Shawarma

Alana Chambers picked at her dinner; poking at the salmon on her plate, occasionally raising a tiny bite to her lips and chewing mechanically without tasting it. The young man seated next to her glanced over with an amused but not unsympathetic twinkle in his eyes. 

“Who ever decided that it was a good idea to have dinner before the speeches, right?” he murmured, leaning in so he could be heard under the mic-amplified voice of Ms. Catherine Sciama. The tall, impossibly elegant gray-haired woman was currently detailing the history of the Warner Foundation; the organization behind tonight’s honors for “outstanding new voices in the arts.”

Alana mustered a smile. “If I’d known writing a book could lead to all this I might have thought twice about it.”

She was gratified by his quiet chuckle, and the way his bright hazel eyes traveled her face as he said, “Well I, for one, am glad you were so naive about it.”

She could feel her cheeks turning pink, so she looked away quickly, suddenly glad that her long, simple black dress fit her body so well.

So far, being seated next to him had been the main bright spot in an otherwise nerve-wracking evening. One critic had lauded her debut novel as “shining through the pretentious sludge of literary fiction with a simple purity,” and ever since, Alana had lived in terror that someone would see through her and realize that any simplicity she could claim was merely due to the fact that she almost never left the little town in Oregon where she had grown up. And yet somehow she had found herself here, in New York City, wearing her first formal dress, surrounded by artists in every field as well as people rich enough to patronize them. She had never felt so far out of her depth.

But then, just as she had begun to feel as if she would burst into tears of bewildered loneliness and despair, a tall man with wavy brown hair had detached himself from a group of women whose dresses looked like they cost as much as Alana’s car and made his way over to her with a friendly grin. He had introduced himself as Neil Lewis, and she had gathered that he worked for the foundation in some publicity role, although the anxious static in her brain had been rushing too loudly for her to take in any details. 

He had clearly been dispatched to look after her for the evening, which had embarrassed her at first, but his cheerful sense of ease soon made her feel better, and she almost began to enjoy herself for a while.

Now, however, with the time for her speech nearly at hand, she was rapidly growing miserable again, her stomach churning. 

“It’ll all be over soon,” Neil whispered comfortingly. “But you might want to pay attention now. She’s saying some very nice things about your book.”

Alana fought back the urge to hide her face in her hands. “In that case, find me some earplugs.”

The tall woman’s introduction drew to a close, and she gestured graciously toward Alana.

“Go get ‘em, Meryl Streep,” Neil told her. 

“All I’m thinking about right now is making it up those steps without tripping on my skirt.”

She plastered on a smile and made her way through the applause up onto the small stage at the front of the room, rehearsing her opening lines over and over again. Gripping the glass trophy in both hands, she balanced it on the edge of the podium and looked out over the sea of upturned, attentive faces. The static in her brain grew even louder as she flexed her fingers and summoned her voice.

“Wow, um,” she began, and then paused abruptly as she adjusted to the jarring sound of her voice booming out across the wide space. “Tha-thank you. This is incredible. Thank you, Ms. Shawarma, for that glowing introduction. And thank you to the…The Warner Foundation…”

She paused again. Had she said Warner already? The collection of sounds felt familiar on her tongue. She shook her head and moved quickly on. “…The Warner Foundation, for this huge honor. Never in a million years did I think that all that time sitting in my sweatpants staring at a blank wall would lead me here.”

Alana heard some laughter ripple through the crowd and plowed on, feeling slightly encouraged. “On that subject, I need to first thank my parents for believing in me and letting me live in my childhood bedroom while I waited desperately for someone to pay me for my scribblings. I also need to thank my agent, Dana; my editor, Ben; and everyone else who read my first few sloppy drafts and helped them to become a coherent story. And thank you to my publishers for finally giving me money.”

She swallowed. There was something nudging at the back of her mind; something that didn’t feel quite right, but she pushed it aside and concentrated on making it to the end. “But most of all, thank you to everyone who has read my book and deemed it worthy of notice. As the many talented artists in this room will tell you, we create in order to connect. So the fact that people are reading my book and talking about it is really the biggest reward I could ever hope for. I can’t wait to go home, put my sweatpants back on, and write some more. Thank you.”

Flooded with relief, Alana made her way back to her table and sat down with a sigh. 

Neil grinned at her and pumped his fist. “Crushed it!”

“Do you think so?”

“Absolutely. You’re a natural. Of course…” he quirked an eyebrow as Ms. Sciama began to introduce the next honoree. “I’ve never heard my boss referred to in exactly that way before, but it certainly added some spice to the event.”

Alana felt the blood drain from her face. “Ms. Sciama? What did I call her?”

Neil’s lips twitched. “Ms. Shawarma.”

“Oh, no.” Alana groaned, shutting her eyes. “No. Shawarma. Warner Foundation. I knew something didn’t sound right. I was so focused on just getting through it and not forgetting to thank anybody that I didn’t even hear myself. I bet she’s wishing this award went to anybody else now.”

“Nonsense. She loved it. I know she looks all classy and intimidating, but she’s got a good sense of humor.”

Alana looked at him woefully. “Are you sure?”

“I promise.” Then, as a final burst of applause rang out, he added, “Well, that’s the last of it. Now all that’s left is the dessert table and plenty of mingling. Feeling up to it?”

She shuddered. “I couldn’t possibly! Not after that! I don’t think I can make eye contact with anyone for at least a week. Would it be too rude of me to just sneak out now and get an Uber back to my hotel?”

“Nah. You’re the exiting new author. Just put on an abstracted expression. If anyone notices they’ll assume you’ve been gripped by inspiration and be thrilled about getting to witness it first hand.”

He stood up and walked along with her as she made her way to the exit. As soon as the cool night breeze off the river hit her face, Alana could feel herself relax. She tilted her head back and sighed. Then her stomach let out a loud, angry rumble, and both of them laughed. 

“I guess I’m hungrier than I realized,” she said sheepishly. 

“Would you like to grab some food from somewhere a little more casual?” Neil asked. 

Alana looked down at her dress and then at his black-tie uniform. “Looking like this?”

“Sure, why not? Let’s make everyone wonder.”

“But don’t you have to get back to the party?”

“I can disappear for half an hour or so.”

“Well…” She took a deep breath and smiled. “Okay. Where should we go?”

“I know a little place within walking distance,” he suggested. “They do amazing Middle-Eastern street food. We could get some —”

“Don’t!” she interrupted him, laughing. “Don’t you dare say it.”

He placed a hand on his chest, telegraphing innocence. “I was going to say kofta kebabs.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Right. Sure, kofta sounds great. Let’s get that.”

“Perfect.” As they set off down the sidewalk together, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit and said casually, “So. You didn’t leave anybody out of your thanks? No supportive boyfriend waiting for you back home in Oregon?”

Alana felt a thrill run up her spine. “No,” she said, keeping her eyes on the pavement in front of her and striving to make her tone match his. “No boyfriend.”

“Really? Now that is intriguing, Miss Chambers. Perhaps we could discuss that point further as we walk?”

She bit back a smile. “Perhaps we could.”