I wish I were in New York tonight. I wish I could be there for my dear friend Kimberlee’s book signing (At Borders, Columbus Circle, 7pm). I called today, leaving a message on her voicemail. "Now, when you go to a bar and meet the man of your dreams, and he asks you, ‘So, what you do for a living?’ you can officially tell him, ‘I’m an author.’" Then I clarified, "Well, I’m not saying you have to meet him in a bar."
I wish I were there, that I could live the night and moments with her at her first book reading and signing. They’d introduce her, welcoming her to the podium. And mine would be the loudest voice in the room. So loud people might turn to look. This isn’t Madison Square Garden, a woman in overalls would think. Then all eyes would be on my gumdrop of a friend, watching her beam with delight in her moment. She’d be a piston of nerves and adrenaline, and be surprised by the vibrancy of the night. Because this would be unlike her many other performances. And maybe a part of her would wish the people of her past, the people in her life now, who’d known her up until this "before and after" moment, could share it all with her. But the thoughts would pass because she’d remind herself to breathe. Because that’s the way Kimberlee Auerbach rolls.
Her memoir, The Devil, the Lovers, and me isn’t just funny and brimming with wisdom; it’s also now in stores. And tonight, she’ll be signing it, celebrating all of it. And she’ll be unable to fall asleep later, the events of the day pressing her, unfolding again. She’ll hit replay, and perhaps pause, remembering the reader who thanked her for putting her work into the world, the one who laughed until she snorted, the one who said, "I haven’t read it yet, but I read about you on Stephanie Klein’s blog, and I’m really looking forward to it." Congratulate her for me. You’ll see, she’s intoxicating, her energy infectious, and you’ll be both lucky and happy to be a part of it.