Murder At The ABA by Asimov Isaac

Author:Asimov, Isaac [Asimov, Isaac]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

*It's the best Asimov can do, or cares to do. Any reasonable consensus would have me "strikingly handsome."

Darius Just

I would suggest, Gentle Reader, that you settle this matter for yourself. Just get a copy of any one of Darius' books and look at the jacket photo.

Isaac Asimov

16

THOMAS VALIER 6:40 P.M.

I suspect that there is scarcely an hour of the day on any day of the week that somewhere a party isn't being given, complete with bartender, free drinks, and lavish buffet.

And with enough guests imperfectly known to those in charge, it becomes possible for anyone to enter provided only that he maintain an air of cheerful self-possession and wave, now and then, to people at the other end of the room.

I am sure there are some people who manage to provide themselves with much of their food supply for the year by attending such parties—but, of course, at a price. There is the noise and the stale tobacco smoke and the crowds and the gradual accumulation of drunkenness and the indifferent food and having to watch, ad nauseam, people striving to maintain an image, make a contact or an impression, broach business, or stab an enemy.

Generally, the price is too high for me, but I notice that when I do attend such a party, I become as bad as the rest. For all I know, every single person at any such party is convinced that he (or she) alone is a real, decent human being and that everyone else is to be condemned as a phony or worse.

I didn't have an invitation, but I had my ABA badge and, if questioned, I could prove my status as a writer, if not as a bookseller. However, I wasn't questioned and I don't think the fact that I wasn't actually wearing my badge bothered anyone. Presumably, the publishing firm of Sewall, Broom and Company was investing its money in the hope of obtaining goodwill among the booksellers and any touch of nastiness in keeping out anybody, even if justified, would introduce an unpleasantness that would turn them all off. Better some wastage on party crashers than a negation of the entire purpose of the evening.

The drinks were, of course, of no interest to me, and I passed them by except for a quick study to see if Henrietta was in view. She wasn't. I had a horrible notion that if I did see her I wouldn't recognize her, for I couldn't seem to bring her face before my mind's eye. If I could hear her speak, though, I would have no trouble. My memory for hearing is much better than for seeing.

I moved over to the buffet, which consisted largely of a mountain of fried chicken and was overcome by a feeling of déjŕ vu, of having done all that before. Except that it wasn't the illusion one usually describes by that French expression, but the real thing. I had done all that before. The night before, I had stepped through a room with a bar, stopping only to look for someone, and then passing on to the buffet.

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