The last time Joël Paquet was in New York City, he nearly died. Too distracted by his problems, he didn't look when he crossed the street and was nearly made into a pancake by a transport truck in the downtown core. The only saving grace of this trip, other than the cute person working as a living statue who saved him and then took him out for coffee, was the fact that his near-death experience finally gave him the courage to come out as trans.
Five years later, Joël Paquet is one of the most in-demand horror writers in North America. Going to New York City from his current Montreal home for the Black Markets Horror Con should be exciting, but when he gets an email that uses his birth name, he nearly cancels the trip altogether. The only thing that keeps Joël going is the thought of that living statue who saved his life once before.
“Joël,” Kathy said, snapping him back to their conversation. “Joël. Come back to me. Focus.”
“Sorry, I’m here. Just ... thinking.”
“Yeah? About a new book?”
Joël laughed uneasily. “I always have a new book, you know that.”
“Yes, but I want stuff I can pitch and market for you.”
“Soon. I promise. I’m just ... thinking about the last time I was in New York, actually.”
“It’s a big city. Maybe you can set your next book there. Not that I don’t mind the small pieces of Canadiana that you put in your current ones.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe, maybe, maybe,” Kathy teased. “You know what’s good about big cities like New York?”
“What?”
“Everyone forgets. Even if you’ve gone here before as Violet, no one will remember. Don’t put yourself at the centre of the world in your own mind. People forget all the time, even things that happened fifteen minutes ago. Like that email. You’ll go to the con, and maybe you’ll have some awkward moments, but probably not. Either way, you’ll come back home to Quebec and everything will be fine. You will forget, too. Never underestimate the human mind’s ability to forget.”
When Joël glanced at the flyer with his old name, he knew what Kathy said about forgetting was true. Even though Kathy and Melissa from Aurora Press had updated Joël’s information, the Black Markets people had clearly forgotten. But Joël was still worried about what information people would choose to remember about him and where that would leave him at the end of the day.
“You know, I heard something else about New York City.”
“And what’s that, country boy?”
“Pfft.” Joël laughed. “I heard that no one could be sad in the city, because even if you were alone, there were so many other people around you. And they had stories. Everyone in NYC has a story to share. You just have to talk to them.”
“That’s nice.” From the distance in Kathy’s voice, Joël could tell she was back on her computer, possibly playing a game or maybe booking his flights for him. “The only story I’m interested in right now is yet another from my favourite horror writer.”
“Okay. I’ll get on it.”
“Good. And hey, maybe you can use whatever experience you have now -- or in NYC -- as inspiration. Curse of the Birth Name or something like that.”
“Maybe,” Joël said. “But I don’t think that’d sell well.”
“Just leave that to me. I’m emailing you plane tickets, and your finalized time table, okay?”
“Great. Thank you.”
“No worries. But Joël? From now on, just focus on yourself. Don’t look at the press releases or anything else. Just get yourself on that plane and then to Black Markets, where we can have lunch. Then, get yourself home.”
Joël imagined himself following Kathy’s plans like a video game avatar. It was how he’d envisioned most of his life anyway -- like a male character from one of his books getting up and going through the daily life events in the body he was always supposed to have. Now he had that body, more or less, so his imaginings took on a symmetry they never had before. At least, Joël thought, there was that going for him.
“All right, bonne nuit,” Kathy said.
“Bonne nuit.”
