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"Frasier! How's it going, son?"
Frasier would curl into a ball if eyes weren't on him. The eyes of Seattle's cultured, to be precise: the literati and passionate fans who wanted KACL's psychiatrist to sign Notes From a Windbag. Reacting to Dad and Niles would paint him as even more neurotic.
"Dad! Niles!" he said instead with as genuine a smile he could manage. "What brings you here?"
Dad smiled back and leaned over the clothed table. "You know why. Show him, Niles!" A smirking Niles put down a copy, conveniently opened to the front's blank page.
"Perhaps you could appreciate me elsewhere," Frasier muttered as they hovered. And not take time! They were holding up the line!
"Pish posh! Seattle must know about its newest author!" Niles reached into his jacket and pulled out a marker. "Sign?"
Frasier grumblingly took the marker and uncapped it. "To?"
"To Niles Crane, Frasier's smarter, better, and far hotter brother." Niles accentuated this point by combing his hair with his fingers.
Not to mention windbaggier, thought Frasier. "To my numpty of a brother: I told you so," he narrated as he wrote, appreciating the marker's pleasant scratches. He scribbled his signature and moved to cap the marker before stopping and glancing at Dad. "You want anything?"
"Nah. This stuff's too smart for me." Dad's eyes widened. "Although..." As Frasier raised an eyebrow, Dad reached into his jacket and emerged with a card. A football card. A card of none other than Seahawks cornerback Dave Brown. Frasier's heart spiraled faster than a punt.
"All that value gone! I forbid it!"
Dad pushed the card into Frasier's hands despite his sputtering protests. "They'll bid on Frasier Crane's memorabilia in fifty years."
"I somehow doubt that." Gritting his teeth and squashing his anger, Frasier wrote, "In the event the 'Hawks win a Super Bowl: Frasier was here." He thrust back the card and capped the marker. "Now scram!" He smiled and chuckled as Seattle's eyes turned to him. "I mean... thank you for your interest in Notes From a Windbag! Do remember to read my later works." If they're ever published, he thought with an exhale.
Niles grinningly pocketed his marker. "Bravissimo! I don't know why you haven't joined the Opera!"
"Kid's right," Dad laughed as he gingerly removed his card. "Far better joint than writing books for nerds."
Frasier glared daggers at them. "I'll consider it. Goodbye." He leaned back and put his hands behind his head; two more hours and he was home free. "Hello!" he said as the line churned. "What can I do for you? Take a picture? Recite a catchphrase?"
"Tell me why you did that to my card."
Frasier shot to attention and boggled: before him, book shoved as eagerly as Niles, was the very person whose card he'd defaced. Dave Brown smiled. "I'm not upset! I love your show!"
"Thank you," Frasier mumbled, unsure why he wasn't catatonic.
"Seriously! I'll pay you good money to sign something else!" Dave shook his head. "Damn, man. My friends will be so jealous I met Frasier Crane..." Frasier nodded and reached for a pen. Perhaps it was good his family called—highs always came after abysmal lows.