Chapter 90: The Comic-Con Triumph - Part 1
July 2010. San Diego Convention Center. Thursday morning.
The booth is ridiculous.
Twenty by twenty feet. Professional banners. Display cases with rare comics behind glass. Three signing tables. A demo area for video games. Exclusive variant covers stacked in organized rows.
Jake and Marcus arrived yesterday. Spent six hours setting up.
"This is insane," Jake says, adjusting the last banner. "We went from ten-by-ten to this?"
"Growth," I tell him.
"No, this is—Stuart, we have a waiting area. With velvet ropes."
"Wil insisted."
"Wil Wheaton insisted on velvet ropes?"
"He said it creates 'aspirational energy.'"
Marcus laughs. "That's the most Wil Wheaton thing I've ever heard."
Katie arrives with coffee. Four cups. She's wearing jeans and a shop t-shirt I had made for the event. Looks more comfortable than I've seen her in weeks.
"Ready to be a booth babe?" I ask.
"I'm a booth professional, thank you."
"My apologies."
"But yes. Ready. When do we open?"
"Ten minutes."
The convention floor opens. People flood in.
The booth gets mobbed immediately.
By noon, we've sold $8,000 in merchandise.
Katie's taking photos with fans. Her TV show has a following I didn't fully appreciate. People recognize her. Ask about the show. Then notice she's at a comic shop booth and get confused.
"Wait, you're into comics?" one fan asks.
"Dating the owner," Katie says, pointing at me.
"No way."
"Way."
"That's—that's actually really cool."
She signs autographs. Takes selfies. Chats about the show.
And sells comics.
She's a natural. Recommending titles based on quick conversations. Reading people's interests. Moving product without being pushy.
"You're good at this," I tell her during a brief lull.
"I'm good at people. Comics are just—product. People want to connect. I connect, they buy."
"That simple?"
"That simple."
Wil Wheaton shows up at two. Creates a line instantly.
He signs for an hour. Promotes the shops. Mentions our partnership. People eat it up.
"This is excellent marketing," he tells me between signatures. "Your booth's the talk of the convention."
"We're doing $15K and it's only Thursday."
"Wait until Saturday."
The industry people come in waves.
Producers I recognize from Marvel meetings. Writers from DC. Independent publishers. Podcast hosts. Bloggers with actual reach.
My Magnetism power is working overtime. Everyone wants to network. Exchange cards. "Grab coffee sometime."
A producer from Warner Bros. asks about consulting for their upcoming Green Lantern film.
"We need someone who understands comic retail. The authentic voice."
"I'm already consulting for Marvel."
"We'll pay more."
"I'll think about it."
He leaves his card. Personal cell written on the back.
Katie watches the interaction from across the booth.
"You just got offered a job," she observes.
"Happens."
"Casually. At Comic-Con. From Warner Bros."
"Apparently."
"Stuart. That's—that's huge."
"Maybe."
"Definitely huge."
I'm sorting exclusive variants. Trying to stay busy. The attention makes me uncomfortable.
Three years ago I couldn't give away comics. Now Warner Bros. wants me.
The powers work. That's what makes it easy.
That's what makes it cheating.
Friday. The panel.
Room capacity: 450. Every seat full. People standing in back.
I'm on stage with three other panelists. Comic shop owners from Portland, Austin, Chicago.
The moderator starts. "Building Geek Community Through Business. Let's talk about what makes a successful comic shop in 2010."
I talk about creating gathering spaces. Events that build community, not just move product. Treating customers like collaborators.
The audience takes notes.
I tell the story about Sheldon organizing my inventory overnight. People laugh. I spin it into a lesson about accepting help from unlikely sources.
More laughter. More notes.
Katie's in the back row. Arms crossed. Smiling.
Questions afterward run twenty minutes over.
"How do you predict trends?"
Supernatural memory of the future.
"Research. Paying attention to independent publishers. Trusting instinct."
"How did you expand so fast?"
Smart investments based on impossible knowledge.
"Good partners. Reinvesting profits. Controlled growth."
"What's next?"
Meeting my actual future wife in about fifteen minutes.
"Fourth shop opens in San Diego next month. Then we'll see."
Applause. People want photos. Business cards.
I collect 47 cards in ten minutes.
Katie finds me outside the panel room.
"That was incredible."
"It was a panel."
"You're a natural speaker. Funny. Insightful. People loved you."
"Thanks."
"I'm serious. You could do this professionally. Speaking circuit."
"I have three jobs already."
"Fair point."
We're walking back toward the booth when I see her.
Artist alley. Booth crammed between two larger displays.
Emma Chen.
The memory tingle hits hard. Not information. Just—recognition.
Important.
She's signing for a customer. Dark hair pulled back. Glasses. Concentrating on her work.
Beautiful.
My type in every aesthetic sense.
She looks up. Our eyes meet.
Something clicks.
Not logical. Not explainable.
Just—there.
I nod. Polite acknowledgment.
She nods back. Slight smile.
Then I keep walking because I'm dating Katie.
"Who was that?" Katie asks.
"Artist. Emma Chen. Does independent work."
"You know her?"
"Know of her. Seen her work online."
"She's pretty."
"I—didn't notice."
Katie laughs. "You definitely noticed. It's fine. I'm secure."
Friday night. Hotel bar. Katie and I celebrating.
"To successful Comic-Con," she toasts.
"To supportive girlfriends."
"I'm getting that on a t-shirt."
We drink. The bar's crowded. Other convention-goers. Industry people. The noise level makes conversation difficult.
"This weekend was good," Katie says. "Watching you work. Seeing your world. It's—impressive."
"Your world is TV shows and red carpets."
"My world is auditions and rejection. Yours is building something real. Creating community. That's different."
"Both valid."
"Mine's more superficial."
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Diminish your work. You're good at what you do. That matters."
She's quiet. Playing with her glass.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm good because I'm actually talented or just—lucky. Right place, right time. Right look."
"Could be both."
"That's not comforting."
"Why does it have to be one or the other? Talent opens doors. Luck walks you through them. You need both."
"Is that your philosophy?"
Yes. Because I have supernatural powers and still had to work my ass off.
"That's my observation."
We finish our drinks. Head back to the room.
She falls asleep quickly. Long day.
I lie awake thinking about Emma Chen.
The memory tingle wasn't specific. Just—significant.
Like she matters.
Somehow.
Eventually.
But I'm dating Katie.
Who I love.
Who fits my life.
Who's here now.
Emma Chen is—future.
If anything.
Probably nothing.
I close my eyes.
Sleep doesn't come easy.
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