and after the third day of the tour, she could answer them by rote.

She tried not to, though, because then the interviews would start to sound canned, and what people liked—according to LaTisha the publicist who, in addition to traveling with Mellie, monitored blogs, and reactions to the signings—was Mellie’s passion for her topic.

Her readers surprised her too—or her potential readers, anyway, at the first part of her tour. The people who bought the book weren’t all stepmothers. Some were stepchildren who loved their stepmothers (“My mom abandoned me,” she heard more than once, “but my stepmom was there, and she raised me. She’s my real mom.”). Others were husbands who had second wives (“Finally, someone who has told the world what we’re going through.”). And the most surprising group—at least to her—stepfathers (“I know women get the bad rap in fairy tales,” they’d said, “but all stepparents get a bad rap in real life.”).

By the time Mellie reached D.C. half of the people who came to the signing had already read the book, and wanted to engage her on its contents. Most of the comments were positive, although a few—mostly from young girls—complained about the portrayal of Snow White as selfish.

Mellie wished she could answer that truthfully. It was the only part of the book she didn’t like. Yes, Snow had been self-involved, but she had also been eighteen years old. She hadn’t really understood all the things she was feeling. If the blood weren’t so bad between them (Mellie would say), she would be able to tell Snow her side of the story, and Snow would finally understand.

But Mellie hadn’t told Snow her side of the story. She couldn’t change that.

But it looked like she might be able to change the perception of it.

Until that last round of interviews in Philadelphia. Mellie hadn’t realized it at the time, but a day later—after things changed in Boston—she thought back, and saw the seeds in Philadelphia.

She had been in a television studio in Philadelphia at W-something-something-something. She had just come from a marvelous hour-long radio interview at WHYY with Terry Gross of Fresh Air, discussing books and women’s issues. LaTisha thought that was Mellie’s best interview yet, and she did as well. It would air later in the week, and it would, Mellie thought, bring a whole new class of reader to the book.

Now, television studios, like hotel rooms, tended to look alike. Lots of cables, lots of teleprompters, lots of segmented areas with “permanent” sets that looked like they’d been designed fifteen years before.

Mellie got to sit in front of a desk, as if she were an anchor, while someone pinned a mike to her lapel. She was told to answer questions “naturally,” and she had to watch the screen in front of her, for the different interviewers, from different stations across the Northeast, who were going to ask her a few questions and then use them in their noon (or morning) “entertainment” segments.

She wasn’t sure where the first question came from—Delaware? Vermont? Connecticut?—but it was one of the few she had never heard before: “Tell me about your writing day.”

Fortunately, LaTisha had prepared Mellie for that. Sometimes, LaTisha said, someone who really loves reading asks what your writing day is like, expecting it to be glamorous. The key is to answer the question politely without being insulting.

Mellie gave the answer she’d been trained to give, how in the confines of her own home, she could go on adventures without ever changing out of her pajamas.

She got the question twice more in that round of interviews, and even LaTisha had commented on it, saying how rare it was to get that question more than once a tour.

But Mellie didn’t mind. Nor did she think much about it when the host of one of Philadelphia’s morning shows—a man who, all things considered, would rather not be in Philadelphia—commented that she looked too glamorous to be a writer.

“And not an ounce of fat,” said the weather guy, who (LaTisha told her later) had been hired as comic relief.

“How do you stay so thin when you spend all your time reading and writing?” the host asked as if her slender form was some kind of conspiracy.

“I believe in exercise,” Mellie said truthfully. “It’s the one thing I miss when I’m on tour like this.”

She had effectively changed the subject, and then she deftly brought it back to parenthood (“Of course,” she said, “I’ve been through that before. As the mother of young children, I didn’t get much exercise either.”) and LaTisha had complimented her on her smoothness.

Those incidents seemed like comfortable (and much needed) blips in an otherwise routine group of questions.

And then she was in Boston, Boston with its major media, Boston with its famously aggressive press corps, Boston which had its own mini-publishing industry (some of whose members had bid upon and lost the opportunity to publish Evil).

On the cab ride in from Logan International Airport, LaTisha (who had been hugging her BlackBerry as if it were an old boyfriend) told Mellie that the publicity department had heard from Oprah’s people.

“A tentative gesture,” LaTisha said. “They want to know how the sales are going, what kind of person you are, and if you’re going to be all interviewed out before Oprah even gets to you. I told them that you have hidden depths, and that they might want to consider a topical interview instead of one focused on the book.”

“Topical?” Mellie asked.

“One about fairy tales and how they discriminate against women,” LaTisha said, “and how that has led to the stereotyping of stepmothers as evil.”

Mellie’s heart leapt. Her dream interview. From the best interviewer in the world. Oprah, with all of her followers, all of the people who loved her, all of the people who thought about the topics Oprah asked them to think about.

Mellie had always hoped she would get that kind of platform. She just never permitted herself to dream it would be possible—not so soon in this media blitz as Charming had called it.

Charming. She contacted him as often as possible. She wanted to hear his voice. (Honestly, she needed to hear his voice.) And he seemed interested.

He listened with enthusiasm to her strange, tired phone calls, and told her he had watched each and every interview (and from some of the details he mentioned, he clearly had). He bucked her up after her first disastrous Minneapolis interview, although LaTisha and the segment producer hadn’t thought it disastrous and neither had Charming after he saw it.

But he raised her spirits before he saw it by saying, “You’re practicing, Mellie. You’ll get better with each and every interview. You don’t want to start at the top of your game.”

Of course, she did want to start at the top of her game, but she knew that wasn’t possible. And she had gotten better, with each and every interview. LaTisha told her that she was unlike most writers who got worse as time went on.

And then Boston happened.