At the start of my second winter I packed
up my things and set out on horseback from my remote ger in the far
south of the country, and rode for months through endless blizzards
and freezing dust storms, winding a slow, meandering trail across
thousands of miles of stark wilderness until I finally reached the
town of Olgii in the far west, home of the Kazakh Mongols, nomadic
eagle hunters. I braved temperatures of 45 below and rode for days
at a time without food and water. A couple of times I almost died,
but it was worth every moment of misery.
A week before I finally ended my trip I was
tracked by a pack of wolves in the far north west. My horse bolted
in panic and threw me off in the middle of the mountains of the
west, breaking my leg in the process. I had to splint it myself,
and dulled the pain with Chinggis vodka and aspirin until I was
found, half dead and delirious, by a nomadic family who rode me
Olgii on the back of their ancient Russian motorcycle.
That was Mongolia's way of telling me it
was time to come home. After a couple of weeks resting up in a cold
and dirty clinic in Olgii I booked a flight back to San Francisco.
Back to my parents, and back to civilization.
It was Penny who suggested I should write a
book. She'd just graduated from NYU when I got home. She'd spent
her summers working as an intern for a publishing house in the
city, dredging through slush piles in a vain search for something
good enough to sell. By the time we finally got to meet up I'd been
back in the country for six months, and by that time she'd found a
paying job as a lowly assistant at the same publisher, and
mentioned me to her boss.
The rest is... well, the rest is pretty
boring, run of the mill history. It turns out the publishing
process is pretty damned tedious and drawn out, and almost three
years went by before that seed of an idea resulted in the hardback
flower sitting on the desk in front of me.
Much to my surprise the book became a
surprise hit, and sold just enough to sneak onto the bottom of the
New York Times bestseller list. Last night I even got to appear on
The Daily Show and meet John Stewart, which was the high point of
my life so far.
I can't really explain why the book did so
well. I'm not famous. I'm not all that special. I'm just a girl who
played with Barbies and wore prissy sweaters and boring shoes, and
who left all that behind to live in the wilderness for a couple of
years.
I don't know, I guess that sort of escapist
Into the
Wild
kinda
story appeals to a lot of us these days. We're all trapped in this
consumer nightmare, working crazy hours so we can afford shiny
gadgets we don't have the time to play with. I guess people like to
read about someone who chose to leave that life behind and look for
something more.
The sad fact is that I wasn't searching for
some deep spiritual truth. I wasn't looking to make a point about
the problems of the modern world, or the need to preserve our
natural environment, or anything like that.
I was just trying to be the kind of person
I think Rafe saw in me. With every word I typed, and every page I
screwed up and threw in the trash, I imagined Rafe's eyes flitting
from line to line, his lips turned up in a smile.
And now... now I'm on a national book tour, signing copies
of
The Gobi
Rider
all
day. Word somehow got out that I was the daughter of the great
Lawrence Pierce, so I guess I have some pretty big shoes to fill.
It's terrifying, and intimidating, and lots and lots of fun. My
publisher is already asking me where I plan to go next, and now I
have money in my pocket and a blank check to cover my travel
expenses it kinda feels like the world is my oyster.
"You ready?" Penny asks. She stands up and
peers out the window to the street outside. "Looks like you've got
quite a crowd waiting out there."
I follow her eyes to the line of people
waiting for the Barnes & Noble to open, and my heart quickens.
They're not exactly queuing around the block – it's a book, not a
new iPhone – but there are enough people waiting for a signed copy
to give me the usual rush of pride and terror. "Ready as I'll ever
be. Come rescue me if I get stuck with a crazy person?"
Penny giggles. "No dice, Moriarty. The only
reason I come to these things is to watch some crazy bastard corner
you and point out typos. OK, they're opening. Good luck, Mad."
My heart pounds in my chest as the line of
shoppers head straight for the little desk the staff have set up in
the travel section. As the first arrives I try to relax and set
into my routine. Smile, sign, hand over the book. Smile, sign, hand
over the book.
The first hour passes as it always does at
these things. A couple of people hold up the line to tell me long,
rambling stories about their own trips to Mongolia – I don't mind,
but the people behind them sure do – and a few actual Mongolians
turn up to either gush about how much they love the book or
playfully chastise me for getting a few details wrong. I don't mind
at all. You know, it's not like it's possible to learn everything
about a country in just a couple of years.
Then there are the...
less pleasant
people. I always get one or two of them at
my signings, guys who read my book and took an unhealthy shine to
me. They're always creepy as hell, and they always seem to have
fixated on a certain passage in the book (a passage I now
really
regret writing) in
which I talked a little about the frustration of living alone for
two years without real human contact. I made the mistake of
mentioning that I often had to rely on my trusty vibrator to get me
through the long, cold nights in my tent out of the steppe, and the
creeps seem to have really latched on to that image. It was meant
to be a joke, but now I have to deal with a couple of assholes at
every signing who stand there breathing heavily while they ask
about it. Some guys should have to take a fucking class before
they're allowed to speak to women.
Jesus.
I massage my aching wrist as the beefy
security guard gently escorts away the most recent creep. The guy's
wearing a raincoat indoors in April, and he looks like he hasn't
washed his hair since the Clinton administration. He couldn't look
more like a freak if he tried.
"OK, I'm done," I mutter to myself, waving
over at Penny. She catches my eye and approaches the table. "Pen,
that's me for the day. I've hit my disgusting creep quota. I swear
that guy was playing with himself through a hole in his
pocket."
Penny has a wicked smile on her face. "No,
no, no. You have to do seven more. Just seven, OK, then you can
wrap it up."
I shake my head. "Come on Pen. My wrist is
killing me. I feel like I've signed all the books that were ever
printed, and I've had to fend off the advances of two assholes who
thought I was a sex fiend because I admitted to once playing with
myself. It's time to call it a day and go get drunk. Deal?"
Penny's craning her neck to peer down the
line. "Mad, I'll put all our drinks on expenses if you just sign
seven more books. Agreed?"
"Why seven?"
"Just trust me. Seven more. You'll thank me
later."
I sigh, slap on a fake smile and wave over
the next guy in the line. "You're buying me a pizza too, you slave
driver."
This is torture. I know seven more books is
nothing after signing hundreds, but this feels like those final few
sit ups you force yourself to do to hit your target. Every one is
total agony. I just want to get the hell out of here and
relax.
Four more.
Three more.
Two more.
Last... fucking... one.
"Even better than
Jaisalmer Dawn
."
I'd know that voice anywhere.
My head snaps up from the book I'm signing
to the man standing on the other side of the table, and as I see
his face my brain decides this is the perfect moment to forget the
English language.
"
Sain bainuu!"
I blurt out, before I catch myself and realize
I've just greeted the man in front of me in Mongolian. "I mean hi!
Jesus, Rafe! Is that really you?"
"Hey, Princess. How've you been?"
The moment my eyes meet his there's no
doubt in my mind. He may be seven years older and he may be wearing
a well cut suit and a neat, close hair cut, but those eyes haven't
changed a bit. That dazzling, piercing blue still cuts through to
the depths of my soul, and there's no force on earth that could
make me look away.
"I, ummm, I...
Jesus,
it's really you isn't it?"
Rafe laughs at my bumbling shock. "It's
really me, Madison. Now are you gonna sign my book or not? I've
been waiting years for this."
"Yeah, of course, sorry," I say, scribbling
my signature without breaking eye contact. "I just can't believe
you're here. What are you doing in New York?"
Rafe smiles. I melt. "I live here now. I'm
back in the old apartment, you know? That jackass left it to me
when he died."
"Oh, your dad?" I don't know what to say. "I'm sorry. Ummm.
Look, I'm just finishing up here. You wanna go get a coffee or
something? Catch up?"
Please say yes.
"Damn, I'm really sorry but I have to be
somewhere," he replies. "I didn't think the line would be so long,
and I'm already late for a meeting."
Fuck.
"I kinda wish you'd got in touch sooner, I have to head to
LA tomorrow for a couple of TV spots, and my folks are in town
tonight. I'd invite you along to dinner, but... well, you
know."
Rafe looks disappointed, but he shakes it
off. "Yeah, no, I totally understand." He reaches out for the pen
in my hand, and as his fingers brush against mine it feels like a
tiny little spark arches between us for a split second. "Look, if
you find you're free later tonight I'm playing with my band at a
little place not too far away." He takes out a business card and
scrawls on the back. "Here's the address. It's kind of a weird
little pop up bar and it doesn't have a name, but just look for the
tables outside. You can't miss it. It'd be great to catch up if you
have the time."
"I'll try," I say, my hand shaking a little
as I pluck the card from his fingers.
Rafe glances at his watch. "Shit, I gotta
get going." He sighs. "Well, it was great to see you, Princess. I
hope I see you soon."
I smile back at him. "Yeah, I hope so. I'll really try to
make it tonight. Sorry we couldn't hook up sooner."
Damn, bad choice of
words.
"Well, you know what I mean."
Rafe flashes a grin. "Yeah, I'm sorry too."
He turns away from me. "Nice to see you, Penny."
Penny's staring at me open-mouthed as she
replies to him. "Yeah, Rafe, great to see you."
Rafe gives me a final smile before turning
away, and Penny and I both watch as he winds his way though the
store to the door.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Penny asks,
turning back to me. "Seriously, Mad, did you hit your head when you
fell off that horse?"
"What are you talking about?"
Penny looks like she's about to explode.
"I'm talking about you blowing off the love of your life because of
a fucking scheduling conflict."
I shake my head. "Look Pen, that was all a long time ago.
I'm over him. Really."
Yeah, right.
Penny laughs. "Madison Moriarty, I've known
you since you went to school with a Sesame Street lunch box. Don't
you even try to lie to me. Look, I know you went to Mongolia to try
to get over him, and I know it didn't work. Can't be done. That guy
worked his way into your heart seven damned years ago, and he's
been living there ever since. I'll ask again: are you fucking
kidding me?"
I look down at my stack of books, and not for the first
time I wish I really felt like the confident woman in the picture
on the dust cover, even if it meant I had to wear that stupid hat.
"I... look, I just...
fuck...
it took me years to get myself back together after
the last time. It was fucking hell! Of course I want to see him! I
want to chase him down the street and drag him into an alley, but
I'm trying to be sensible about this. Look at me, Pen. I've got a
life. I've got a career, and it isn't half bad. I can write my own
check with the publisher. I can travel anywhere in the world, see
crazy shit, hook up with anyone I want and write about my
adventures. I know it doesn't sound like it, but that's the
sensible option right now. You know, that's the best thing for my
career. Maybe it's OK to wait until later before I start looking
for love."
Penny starts angrily stacking my books,
banging them loudly on the table as she works. "That's fine,
Madison. If that's what you want to tell yourself, you go right
ahead and travel the world, but you and I both know you've already
found love. You're just too scared to grab it.”