Underwood, Scotch, and Cry by Brian Meeks

Author:Brian Meeks [Meeks, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Brian D. Meeks
Published: 2016-07-29T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Arthur couldn't get a firm commitment from Kat to join him for dinner at the Salon. She had given him a maybe. Since the bet, he had been rather scarce, and when he arrived Mr. Jenkins greeted him warmly.

"Hello, Mr. Jenkins. How is my favorite salon operator?"

"Just fine, Mr. Byrne. We've missed you around here."

"I've been stringing words together in a series of sentences that may or may not be worth reviewing while sipping a brandy by the fireplace."

"That may or may not sound intriguing."

"Truth be told, I don't know if the science fiction readers are brandy drinkers."

"I like brandy and a good book. I'm sure yours will be excellent."

"So, has James been around?"

"Every night. He's been quite the...well...let's just say that lines have been drawn, and people are choosing sides."

"Are they?"

"You'll see."

It was as if he walked into Cheers and was named Norm.

There were faces he knew and quite a few he didn't. Hands were shook, waves were returned, and a few selfie requests were granted. All this before he got to the bar.

"Glenlivet, neat, and do you suppose someone might be able to whip me up some eggs Benedict? I have a craving."

"Derrick makes a great eggs Benedict. I'm sure it will be no problem."

It didn't seem James and his posse were around. Arthur hadn't seen or heard them, and he could always hear James.

The bartender must have been new because Arthur didn't know him. He usually liked to mingle with the staff, but at present he was more interested in getting lost in his thoughts.

There was plenty to mull over: most of it unpleasant worrying that he was pretty sure would be counterproductive. The one place he could take his thoughts where they would be left alone by his less-than-helpful inner voice was the writing.

He'd gotten his character through the introduction to the aliens, and they were getting along famously. That was the problem. He needed conflict and was drawing a blank.

How many times had Arthur lectured his students on avoiding the temptation to protect their beloved protagonists?

He thought about a senior he'd had in class about a decade before. Her name escaped him. She was six-foot-two-inches tall with an offensive tackle's body and a painfully shy demeanor. In her first paper she'd written about her childhood and the cruel kids in her neighborhood. It had been less than impressive, but her second paper, an analysis of Catcher in the Rye, had shown a depth of understanding of Holden that blew him away.

She could see the hidden layers that were woven into great literature in a way that eluded all the other students...and many of the professors he knew.

It wasn't even a paper for one of his classes that she brought him. The comments left on the story by his creative writing colleague, Ms. Gloriam, were bordering on cruel. As a rule, Arthur approved of using one's position to crush the hopes and dreams of the young. It's the reason why people go into academia. But this time, he sensed that this woman's dreams might be worth saving.

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