Free Ellipsis by Stephen Greenleaf Page B

productive of the self-possession so essential to getting through life in the big city. On the other hand, a few of the women’s eyes glowed a little too brightly, and a few hands gripped book bags a little too tightly, and a few jaws were set in a brute determination that seemed far out of proportion to the occasion. For these, the experience was clearly more religious than literary, and those are always the ones you have to watch.
    Given the makeup of the crowd, it was tempting to think the phenomenon of Chandelier and her ilk had mostly to do with gender, or educational shortcomings, or inferior self-regard, or debilitating socioeconomics. But my guess was that it was a complex mix of all of those and then some, a syndrome that claimed people of widely various backgrounds and belief systems, which made it far too dense for me to fathom. Whatever its social or psychic origins, the cult of Chandelier had produced a long line of people carrying bags and satchels that probably contained only books but could theoretically contain deadly weapons. Without mounting a body search of each and every fan, I wasn’t sure what I could do about it but keep my fingers crossed.
    I returned to the ballroom and decided to chat with Lark McLaren for reasons that didn’t have much to do with the job. “Nice turnout,” I said.
    She shrugged. “About average.”
    â€œChandelier seems edgy.”
    â€œShe’s always edgy when she’s out in public.”
    â€œEven before the threats?”
    She nodded. “Ever since I’ve known her.”
    â€œWhy the nerves? She must do this kind of thing all the time.”
    â€œShe’s done over two hundred events since her last novel came out.”
    â€œAnd she’s still nervous.”
    â€œShe’s gotten wary of the percentages, I think.”
    â€œPercentage of what?”
    Lark’s tone turned grave. “The percentage of serious mental illness afoot in the general populace. And the percentage of that percentage that feels compelled to prey upon celebrities.”
    Lark’s dark mood was so uncharacteristic it made me wonder at its source. “Did anything happen after I left last night?”
    She shook her head. “No. Nothing.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œOf course. If anything had happened, I would know it.”
    â€œDid Chandelier say anything about the security situation here?”
    â€œNo, but she’s criticized everything but.”
    I looked around but failed to find a flaw. “She isn’t satisfied with the arrangements?”
    â€œShe’s never satisfied with the arrangements. In this instance, let’s see—the wine’s too warm, the food’s too cold, the table’s too rickety, and I forgot to bring her pillow and her footstool. Which I would have remembered if I didn’t have to get two hundred boxes of perfume in the mail this morning.”
    â€œPerfume?”
    â€œShe’s sending bottles of perfume to two hundred bookstores and media people to promote Shalloon . It’s supposed to smell just like Contradiction at a fraction of the cost. That’s the latest rage, in case you don’t keep track.”
    â€œI don’t.”
    â€œNo wife? No girlfriend?”
    â€œNo wife; maybe a girlfriend. But we haven’t gotten to the perfume stage.”
    â€œThat’s what you think.”
    I laughed.
    â€œShit,” Lark said abruptly.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThey don’t have any bottled water. Chandelier insists we offer bottled water to the women who don’t take alcohol.”
    Her agitation was such that I was moved to calm her down. “In the greater scheme of things, the water and the wine seem like minor irritants. I don’t see any unhappy faces.”
    Lark’s laugh was crimped and humorless. “In my job, the greater scheme of things doesn’t extend beyond Chandelier’s state of mind. And to