Bennett Beset
This is post 2 of Section I. To see Post 1, go here.
He drummed his fingers against one another. Even here in his sanctum he was beset with dangers. There on his desk was his new computer, no doubt even now secretly begging its manufacturer to restore it to the corporate bosom. Next to it was the telephone, always fraught with menace. If he were to use it he would no doubt discover either that he had utterly forgotten some familiar number—his daughter’s, for instance—or that the old comrade he wished to reach had moved to an assisted living or some more permanent arrangement with the great Activities Director of us all.
Also on the desk, though there was scarcely room, was his Metropolitan Museum of Art desk calendar (the Pontius Palm Pilate his daughter had given him was dropped discreetly into the lower right hand drawer). Engagements already made held more certain peril. “Dinner tonight,” Gwen had written in her precise hand. “Robert’s.” It was not just any dinner, either. Tonight they were to be presented to Robert’s fiancé, the love of his life, the fruit of his strenuous labors at the Twinkletoes Athletic Club. Bennett supposed he must select an unstained tie for the occasion.
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He drummed his fingers against one another. Even here in his sanctum he was beset with dangers. There on his desk was his new computer, no doubt even now secretly begging its manufacturer to restore it to the corporate bosom. Next to it was the telephone, always fraught with menace. If he were to use it he would no doubt discover either that he had utterly forgotten some familiar number—his daughter’s, for instance—or that the old comrade he wished to reach had moved to an assisted living or some more permanent arrangement with the great Activities Director of us all.
Also on the desk, though there was scarcely room, was his Metropolitan Museum of Art desk calendar (the Pontius Palm Pilate his daughter had given him was dropped discreetly into the lower right hand drawer). Engagements already made held more certain peril. “Dinner tonight,” Gwen had written in her precise hand. “Robert’s.” It was not just any dinner, either. Tonight they were to be presented to Robert’s fiancé, the love of his life, the fruit of his strenuous labors at the Twinkletoes Athletic Club. Bennett supposed he must select an unstained tie for the occasion.
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posted by Hobbes at 8:49 PM
6 Comments:
I really like your grown-up writing.
Boy, that Bennett is quite a curmudgeon. He's griping about having to wear a clean tie! He needs a good nip in the tush! And maybe a good strenuous workout at the Twinkletoes club with his son, the bassoon player ! (it's required that bassoon players be gay, do you know why?)
This guy is paranoid or something. He has a cell phone and desk phone and won't use either, and a slob with a messy desk and food splattered ties. And he acts like a recluse. Afraid to live and scared of death. Then he marries a perfectionist roustabout. Then he wonders about his son?
Thanks, Doug. Your compliments mean a lot.
SP: Don't worry. He will get his. I've noticed about the bassoonists. Even the women. But actually at the nearest good music school down here, the bassoonist is very good and straight. One of his students will be playing on From the Top soon.
T&I: Good reading. Thanks.
Sorry I started reading so late. Like the mood it sets. The Professor is in his sanctum, his realm, the place that he is in charge and control of things. But all the details seem to say the opposite.
I don't have to wait and see what happens. I can go right on to the next post. Ha!
Thanks, Indie. It's good to see you around wherever.
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