After the Workshop by John McNally

Author:John McNally [McNally, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary, Writing, cookie429, Kat, Extratorrents
ISBN: 9781582435602
Publisher: Counterpoint
Published: 2010-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

21

AFTER MY NAP, I found S. S. wide awake and reading Lucy Rogan’s romance novel. S. S. said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I asked your neighbor if he had a spare key. The poor fellow. He can’t unzip his own pants. I had to undress him.”

“You undressed M. Cat?”

S. S. nodded. “He decided it was best if he stayed nude all day. No buttons, no zippers.”

“That’s his solution?” I asked. “To walk around naked?”

“Frankly, I couldn’t think of a better one,” S. S. said. “I actually thought it was kind of ingenious, to tell you the truth.” S. S. looked down at Lucy Rogan’s novel, folded the corner of one of the pages, and shut it. He said, “It isn’t bad. A few good passages scattered about. I especially like the way she uses the word stiffly. As in, ‘He shook her hand stiffly.’”

“Where did you go?” I asked.

“Go?”

“I went back to the hospital,” I said, “and you were gone.”

“Oh, that. Yes, well, they finished up with me in no time. I didn’t know what to do, so I wandered about. I figured we’d find each other again, sooner or later.”

“And we did,” I said.

“We did indeed,” S. S. said. His eyes, with their sagging pouches of fat beneath them, weren’t as bright as they’d been all those years ago, and lines extended downward from the corners of his mouth, making him look like he was perpetually frowning, even when he smiled. But he looked even worse for wear this afternoon, worse than he had this morning. I figured it was the pain in his hand, so I didn’t ask.

“I have to go to a reading tonight,” I said.

“I’ll go with you,” S. S. said. “If you don’t mind the company of an invalid.” He raised his hand, like a dog with an injured paw, to show me.

“Tate Rinehart’s reading,” I said.

S. S. grimaced. “Good God. What’s the name of that book of his? The Prince of SoHo?”

“The Duke of Battery Park,” I said.

“Oh, yes, that’s right. And what’s it about?”

“It’s The Prince and the Pauper. Only set in New York. In contemporary times. I hadn’t realized that, though, until today.”

“Clever boy,” S. S. said. “Why do people like us, you and I, bother making something up whole cloth? I mean, really, we’d save ourselves a good deal of time, don’t you think?”

“I’m not a writer,” I said. “Remember?”

“Nonsense. Someone with your talent? You’re in a slump, that’s all. I’m in a slump myself. I—”

“Enough,” I said, much too sharply. “Please.”

S. S. nodded. He picked up Lucy Rogan’s romance and studied the cover. “Why don’t I ever meet women who look like this?” he asked. When I didn’t say anything, he set the book down and said, “Well. Shall we go?”

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