Carrine entered the restaurant with confidence. She had been invited to the Science-Fiction convention as the chief interviewer of a big literary website and felt like she was finally doing something with her life.
Her potato-tuna-mayonnaise salad in one hand and a pile of books on the palm of other, she scanned the room for a place available and headed directly to a table with only two men casually chatting.
She did feel the stares as she crossed the room but did not pay attention : she was hungry.
She sat with them and started eating quietly, not meaning to interrupt anything.
She had recognized one of the men, a prolific writer with a well groomed goatee. But he face of the second one did not ring a bell in her brain.
He graciously asked her who she was and she proudly spread her entire title of chief-interviewer-of-the-biggest-most-fabulous-literary website.
– And who are you ? she asked.
– Daniel Watson.
Her face turned tomato red and dropped in her palms. He was the most famous writer in science fiction history. Ever.
Carrine heard her credibility crash on the floor tiles, pierce them and hide in the cave under the building.