I waved Gerry over, anxious to get back to Rory. It wasn't the idea of sex either. Sure, he was waiting naked in bed, but I just wanted to hold him and—I grabbed the tray of pinchos—eat snacks in bed and watch television and talk like all these other people did every night. "Comp Darrin's tab and call him a cab when it's time to go home. I need to get back upstairs. Thanks for stopping by to tell me about this, Darrin." I squeezed his shoulder and slid off my barstool.
I had just put my foot on the bottom step when a tide of energy swept me up. Loud voices and audible urgency filled the room. I spun around, caught in the moment. An ashen faced young man, one I didn't really recognize but thought I'd seen with Gerry in the past, clutched the bar and whispered urgently. Gerry's face paled and he sought my gaze. I moved toward them by instinct, saw Darrin drop his half-eaten burger and rise as well.
"What is it?" We hemmed the young man in between us and the bar, and I could tell right off that he didn't like that. He kept looking at the front door, and it couldn't have been more obvious that he wanted desperately to run. Disregarding his obvious discomfort, I reached across his shoulder to put the tray of food on the bar.
"There's a body in your bathroom."
About the Author
Somewhere in a small town in up-state New York are a librarian and a second grade teacher to whom I owe my life. That might be a touch dramatic, but it’s nevertheless one hundred percent true. Because they taught me the joy of reading, of escaping into worlds crafted of words. Have you ever been nine years old and sure of nothing so much as that you don’t belong? Looked at the world from behind glasses, and wondered why you don’t fit? Then turn the page and see… there you are, running from Injun Joe in a dark graveyard; there you are fencing with Athos; there you are…beneath the deep blue sea- marveling at exotic creatures with Captain Nemo. I found myself between the pages of books, and that is why I write now, it’s why I taught English and literature for so many years, and it’s why my house contains more pounds of books than furniture. If I’d had my way, I’d have been a fencer…or a starship captain, or a lawyer, or a detective solving crimes. But instead, I am a writer, and that’s the best thing in the world to be if you ask me, because as a writer, I can be all those things and more. If I hadn’t learned to value the stories between the pages, who knows what would have happened? Certainly not college…teaching…or writing.