by Ann McMan
Kate grimaced, and not because of her ankle. “I never said your book was conventional.”
“You didn’t?” Harris asked. “I’m pretty sure you said it was ‘full of clichés and worn out conventions.’” She looked at Kate. “I guess that’s not the same thing?”
Kate was getting pissed off. She wanted nothing more than to be back in her room—alone—and away from this annoying woman. “It’s not the same thing, and you know it as well as I do.”
“Oh, really? Care to enlighten me?”
Kate glared at her. “I don’t think Mother Teresa could enlighten you. Why the hell should I try?” She tried to pull her arm away, but Shawn held on.
“Now, now. Don’t be stupid. You need to hang on to me until we reach your room, or you’ll fall flat on your cute little ass.” She squeezed her arm. “Again.”
Kate was furious with her. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Let’s see . . .” Shawn looked like she was pretending to think about it. “Yeah. I am.”
“Fine. Let’s have it your way. I’d be happy to tell you exactly what I thought about your debut novel.”
“Too little, too late, Winston. You’ve already shared your unique perspective with me, and with about eighty-thousand of your closest friends.”
Kate shook her head. “You’re not hearing me. I said I’d tell you what I thought—not what the critic paid by Gilded Lily thought.”
Shawn looked at her. “There’s a difference?”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Of course there’s a difference.”
They walked along in silence for a moment.
“Color me so confused,” Shawn said.
Kate limped along without speaking.
Shawn tried again.
“Or if you don’t want to do that, you can always just Color Me Barbra.”
Kate looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Hey, it was a seminal recording,” Shawn explained. “In my house, your choices were Barbra Streisand or the best of Fred Waring and The Pennsylvanians. Believe me, it wasn’t pretty.”
Against her will, Kate laughed.
“Imagine my complete confusion when they moved me to North Carolina at age twelve. Now you know why I escaped to Japan. It was about as far as I could go without ending up back where I started.”
Kate was surprised. “You really did that?”
“Really did what?”
“You really went to Japan?”
“Of course I did.”
Kate was silent.
“What did you think? That I just got all that shit off Wikipedia?”
Kate didn’t respond.
Shawn shook her head in amazement. “That’s what you thought, isn’t it? That I just pulled that stuff outta my ass.”
“No, that’s not what I thought. In fact, I thought the whole Japan section of your book was beautifully written. Authentic. Almost transcendent in its originality.”
Shawn stared at her stunned. “Then why the fuck didn’t you say that?”
“Because it’s not my job to jack-off new authors who are drinking their own Kool Aid. Your fans were already canonizing you, and it was clear that you were well on your way to a more mainstream market. In my view, you needed to take a few body blows to toughen you up before you jumped headfirst into the big leagues.”
Shawn looked incredulous. “Just who the hell do you think you are. Some twisted, Internet incarnation of Albert Schweitzer? Trust me. Your brand of help I could do without.”
“Oh, please. You thought I was hard on you? You wait until the New York Times Book Review sinks its teeth into your pampered little ego. Mark my words—if you crank out another novel that caves in to the same worn-out, hackneyed conventions we’ve all read a zillion times, the best you can ever hope for will be competing for space in the remainder bin at Books-A-Million.”
Shawn didn’t reply, but Kate could tell that she was fuming. A band of red was slowly making its way up her neck, rising above the collar of her gray t-shirt. Kate came to an abrupt halt in front of a door.
“This is me.”
Shawn let go of her arm. “It sure is.”
Kate fumbled in the pocket of her shorts for her key card. In a few more seconds, she’d be safe and alone in her room, and the events of this evening would just be a bad memory. Correction. Another bad memory. She seemed to be racking them up with gusto these days.
“Thanks for the help,” she said without emotion.
Shawn shrugged. “Wish I could say the same.”
Kate sighed. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“That you will. We can continue our lively discussion then.”
Kate turned away from her without speaking and inserted her card into the slot on the door. The tiny green light flashed, and she opened the door and stepped inside. Just inside the doorway, her sock-clad foot slid across something in a plastic bag on the floor. She skated forward like a bare tire on wet pavement and made a frantic but futile grab for the doorframe. As she crashed to the floor for the third time that night, she thought morosely that at least no one could accuse her of failing to add variety to her many misfortunes.
Shawn was stunned. One second, she was staring at the back of Kate Winston’s head of short hair. The next second, she was staring at . . . nothing.
What the fuck?
She looked down. Kate was on the floor again. She’d gone down so quietly that Shawn wouldn’t even have noticed if she’d turned away when Kate unlocked her door.
“What the hell happened?” she asked, squatting behind her.
“What the hell do you think happened?” Kate replied.
“You fell again?”
Kate let out a slow breath. “I bet you were the brightest one in your class, weren’t you?”
Shawn ignored the remark. “Why did you fall? Is it your ankle?”
“No.” Kate rummaged around on the floor and pulled something out from beneath her butt. “I slipped on this.” She looked it over, and then held it up in disgust. “Welcome to CLIT-Con.”
Shawn took it from her. It was a flimsy plastic bag filled with handouts and brochures advertising attractions in and around San Diego. There also were a couple dozen, brightly-colored pellet-like items loose in the bag.
“What are these little bead-like things?” she asked, holding the bag up to the light.
Kate craned her neck around to look, too. She grabbed the corner of the bag and rubbed a few of them together. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?” Shawn looked at her.
“They’re fucking Tic Tacs. Who the hell would put Tic Tacs loose in a bag on the floor?”
Shawn thought about it.
“Someone who’s out drumming up business for a personal injury lawyer?”
“Why didn’t they just use ball bearings? There certainly can’t be any shortage of those at this damn conference.”
“Now, now.” Shawn wagged an index finger at her. “Take care not to indulge in any of those stereotypes you hate so much.”
“Go to hell.”
Shawn slowly shook her head. “Tell me. Does that thing hurt?”
“Does what thing hurt?”
“That stick up your ass. By my calculation, this is the third time tonight you’ve wound up sitting on it.”
“I reiterate—go to hell.”
Kate tried to shift herself into a different position so she could stand up. She winced in pain and dropped back to the floor.
“Let me help you stand up,” Shawn offered.
Kate shook her head.
“Oh, come on,” Shawn persisted. “I’ll just help you inside and then I’ll leave you alone to sit and brood in uninterrupted solitude.”
Kate sat there another few seconds, then she sighed. “All right. But I’m only agreeing because I don’t want to spend the night sitting here on this hideous carpet.”
Shawn nodded. “It does sort of clash with your ensemble.”
“Y
ou think? It looks like a damn reject from the Heywood Hale Broun collection.”
Shawn reached beneath Kate’s arms and lifted her up into a standing position. “You know, you’re actually pretty funny—when you’re not busy gnawing the entrails of fledgling authors.”
Kate winced. Shawn wasn’t sure if she was trying to suppress a smile, or because of the effort it took for her to stand up. It was clear that her ankle was hurting a lot.
“Put your arm around my neck,” Shawn suggested. “It’ll be easier for you to walk.”
Kate looked dubious.
“I promise that I won’t take advantage of your weakened state and cop a feel like your fans at the erotic table downstairs.”
“You saw that?”
Shawn nodded. “It was kind of hard to miss. I mean, you don’t get to see a nice ass coated with cheese every day.”
“Oh god.” Kate gingerly draped an arm around Shawn’s shoulders. “I’ll never live this down.”
“Buck up, Brünnhilde. If this Dorothy Parker gig doesn’t work out, you can always go back to being chief of the Valkyries.”
“Anybody ever tell you that you’re annoying and a total wiseass?”
Shawn laughed. “Add frumpy and you could be channeling my mother.”
They started the slow journey across Kate’s room.
“Your mother thinks you’re a frumpy and annoying wiseass?”
Shawn nodded. “And an old maid.”
“I think I like her.”
“She’s a Jew from Lower Merion who has elevated misery to the level of art.”
“Now I know I like her.”
“Either you’re a freak with a fondness for scrapple and the Mummer’s Day Parade, or you’re just eager to side with anyone who wholly disapproves of me.”
“Are these the only options?”
Shawn nodded.
“Yes.”
“I should have left you in the hallway.”
“But you didn’t,” Kate said. She winced again as they reached an overstuffed armchair. Shawn kicked its matching ottoman to the side so she could help her sit down.
“Why not?”
“Because you already said I had a nice ass.”
“Don’t let that go to your head, Blogula. I happen to think that anything covered in cheese is nice.”
“A woman of discrimination.”
“So unlike yourself.”
“And by the way . . . Blogula?”
Shawn nodded enthusiastically. “Like it? It’s kind of a pet name I have for you.”
“Charming.” Kate shook her head. “Well, I guess it’s no worse than Eraserhead.”
“You know about that one?”
Kate gave her a withering look.
“In fact,” Shawn stood back and looked her over, “I think your haircut is quite utilitarian.”
“Utilitarian?”
“Sure. It gives you a great place to store all those discarded cocktail picks.”
Kate rolled her eyes. “Okay. You’ve earned your Girl Scout badge for this evening. Why don’t you mosey along and find another place to exercise your beneficence?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Now I’m certain that you were the brightest one in your class.”
Shawn sighed. “Well, I guess I could go and get a head start on setting up my cookie concession.”
“Off you go.” Kate waved a hand. “Save me a box of Tagalongs.”
“How about we score you a couple of Ibuprofen, instead?” Shawn pointed at her ankle. “It might help keep the swelling down.”
Kate sighed. “You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?”
“Apparently. I even watched all twenty-seven of the Republican Primary debates.”
“Ahh. You’re a glutton and a masochist.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me that you didn’t manage to get caught up in any of the national Tea Party road show. It made for better TV than back-to-back episodes of Pawn Stars.”
Kate looked confused. “There’s a Presidential election this year?”
Shawn rolled her eyes. ““Nice try. How about that Ibuprofen? Got anything like that here?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, but I can’t take any right now.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s Advil P.M., and I haven’t eaten anything since this morning. I think it would knock me on my ass.”
Shawn tried not to smile. As soon as the words were out of Kate’s mouth, she realized what she had said. She dropped her head into her hands.
“Somebody up there hates me.”
Shawn patted the toe of the one shoe Kate still had on. “No worries, Eraserhead. Help is still at hand.”
She went to the telephone on top of a nightstand and picked up the receiver.
Kate lifted her head. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Ordering you some dinner.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can.” Shawn ran a fingertip down the directory of services printed on the face of the telephone. “How to call room service was the first thing they taught us in Scouting. Well, right after we learned how to make a travois out of drapery rods and discarded bikini wax strips. See?” She punched in a sequence of numbers. “You just push these little buttons, and presto. Minions way down in the bowels of the hotel rush to minister to your every need.”
“Where the hell was this Girl Scout troop?”
Shawn held the receiver up to her ear. “I told you . . . Main Line Philadelphia.”
“It figures.”
“Hello? Room Service? Yes. This is Miss Winston in Room 816. I’d like to order a . . .” She looked at Kate with a raised eyebrow.
Kate sighed. “A cobb salad.”
“A cobb salad,” Shawn repeated.
“But no hardboiled egg.”
“No hardboiled egg,” Shawn said.
“And no croutons, but extra bacon.”
Shawn dropped the phone to her chest and stared at Kate.
Kate shrugged.
Shawn tried again. “No croutons, but add extra bacon.”
Kate wasn’t finished. “No processed cheese, either.”
Shawn sighed and closed her eyes. “No cheese.”
“I didn’t say no cheese,” Kate hissed. “I said no processed cheese.”
Shawn counted to three. “Can you tell me what kinds of cheese you have?” She listened, and then turned to Kate.
“They have cheddar, Swiss, parmesan, Monterey Jack, and bleu.”
Kate thought about it. “Is the bleu cheese made from soy?”
Shawn barely refrained from strangling Kate. “Fuck the cheese. What kind of dressing?”
“Vinaigrette,” Kate said.
“Vinaigrette dressing,” Shawn said into the phone.
“But only if it’s made with EVOO,” Kate added. “And I want it on the side.”
Shawn had had enough. “Listen,” she said to the minion on the line. “Forget all of that bullshit and just bring me a bacon double cheeseburger with an extra-large side of fries.”
Kate looked horrified. “Are you crazy?”
Shawn ignored her. “That’s right. And make it two of each.”
“I am so not eating that.”
Shawn looked at her. “You’ll eat it all right, and you’ll pay for it, too.”
Kate thought about it. “Extra mustard.”
Shawn smiled. “Extra mustard. And throw in a bottle of Darioush and two glasses.”
“I don’t agree with that at all.”
Kate was sopping up the last of the mustard with a soggy French fry.
“Of course you don’t,” Shawn said. “If you ever agreed with me about anything, you’d have to enter a witness relocation program.”
“That’s not true,” Kate said. She held up her wine glass. “What about this?”
“I don’t think this counts.”
“Why not?”
“Oh come on
. Who wouldn’t like a really fine Shiraz?”
“You saw the Gyno Galaxy series, right?”
Shawn sighed. “You know I did.”
“Oh, that’s right. You did go down on it . . . in a manner of speaking.”
“Very funny.”
“Your gymnastic feats aside, V. Jay-Jay Singh has been known to open beer bottles with her . . . well . . .”
Shawn was intrigued. “With her what?”
“Use your imagination.”
Shawn thought about that for few moments. “No way!”
“Way.”
“Nuh uh.”
“Uh huh.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t really care.”
Shawn looked down in the general vicinity of her own . . . opener and shuddered. “That’s not even possible.”
Kate shrugged.
“Is it?”
Kate shrugged again.
“And they think we’d be a better draw for the opening session than that?”
“Shawn, I really don’t think they thought about having V. Jay-Jay demonstrate this particular gift.”
“Too bad.” Shawn sighed. “I think it would’ve attracted truckers from ten states.”
“Trust me. Anything named CLIT-Con would attract truckers.”
“Yeah, but they’d all think it was something that required penicillin.”
“They certainly could’ve sold a shitload of koozies.”
Shawn snagged another French fry from Kate’s plate. “Did you eat all the mustard?”
“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you did eat all of your fries and half of mine.”
“Yeah? Well you ate all of your burger and half of mine.”
“Did not.”
“Did, too.”
“I only ate your bacon. It’s not the same thing.”
“It is when it’s sitting on top of a bacon cheeseburger.”
Kate sighed. “Eating the bacon hardly qualifies as eating half of the sandwich.”
“Does, too.”
“Does not.”
“Does, too!”
“See?” Kate rolled her eyes. “This is exactly what I meant when I pointed out your fondness for excessive statement.”
“Gimme a break, Winston. One thing has nothing to do with the other.”
Shawn shifted her weight. They were sitting side by side on Kate’s big bed with all the food spread out across the space between them. Kate’s sore ankle was propped up on a stack of extra pillows. Shawn hadn’t intended to stay in Kate’s room to eat, but when the food arrived, Kate told her it was ridiculous to schlep it halfway across the hotel again, and that she should stay and eat her portion while it was still semi-hot.