Three Misapprehensions

         As the freckled sunset smiled like a simple country girl who still knew the sincere, natural world, my head thumped against the Plexiglass commuter train window, yet again.  My glove dropped with a wet smack on the slushy floor, at the same time.  With a resentful sneer, I decided to stay awake the last three stops.  I cherished the March sunset, for, in my dreary cubicle half-life, the sight of the sun at ten after six represented an emergence into happier seasons.
         In two days, I would be free from the office for five daylight hours, and already it was spoiled.  My voice message had told me that Deramon wasn't going to have my book ready on Saturday, in time for the party.  I told him, "Deramon, you're my publisher.  You have to have something."
         "Don't worry about it," he retorted, then hung up, too busy to discuss it.
         After spending another work day in a bad mood, I called up Cherelle.  Since she has a casual schedule, I figured, I could  email her the book.  She would have time to print it out and have it bound at Kinkos.  I had certainly helped her out before.  So, she owed me a favor.
         But, she utterly refused, and explained she was actually doing me a favor: "Why would I want to make these bootleg copies, when you have a thousand hardbound copies on order?  It wouldn't be right - or profitable.  You have to think of the profit."
         I just could not get through to her that I wanted people to have the book, physically, in their hands at the party - bootleg or not.  I tried to tell her how important it was to me - even important enough to cut into the profits.  She seemed so hard-headed sometimes.
         After spending Saturday morning (guess where) back at work, I called up Jazmin, the flamenco guitarist I had contracted for the book release.  I was calling just to confirm - just to know something was going right.
         But, Jazmin had more bad news for me - she took another gig.  When I asked her why, she told me, point-blank: "Deon, you don't really need me there.  It's your show.  The writer gets the spotlight at a book release - not a musician.  Just, put on a CD  or something to set the mood, and do your thing.  I got a better offer."
         I felt she added insult to injury, treating me like a megalomaniac.  I wrote my book just to make people happy - not to be some sort of big shot.  It was too late to even call about another musician, so I went straight to Ground Rules Cafe, to set up.
         My publisher, Deramon, wasn't there, but his wacky friend, Ronnell, was.  He was setting up a table with copies of the other books Deramon had published, leaving an embarrassing gap where mine should be.
         I paused, and thought to myself, something should be on that table.  Even if the book's not ready, some samples, stapled together, would be better than nothing.  I spent three months writing, two months revising, and one more month proofing and editing.  What do I have to show for it?
         In my mind, I reviewed how I had been betrayed.  First, and foremost, Deramon had failed me.  I could understand it better if he just brought what he had.  I didn't need all one thousand copies - just enough for the party.  Secondly, Cherelle wouldn't lift a finger to help.  I told her exactly what I wanted.  It would have been easy for her to do.  I asked her to help me get books there.  But, it seemed like she was answering a different question about helping me make a good profit.  Finally, the flaky guitarist Jazmin, ditching me at the last minute, because she thought I didn't need her.  With those three, I felt like I would be better off talking to a brick wall.  Why couldn't they understand?
         After a while, I asked Ronnell about the gap on the table.  He seemed excited, and asked me to help him set up a laptop computer.  "You're gonna love this," he told me, as he plugged in a projector.  He was avoiding an explanation, as if guarding a secret surprise.
         OK,  I thought, he's going to project my book on the wall?  Dubiously, I started the computer.
         Ronnell came over, clicked on a weblink, and there it was - my book, e-published on Amazon.  It was set up to preview the cover and the first pages, with ordering information and a place to pay with credit card and download the whole book.  Carefully, I searched until I found that it was also published in print.  Now, I felt relieved.
         Just then, Cherelle came by with her laptop.  She brought it, just in case someone wanted to take a look at the book before they ordered it.  When she found out it was e-published, she went to the Amazon site, while the full e-book was displayed by the projector.  Gently, she placed the laptop right in the gap at the table.
         I was getting more and more cheerful, as the time got closer.  Inspired, I looked up Jazmin on YouTube, and found enough videos of her flamenco guitar playing to set the mood while people walked in.
         Deramon strutted in and asked me how I felt.  I replied, "I thought everyone really let me down, but it turned out all right."