On the Way to Robert's
This is post 5 of Section I. To begin at the beginning, go here.
“How was your meeting?” he asked apprehensively as he maneuvered their old Mercedes through rush-hour traffic.
“Very exciting,” Gwen said, not looking at him. “We’re planning for the parade, you know.”
“Oh?” Bennett groaned inwardly. Last year his son had been playing jazz on a float, wearing the see-through thing, of course. Made the evening news.
“I think we’ll be toward the rear,” Gwen said brightly. “Just behind the Transgendered Brigade, but ahead of the AIDS Quilt, of course.”
“Ah,” Bennett said, changing lanes expertly.
“You could lose yourself in the crowd, you know,” she ventured, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.
He concentrated on traffic. “Correct me if I am wrong,” Bennett said, “but I recall that last year you were engulfed by a gang of leather-clad Harpy motorcyclists, whom you assisted in holding an inconspicuous lavender parachute inscribed ‘Her-ley Davidson.’ I--”
“Oh for heaven’s sakes, Ed,” she said, turning to face him. “That was only because I sprained my ankle, and for your information the young woman who so kindly let me ride with her turned out to have met Chloe at a literary conference.”
Bennett made a strangled noise to stifle his “What is the profession coming to?” tirade and patted Gwen’s leg. “I’ll think about it,” he said, which was true, if recurrent nightmares counted as thought.
Continue
“How was your meeting?” he asked apprehensively as he maneuvered their old Mercedes through rush-hour traffic.
“Very exciting,” Gwen said, not looking at him. “We’re planning for the parade, you know.”
“Oh?” Bennett groaned inwardly. Last year his son had been playing jazz on a float, wearing the see-through thing, of course. Made the evening news.
“I think we’ll be toward the rear,” Gwen said brightly. “Just behind the Transgendered Brigade, but ahead of the AIDS Quilt, of course.”
“Ah,” Bennett said, changing lanes expertly.
“You could lose yourself in the crowd, you know,” she ventured, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.
He concentrated on traffic. “Correct me if I am wrong,” Bennett said, “but I recall that last year you were engulfed by a gang of leather-clad Harpy motorcyclists, whom you assisted in holding an inconspicuous lavender parachute inscribed ‘Her-ley Davidson.’ I--”
“Oh for heaven’s sakes, Ed,” she said, turning to face him. “That was only because I sprained my ankle, and for your information the young woman who so kindly let me ride with her turned out to have met Chloe at a literary conference.”
Bennett made a strangled noise to stifle his “What is the profession coming to?” tirade and patted Gwen’s leg. “I’ll think about it,” he said, which was true, if recurrent nightmares counted as thought.
Continue
posted by Hobbes at 9:07 PM
8 Comments:
I wonder if Baxter and Baily will be in the parade?
What does Bennet have against harpies? I'm offended.
T&I: Gwen would be happy to have them.
Doug: I'm sorry. I didn't know about your sister. But Bennett is just narrow-minded. I'm sorry.
I played the harp in the marching band.
I like that last line about the recurrent nightmares. Don't think I ever saw that thought expressed in just that manner.
Oh, that's cold.
Well Dog Breth, I hope you enjoyed it because none of us thinks you are going to get to play one in HEAVEN!!!!!!
Thanks, and thanks for visiting, Indie.
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