[Story] Katy (4338 words)
Carter8882
by Scott 2003
Katy unwound the scarf from her head and opened her pea coat. She was nearly
half an hour late for dinner with Joeseph, but he didn't seem to mind. He was
sitting at the bar, enjoying his cigar and yukking it up with some of his
buddies.
"Hey! Everybody, this is Katy."
"Wow! Bonafe, she's a looker, this one. Yessirree. Quite a looker."
"Thanks."
"Katy, this is Boner..."
"Heya."
"This is Mickie, the Bitter Leprechaun."
"They say I hate all living things, but that isn't true."
"Hi."
"And Henry, without giving you his name, has already introduced himself."
"Yessiree. Quite a looker."
"Thank you. Is everyone joining us for dinner?"
"No, the guys just followed me over here after work. We had a killer day.
Killer!"
Joeseph yammered about the excitement of trading, the yelling, the screaming,
the flashing finger signs. Katy thought it all sounded like a version of street
gangs, but she tried to pay attention.
"So. You're a model, right?"
"No." Henry wasn't especially smooth, but she appreciated the effort. "No, I'm
just a waitress."
"Listen up, boys. She's not only a waitress, but she's an artist. She weaves.
She made this scarf that she's wearing." Joeseph held up her burgundy chenille
scarf.
"Actually, I bought this at Bloomingdale's."
"Oh, honey, our table's ready." The hostess was waving to them through the
growing crowd.
"Well, nice to have met you guys. Maybe I'll see you around."
The guys all assured Katy that they were looking forward to it. Joeseph grabbed
his glass and the beer bottle and followed the hostess to their table. Katy
followed the sloping shoulders in their rumpled suit coat.
"Tell our waiter we're ready to order. We have theatre tickets and we don't
want to be late."
The hostess practically curtsied for Joeseph and then toddled off in search of
the waiter.
"You got us theatre tickets? What are we seeing?"
"I just said that so they'd hurry up. If they don't think we have some place to
go, we'll be sitting here all night. Now, take a look at the menu and pick out
something nice to eat, baby."
Joeseph concentrated on his menu, his left hand swilling the remains of his
beer.
Katy flipped her menu open, but she already knew without looking that there
would be no vegetarian dishes. Lots of steaks. Three different kinds of baked
potatoes, all with either bacon or shrimp.
"Good evening. My name is Tom and I'll be your server this evening. Sir, could
I get you another beer?"
"You cut your hair."
Tom was surprised. "Yes?"
"I'm sorry. You've waited on me before. You had a ponytail then."
"I had to cut it off to get this job."
"Oh."
Tom was the perfect man. He was taller than Katy. He had a lean face, and a
nose that had obviously once been broken. His eyes were steel-colored, and
framed by sloping eyebrows.
It was the eyebrows that were always asking a gentle question that had sealed
Katy's love for Tom.
"I'll have the porterhouse, extra rare. If the inside is still cold, I'll be
happy. House salad, Rouquefort and bacon baked potato. And bring me another one
of these." Joeseph shook his beer bottle and then gave it to Tom.
"Could I have a plain baked potato and some steamed vegetables?"
"Of course."
"And a house salad with Rouquefort dressing will be just fine."
"Thank you."
Tom made a slight bow and then headed off to the kitchen.
"So, let me tell you about my day!" Joeseph launched into greater detail about
the stock market and the declaration of interest rates and the yen... Katy
nodded and supplied an appropriate 'hmmm.' every now and then, but she thought
of Tom.
He was facing her direction and the words that came out of his mouth were meant
for her. They'd had an actual conversation!
"I had to cut it off to get this job." The Shakespearean canon withered when
compared to this poetry.
The last time Katy had seen Tom was at the Film Festival. An exotic woman gave
Tom a kiss. When the woman ran off to stand in line at the concession stand,
Katy had maneuvered Joeseph past Tom. That's when he'd said his first word to
her.
"Hi."
Pithy. Unvarnished. Musical. Tom had stepped out of her way, barely looking up,
and then directly back to his program. In that simple exchange, Katy felt
something.
For more than a year prior to the encounter at the theatre, Katy had seen Tom
around the city. He always stood out. In a forest of mullets, Tom had let his
hair grow long, to his waist. Raphealite blond curls that he pulled back only
when he was serving food.
Katy was hurrying to her dinner shift, cutting through Lincoln Park, when she
saw the golden cotton wafting in the autumn wind. He was doing a pastel
landscape. For three days Katy passed by, watching, while he was oblivious to
the flying Frisbees and rattling strollers. One Saturday, again while cutting
through Lincoln Park, Katy came upon the Autumn Art Festival and found Tom's
rendering for sale - two hundred dollars. Katy bought it.
Katy followed Tom's movements through the restaurant. When he wasn't in front
of her, she watched his reflection in the mirrors that lined the dining room.
"...Henry was telling me that he took Becky to The Dogwalk last night. Said the
show was a riot. Let's go there tonight."
"Oh, I have a friend who performs there."
"You know a drag queen?"
"Yeah. Chris. She does Cher."
"So, is it a guy or a girl?"
"Well, technically he's a guy, but, you know... you call them 'she'."
"Henry says..." Joeseph proceeded to plum the depths of Henry's sociological
understandings, and include his own elaborations on the world of a drag queen.
Tom was serving food on the other side of the room. Katy noticed the way the
apron strings doubled around his slim waist. His starched shirt stretched
across his back. Even from where she was sitting, she could see the contrast
between his rough hands and the fine china he held. Tom turned, headed past
Katy's table toward the kitchen.
"Your salads..." Tom held two over-sized plates heaped with greens.
Katy blushed. He had now spoken directly to her three times.
"... so I told him to mind his own business and to get out of my face." Joeseph
punctuated the end of his story by gulping the last of his beer. Katy giggled.
She was being sillier than she had been in junior high.
"I know! Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Could we have some fresh pepper
on these salads?"
"Absolutely."
Tom's hands twisted the pepper mill. The rough wood of the mill turned easily
in his chapped, veiny hands. His nails were perfectly trimmed.
And there was no wedding ring! Joyous rapture!
"Ma'am, is that enough pepper?"
The mixture of black pepper and white dressing on Katy's salad looked gray -
steel gray - in the candlelight.
"Yes, thank you." The eye contact sent a jolt through her and then Tom walked
away, cradling the tall pepper mill.
Ma'am! Ma'am! Why, what was...Ma'am! Katy glanced at her reflection in one of
the mirrors. Her dark hair was seductively wind tosseled. The cut of her dress
accented her cleavage. She didn't turn thirty until next month. Ma'am! Katy dug
into her salad and matched Joeseph forkful for forkful. In less than a minute
both plates were clean.
"How was your day? Good tips?"
"They were all right. Nothing special."
"Do you think they sell that dressing to take home? I really like it." Joeseph
tore of a piece of bread and ran it around his plate. As soon as the bread left
the plate, a busboy snatched it away.
"Katy, I was hoping we'd find a quiet little spot, but ..." Joeseph reached
into his coat pocket and tossed a Tiffany box onto the table. "I was thinking
it was time for the two of us to get married. What do you think?"
The restaurant had become packed. There were people spilling into the aisles
between the tables and Katy could no longer keep an eye on Tom. Another waiter
delivered Joeseph's steak and her plate of steamed vegetables, but before they
could touch them Tom followed up to make sure everything was all right.
"The asparagus looks great, doesn't it." Tom smiled.
"Yes, yes it does." Katy looked at the artistically arranged asparagus, carrots
and baby corn.
"Enjoy." Tom touched Katy's shoulder and then disappeared into the crowd.
HE TOUCHED HER! Joeseph could have been spouting the formula for eternal youth,
and Katy wouldn't have paid any attention. Her shoulder tingled through the
entire meal. The vegetables were the best she'd ever tasted. The wind could
howl, the streets ice over and electricity shut down and Katy would be warm all
night.
In minutes Joeseph had finished his steak and potato and signaled for the
check. This time the manager came to the table, a tall dark man with an accent.
"How was everything?"
"Just fine." Joeseph reached for his credit card.
"You enjoyed the food?"
"Excellent."
"And how was the service?"
Katy jumped in. "Oh my God, it was incredible. We had the best, most attentive
waiter. I'm definitely looking forward to my next visit. I hope he waits on us
again. What was his name?"
"Tom. This is his first week with us. I'm so glad you were pleased."
"Here you go." Joeseph handed the manager the check folder. "We'll meet you by
the front door to sign. Come on, Katy."
Katy collected her coat, scarf, and purse.
And the ring.
She opened the box while standing at the front door. Emerald cut. Pretty. Big.
While she waited, she scanned the bulletin board. On it were bios of all the
staff members and what they did in addition to working at the restaurant. Tom's
biography was at the bottom and included a picture of him accepting the award.
Katy memorized it.
"Tom Nichols is a budding artist.
Joeseph was making his way from the coat check room. Behind him were his
friends, all waving to Katy and giving her the thumbs up.
"Come on, Katy. You ready to go?"
Katy wrapped her head in her scarf and pushed the door open to face the
blizzard.
****
The wet weather was ruining her shoes. Katy stepped through a three-foot
barricade of fresh watery snow.
Reverend Blieler met her at the front door. "Mrs. Bonafe, I'm so glad you could
be here. There has been a lot of drama since yesterday, and I thought we should
all meet before this gets completely out of hand. I didn't want to start the
meeting without you."
"Thank you."
Reverend Blieler led Katy through the unlit foyer and took her coat, hanging
the fur on a rack outside the meeting room. He offered some bottled water or
coffee, which she declined.
"Are you ready?"
"Of course."
The Reverend opened the door to the conference room. The sunlight reflecting
from the snow filled the room with a cold light that did not permit a single
shadow. Every detail of the room, from the light coating of dust on the
bookshelf to the grain of the orange vinyl-covered chairs was immediately
evident.
"Well. Have you seen IT?" Roseanne Thomas's voice sliced through the room
straight at Katy.
"Have you seen it?" Roseanne reiterated. She had taken a position at the other
end of the conference table, draping her mink over the back of her chair and
wrapping herself in a purple pashmina. Katy looked around the room and found
two more tense faces; Martha DuWell and Bob Priest.
Reverend Blieler interjected, "Roseanne, let Mrs. Bonafe sit down. I don't
think she is current on recent events."
"Thank you." Katy sat at the middle of the table, between the flinty faces on
her right and The Wrath of Roseanne on her left. Reverend Blieler moved to the
opposite side of the table and started the meeting. "Katy, I've received
several calls expressing concern over the sculpture. Some seem to think that
it's inappropriate for a church."
"It's the Baptism of Christ. How is that inappropriate?"
Roseanne spit, "HAVE YOU SEEN IT?"
"Well, not the finished sculpture. I saw a clay model, so I have a general idea
of what it looks like..."
Roseanne snorted and threw herself back into a slump in her chair.
"Mrs. Bonafe, you convinced us to commission this sculpture out of the church
beautifidogion fund. We've invested more than two hundred and fifty thousand
dollars, and you haven't even seen it? The statue is here on your
recommendation." Martha twitched in her seat, her tiny eyes darting toward
Roseanne.
"I'm very familiar with the artist's work. I have no reason to believe he would
create anything that would scandalize the congregation."
"There is talk that you have a... personal relationship...with the artist."
Katy looked at Bob Priest and wondered when the last time he'd had an orgasm
that wasn't self-induced.
"I have only met the artist casually over the past ten or twelve years. All of
my dealings have been with the gallery manager via e-mail, and you've all
received copies of those as they were sent."
Roseanne was the only one who would meet Katy's eyes, and it wasn't in a show
of support. "Where was he when you actually saw these clay models?"
"I don't know. Working I suppose. The gallery manager showed them to me."
"Katy would you like to see the final statute? Reverend Bleiler stood.
"Please."
Reverend Blieler opened the door, directing the way to the glass hall that led
to the rectory and looked out into the courtyard. Katy followed closely, and on
her heels was the rest of the committee. The only sound to be heard was the
brush-brush of Martha's thighs rubbing together in her polyester pants.
"Of course, you can't see it now because it's covered in snow." Bob Priest
threw up his hands.
"I'll brush the snow off. Just give me a minute." Reverend Blieler went out
into the courtyard and climbed to the top of the sculpture and began wiping the
wet snow away.
Katy watched as the sculpture was cleaned. The wet granite was the color of
flesh. The statue stood fifteen feet high, the figures rising from a block of
stone. John was cradling Christ, raising him from the river of rock. At first
glance the figures appeared nude, but Tom had depicted thin wet cloth against
muscular male bodies.
Roseanne flapped her pashmina and held it more tightly against her. Bob and
Martha shifted their weight.
"What's wrong with it?"
"Look at the faces." Roseanne turned her back in disgust.
The faces were very close, foreheads almost touching, making eye contact. John
was smiling, appeared to be laughing. Christ looked astonished - astounded. The
two shared a wonderful wordless secret.
"They're very life-like."
Roseanne confronted Katy. "They are indecent!"
The Reverend came back from the courtyard and stamped the wet snow from his
feet. "So, have we seen enough?"
"I have." Roseanne barreled back to the conference room; her twin cohorts
sucked into her wake.
"Well, then. Let's go back and discuss this."
As everyone took their seats, Reverend Blieler said. "So, Katy, there has been
some discussion of having the statue cut up and removed before services on
Sunday."
"Reverend, I'm sorry, but it's a gorgeous piece of art. It may be a little
larger than I expected, but..."
"Well, yes Mrs. Bonafe, technically it's a beautifully executed piece, but..."
Martha interrupted Bob, "It's GAY!"
"Excuse me?"
"What Miss DuWell is trying to say is that there appears to be an intimacy
between the figures that some of our congregation may find inappropriate." Bob
then became engrossed in his fingernails.
"How can the depiction of ever-lasting salvation be too intimate?"
Reverend Blieler made a jerking gesture, inviting the committee to voice their
concerns. There was nothing said for nearly a minute.
"It looks like their...groins...are touching each other." Martha drummed her
fingers on the table and became very interested in its wood.
Roseanne said, "Where did you find this artist? We commissioned this on your
recommendation."
"I've followed his career for years. I don't actually know him. I've purchased
some his works at the street fairs."
"Well, we'd have appreciated being told at least that we were paying a
homosexual artist."
"He's not gay. He's won awards."
Roseanne sat straight up in her chair. "There is nothing to discuss. We insist
that it be cut up and removed immediately. Katy, we commissioned it on your
recommendation and we expect you to take care of this. We don't care how."
Katy sputtered. "We're responsible for this project as a group. Where do get
the nerve to swoop in now and put on this drama?"
"We are willing to assume some responsibility for this travesty, but we expect
you to restore half the cost to the church fund." Roseanne turned to the
Reverend. "What was she THINKING?"
Katy opened her purse and without any further discussion she wrote a personal
check for one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars, tore it from her
checkbook and slid it across the table in Roseanne's general direction.
Roseanne snatched the check from the table crumpling it in the hand that held
her wrap closed.
"I knew you'd be reasonable about this, Katy." Roseanne settled back into her
chair. "Now we still need to find something to put into the courtyard, and we
haven't got much time left. I suggest we revert to my original idea. My
daughter has made this lovely terra cotta statue of three children releasing
doves. It would be perfect! There's a little Asian girl, and an
African-American boy and a little white boy. It's adorable, and there is
nothing objectionable about it in the least. I know she'd let us have it for a
little more than a hundred. Does anyone have any objections?"
Roseanne's smirk ended the conversation and everyone got up from their chairs
and left the conference room without another word.
Katy plowed through the mountain of slush at the curb. As she got into her
Lincoln and beat her feet against the side of the car she saw that her pumps
were water-stained. Were her feet swelling again, or was the leather shrinking?
Maybe cleaning would make them better. Maybe she could dye them black. Maybe
she'd just throw them away.
When Katy turned into the drive-thru at McDonald's, the sun was beating into
her eyes. She dropped the visor, and a three-year-old postcard that Chris had
sent from Rio fell into her lap. The last Katy had heard, Chris was back in
Chicago.
While she waited for the people ahead of her to place their order, Katy hit her
speed dial and called Joeseph.
"Hi...Listen, we have to transfer some funds into my account...Well, not a lot,
but enough that we need to talk about it...We can take it from my trust...Hold
on..."
Katy moved her car ahead and pressed the mute button on her phone.
"A double cheeseburger, fries - super-sized - Coke and a chocolate shake." Katy
moved her car forward and disconnected Joeseph. She'd tell him all about it
over dinner at Angelino's.
Several days later Katy went to her cabin in Wisconsin. Joeseph had been there
once, just after she'd bought it, and then never mentioned it again. It was
Katy's refuge from the world. She followed the truck that had removed The
Baptism from the church. At a rest stop, she took the lead and guided the
moving men to her cabin on a Scalp Lake.
Spring was taking its time coming to Wisconsin. The snow was still piled high,
but the maintenance crew had cleared a temporary space for the statue. Wooden
palettes had been set out so that the granite wouldn't sink too deeply into the
ground.
Joeseph never came up here. From the front window she watched as the movers
lowered the statue with a crane. The wood palettes sunk into the mud, but the
statue was high and dry.
There were three of Tom's paintings in the living room, a cubist portrait, a
pointalist still-life, and the pastel rendering hung over the fireplace. On the
coffee table was the first sculpture that Tom had ever sold. It was a dog,
dressed in monk's robes, bent over and looking through a magnifying glass.
Katy remembered the day she'd bought the sculpture at a street fair nearly ten
years ago. She'd spent an hour looking for Tom's booth. The Old Town Art Fair,
The Halsted Market Days. The Oz Festival. She followed him to them all.
Sometimes she'd send a friend into his booth to buy something. Sometimes she'd
do it herself, being careful not to strike up a conversation with the artist.
Over the years Tom had only gotten more handsome. He eventually lost the
slender, boyish body that had first attracted Katy and filled out into a burly
man's body. Two or three years ago he'd started wearing glasses. He looked
distinguished. On the few occasions when Katy had made her own purchases, he
was always polite and seemed pleased to have made a sale.
"What is this dog looking for?"
"Well, that's up to you to decide." Tom had stopped counting the coins in his
cash box. "I've just started sculpting. If you like, I can be flexible on the
price. It would be my first sculpture sale."
"How much?"
Tom's paintings had been good, but his sculpture soon became inspired. He began
to specialize in human forms and soon was winning awards, first in Chicago,
then throughout Illinois. But sales of his work were slow. She saw the same
pieces at every art fair. When she'd heard that a gallery was representing his
work, she made monthly pilgrimages, but she saw few of his sculptures sold.
So, when Katy had sent an e-mail to the gallery asking him about a commission
and offering two hundred fifty thousand dollars, she knew he'd jump at it.
And now The Baptism, Tom's most significant work, sat in the back woods of
Wisconsin, little more than a lawn ornament.
Katy dialed her cell phone.
"Tom, this is Mrs. Bonafe...Yes, it's nice to finally speak directly to you
too...Well, there's been a slight change of plans and there won't be an
unveiling ceremony...Well, it seems the Beautifidogion board found The Baptism
to be a little too controversial and they've rejected it...No, not to worry,
you wont need to return the commission...Actually the statue has already been
sold and removed from the church...An anonymous buyer...in Iowa, I think...I
don't know if there will be another commission or not...No, there won't be any
press...I'm sorry Tom, I know how much this meant to you, but I hope you'll
keep in touch...I'd love to see one of your showings...Thanks, so much...Bye.
Katy watched as the moving men packed up their equipment.
A robin perched on John's head.
****
The grains of the first snow pelted the plastic weather bonnet that protected
Katy's new permanent and caught on the little rubber letters that spelled his
name: Tom Nichols, 1939 to 2003. She placed the bouquet of marigolds on his
grave. They'd be frozen in an hour.
It had been several months since she'd been to the gallery that showed Tom's
work. She was there when the manager received the call. There were no immediate
relatives, so Katy offered to make the funeral arrangements. She'd used all of
her pull to have Tom's picture printed in the Tribune with his obituary, but
only the gallery owner and a few street artists attended the memorial.
"Hot day, isn't it?"
As Katy looked at the new grave, she remembered the last time she'd spoken to
Tom.
"Why, yes it is. Do you like that one?"
"I don't know yet." Katy had been examining the painting of a girl, picking
flowers in prairie field. She was facing out of the painting and behind her, in
the distance, a man was waving his hat over his head, trying to get her
attention.
"To be honest, it's a little prosaic for my tastes." Katy shifted her purse
from one arm to the other.
"Well, if we're telling the truth, it's too prosaic for my tastes too, but this
is what sells."
"I've often wondered if you artists are able to support yourself from these
fairs."
"Oh, I do all right. I'm not rich, but I get my bills paid. You really can't
ask for more than that."
"Have you been doing this long?"
"Probably fifty years or better."
"Do you only paint?"
"Used to sculpt. Sold a few, won a few awards."
"Don't you do it anymore?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Money, I guess. Would you excuse me while I ring up this sale?" Tom turned and
helped another woman.
Katy lifted the painting of the girl from the rack and waited for Tom to ring
her purchase.
"You decided to take it?"
"It's sort of grown on me."
"Well, thank you very much. I hope you enjoy it."
"Thank you."
The painting of the girl was in the shed in Wisconsin along with more than a
hundred others. She only kept that first landscape in the back bedroom of the
cottage, and the dog sculpture in the foyer of the condo on Lake Shore Drive.
Katy placed a second bouquet - primroses and sweet peas -on Joeseph's grave.
There was a space between the two reserved for her.
"Honey, come on. It's cold out here." Chris waved her rhinestoned wrist from
the back of the limo.
Katy blew a kiss to both of the graves. As she climbed over the limestone curb
that surrounded the tiny Bonafe family plot, she balanced herself against The
Baptism.
Alaric McDermott
writing, but it seems to fall short of the finish line for me. The
leap at the end (many years, many compromises, the obscuring of the
homosexuality revelation) is a bit too much to take. The characters
are exquisite – the $125,000 made me swallow, by the way – I presume
we're in – I dunno – the early sixties – that's a hell of a lot of
money.
The introduction of characters by unattributed dialogue works, but
it's very noticeable, so it may not be such a good thing – style over
substance, mayhap.
I'd like to see the whole thing tied together a little tighter – is
the implication that these two men were having an affair? – I think it
is. Very much enjoyed, despite the reservations.
Carter8882
>Date: 10/29/03 9:18 AM Central Standard Time
>
>I'd like to see the whole thing tied together a little tighter – is
>the implication that these two men were having an affair? – I think it
>is. Very much enjoyed, despite the reservations.
You're the second person who came to that conclusion, which is not my
intention. I probably need to emphasize the money aspects more.
Also the time span seems to be confusing people. Not sure where the sixties
play into this. In my mind, it starts in the mid-seventies, with the church
scene taking place in the wild, spend-thrift days of the eighties.
I'm not sure I understand by what you mean by tighter.
Scott
Seymour Grass
"Carter8882" <carte...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20031028104400...@mb-m05.aol.com...
| Katy
| by Scott 2003
|
|
| Katy unwound the scarf from her head and opened her pea coat. She was
nearly
| half an hour late for dinner with Joeseph, but he didn't seem to mind. He
was
| sitting at the bar, enjoying his cigar and yukking it up with some of his
| buddies.
On C-SPAN 2's "Book TV" Saturday there was such an entertaining and
enlightening address from Anne Lamott at the Midwest Literary Festival. Many
should recognize the name, since she writes a column for Salon aside from
being the author of 6 novels. She expressed a matter that I've been trying
to find a way to say for years in just one, clear, succinct statement--it
was not her own thought, but one she had heard expressed by another author
and it went somethng like this: The whole substance of a story or novel
should be expressed, if not in its first sentence then certainly by the end
of the first paragraph. Now, let's have another look at what you have here
. . .
| Katy unwound the scarf from her head and opened her pea coat. She was
nearly
| half an hour late for dinner with Joeseph, but he didn't seem to mind. He
was
| sitting at the bar, enjoying his cigar and yukking it up with some of his
| buddies.
As we find no essence here of that method described by Ms Lamott, let's just
see what happens in lieu of having it . . .
|
| "Hey! Everybody, this is Katy."
|
| "Wow! Bonafe, she's a looker, this one. Yessirree. Quite a looker."
|
| "Thanks."
|
| "Katy, this is Boner..."
|
| "Heya."
|
| "This is Mickie, the Bitter Leprechaun."
|
| "They say I hate all living things, but that isn't true."
|
| "Hi."
|
| "And Henry, without giving you his name, has already introduced himself."
|
| "Yessiree. Quite a looker."
|
| "Thank you. Is everyone joining us for dinner?"
|
| "No, the guys just followed me over here after work. We had a killer day.
| Killer!"
Did you ever see a little girl sitting in her little tea-house with her
little tea-set, holding up her little dolls to make them talk their little
conversations for her?
Okay, that's what you get, no matter how hard you may try when you begin to
compose prose in lieu of that so very necessary element of professional
craft, that preface containing the essence of the work--it's just
unavoidable. But given the validity of what Lamott says, then just why
should that be so, and what would make the issue that author addressed to be
of such dire necessity? I'm going to think about it as we proceed here . .
.
|
| Joeseph yammered about the excitement of trading, the yelling, the
screaming,
| the flashing finger signs. Katy thought it all sounded like a version of
street
| gangs, but she tried to pay attention.
|
| "So. You're a model, right?"
|
| "No." Henry wasn't especially smooth, but she appreciated the effort. "No,
I'm
| just a waitress."
|
| "Listen up, boys. She's not only a waitress, but she's an artist. She
weaves.
| She made this scarf that she's wearing." Joeseph held up her burgundy
chenille
| scarf.
|
| "Actually, I bought this at Bloomingdale's."
|
| "Oh, honey, our table's ready." The hostess was waving to them through the
| growing crowd.
|
| "Well, nice to have met you guys. Maybe I'll see you around."
|
| The guys all assured Katy that they were looking forward to it. Joeseph
grabbed
| his glass and the beer bottle and followed the hostess to their table.
Katy
| followed the sloping shoulders in their rumpled suit coat.
Ah! At last we get a glimpse of "Joeseph" -- I've never seen the name
spelled like that as it's usually "Joseph", and I must say that it's rather
a distraction. But let's continue on to see if we will be pleased to be
given a visual picture of "Katy" since till now she is only a Paper Moon
sailing over a cardboard sea . . .
Good. We get to actually *see* "Tom".
| around the city. He always stood out. In a forest of mullets . . .
Speaking of poetry to wither a Shakespearean canon, that "forest of mullets"
is *really* doing it for me; I mean to try and imagine such a thing . . . ye
gods you could do it with halibut and flounder, too, or electric eels. It
would be like in *Dorothy* in the Enchanted Orchard where those apple trees
start pegging their own fruit her and Scarecrow and denting the poor old
tinman, only here the trees are like, mullet with no arms for branches or
roots for legs, and so they all just stand there on their tails upright in
all their dull silvery pallor come up from the ground with those puckery
little mouths turned up to the sky--damn that's evocative!
That's what I like, something educational, even if it's like, being
instructed on something I've known for about thirty years, like this point
of decorum about referring to a drag queen as 'she'. So, it's like getting
a refresher course--that's good to learn what you already know, it sort of
hammers it in all that much the more soundly.
Like mullet. Like a forest of mullet in the candlelight!
|
| "Yes, thank you." The eye contact sent a jolt through her and then Tom
walked
| away, cradling the tall pepper mill.
Okay. What I'm going to do here is try to explain in the kindest, sweetest,
most compassionate terms possible why my interest in anything written
requires from the author, quite early on a reason given me to think that
while (or after) plowing through all this dense forest of perfectly poetic
mullet, that something essential is being communicated, some uniquely
humorous or tragic angle on the human experience has been produced by it. I
didn't say "something necessary", because 'essential' has a different
conotation which might be to identify something perfectly frivolous but at
the same time uniquely, tragically or satirically so; something come of a
pith of authenticity rather than a surface sheen of manner, style, fashion
or the like. Possibly, there was no such essence to be expressed in that
first paragraph, for which reason it is of course not there, nor down here
either for that matter, but when it's neither here nor there, that's the
tip-off for me that what follows may just be a lot of frivolity without
essence.
To this point in your story, Scott, I judge this to be all I see, just not
enough essence to capture my interest as a reader.
I want to thank you so much for that canon smashing forest of mullet though.
That was priceless! ;-)
Thank you for sharing.
--
--
JP David http://jpdavid.freewebspace.com/
"The man of letters is enemy of the world." Charles Baudelaire
Alaric McDermott
> Also the time span seems to be confusing people. Not sure where the sixties play into this. In my mind, it starts in the mid-seventies, with the church scene taking place in the wild, spend-thrift days of the eighties.
It’s the ages of the characters extended into average lifespan.
> I'm not sure I understand by what you mean by tighter.
A clearer path to the end section for the reader to follow.
Patrick Null
"Carter8882" <carte...@aol.com> wrote in message
news:20031028104400...@mb-m05.aol.com...
> Katy
> by Scott 2003
Hi, Scott!
Nits first, then comments at the end.
> "Hey! Everybody, this is Katy."
>
> "Wow! Bonafe, she's a looker, this one. >Yessirree. Quite a looker."
>
> "Thanks."
>
> "Katy, this is Boner..."
>
> "Heya."
>
> "This is Mickie, the Bitter Leprechaun."
>
> "They say I hate all living things, but that isn't >true."
>
> "Hi."
>
> "And Henry, without giving you his name, has >already introduced himself."
>
> "Yessiree. Quite a looker."
>
> "Thank you. Is everyone joining us for dinner?"
>
> "No, the guys just followed me over here after >work. We had a killer day.
> Killer!"
Nice exchange. And even though it gives this impression of this busty
restaurant/bar and accomplishes quite a bit of scene setting, it does make
the story unnecessarily long. The story isn't about her and Joeseph's
buddies, it's about her and this little love triangle. And we never see the
buddies again and we don't really learn anything about her other than she's
a waitress. The story starts when Tom enters the picture, so if you want to
hop right into it, them sitting at the table would be a great place to
start.
> "You cut your hair."
>
> Tom was surprised. "Yes?"
Minor POV jump, isn't it, to know that Tom is surprised?
> Ma'am! Ma'am! Why, what was...Ma'am!
Huh?
> "Katy, I was hoping we'd find a quiet little spot, >but ..." Joeseph
reached
> into his coat pocket and tossed a Tiffany box >onto the table. "I was
thinking
> it was time for the two of us to get married. >What do you think?"
Boy, he's not exactly smooth, is he?
> "Enjoy." Tom touched Katy's shoulder and then >disappeared into the crowd.
>
> HE TOUCHED HER!
LOL!!! This is priceless.
>Joeseph could have been spouting the formula for >eternal youth,
> and Katy wouldn't have paid any attention. Her >shoulder tingled through
the
> entire meal. The vegetables were the best she'd >ever tasted. The wind
could
> howl, the streets ice over and electricity shut >down and Katy would be
warm all
> night.
One of my favorite paragraphs.
>
> In minutes Joeseph had finished his steak and >potato and signaled for the
> check. This time the manager came to the table, >a tall dark man with an
accent.
>
> "How was everything?"
What makes them so special? I'm sure that the manager doesn't go to EVERY
table in the place.
> "And how was the service?"
>
> Katy jumped in. "Oh my God, it was incredible. >We had the best, most
attentive
> waiter. I'm definitely looking forward to my next >visit. I hope he waits
on us
> again. What was his name?"
I am rolling here. I think you nailed her character.
>
> "Tom. This is his first week with us. I'm so glad >you were pleased."
Wow! Fast learner, huh?
> "Tom Nichols is a budding artist.
Forgot the ending quote.
> "There is talk that you have a... personal >relationship...with the
artist."
> Katy looked at Bob Priest and wondered when >the last time he'd had an
orgasm
> that wasn't self-induced.
Heh. Funny.
> "I'll brush the snow off. Just give me a minute." >Reverend Blieler went
out
> into the courtyard and climbed to the top of the >sculpture and began
wiping the
> wet snow away.
How tall is this sculpture? How do you climb to the top of it? Is he part
monkey?
>The statue stood fifteen feet high,
Oh, ok, fifteen feet high. Again, climbing to the top without a ladder is
no small feat.
>Christ looked astonished - astounded.
This doesn't work. Pick one or the other.
> "I have." Roseanne barreled back to the >conference room; her twin cohorts
> sucked into her wake.
Improper use of the semi-colon. Now, if you put a "were" after "cohorts",
it would be all right.
> Martha interrupted Bob, "It's GAY!"
Probably a full stop instead of a comma.
> Reverend Blieler made a jerking gesture, inviting >the committee to voice
their
> concerns. There was nothing said for nearly a >minute.
What? Not even from Roseanne? Will wonders never cease. She's too
outspoken to remain silent for that full minute, given the outrage she's
feeling, me thinks.
> "We are willing to assume some responsibility for >this travesty, but we
expect
> you to restore half the cost to the church fund." >Roseanne turned to the
> Reverend. "What was she THINKING?"
She's a great character. I can see her.
>
> Katy opened her purse and without any further >discussion she wrote a
personal
> check for one hundred and twenty five thousand >dollars, tore it from her
> checkbook and slid it across the table in >Roseanne's general direction.
Gulp!
> Katy blew a kiss to both of the graves. As she >climbed over the limestone
curb
> that surrounded the tiny Bonafe family plot, she >balanced herself against
The
> Baptism.
This was well written, Scott. I could have pointed out a dozen or so
things I liked about it, but I would have been here all day. :-)
The ending doesn't work for me. The two deaths(Tom's and Joeseph's) is too
coincidental, and the ending is too wrapped up with her seeing Chris. IOW,
I wonder if you could just end it at the space being reserved for her
between the two of them and let us imagine the rest.
You never explain how they die, and that detail is bugging me. My dark side
wants to view her as a husband killer, but I don't think that was what you
wanted to convey. :-) There's a hint that Tom was gay, so maybe he died
from AIDS, but that's never explained.
Still a good read, though. Thanks for posting.
Take care.
Miki Kocic
Sorry for the extremely late crit.
I'm going to go opposite to what most other critics have said and
declare that I don't believe in sublimation. I've also had some
experience with people who have money, and they are rarely as
sentimental as Katy - they got their money by crushing pennies between
their greedy fingers and would rather die than cut a $125,000 cheque, or
even a $1.25 cheque, to save an artist some embarrassment.
That aside, I enjoyed this story and thought the language was lovely.
Joeseph is a stereotype but Katy is well developed. Tom remains a
cipher - I don't ever get a sense of what is going on inside his head.
Who knows, maybe this is why we have the works of Aristotle today - some
fan decided to keep a bunch of lecture notes in his basement.
Some detailed comments and one nit below.
There appears to be a mystical angle
Carter8882 wrote:
> Katy
> by Scott 2003
<snip>
> "Tell our waiter we're ready to order. We have theatre tickets and we don't
> want to be late."
>
> The hostess practically curtsied for Joeseph and then toddled off in search of
> the waiter.
>
> "You got us theatre tickets? What are we seeing?"
>
> "I just said that so they'd hurry up. If they don't think we have some place to
> go, we'll be sitting here all night. Now, take a look at the menu and pick out
> something nice to eat, baby."
Good character development. It tells me that this fellow is familiar
with his environment and very casual about lying. It also tells me that
Katy is *not* familiar with the environment, so the idea I get is that
she hasn't gone to dinner with Joeseph at this particular place before,
or at a place like it. I don't know if that is what you intended.
<snip>
> Katy flipped her menu open, but she already knew without looking that there
> would be no vegetarian dishes. Lots of steaks. Three different kinds of baked
> potatoes, all with either bacon or shrimp.
Saw a bunch of pennies in half and give me half a penny for every young
woman who's a vegetarian. I'll be a millionaire. Make that teenage
woman and I'll be a billionaire. For that reason I find Katy a boring
second-hand person, but that's just one of my buttons.
<snip>
> Pithy. Unvarnished. Musical. Tom had stepped out of her way, barely looking up,
> and then directly back to his program. In that simple exchange, Katy felt
> something.
The question is whether these connections actually happen or people just
delude themselves. I guess I've been exposed to too many divorces to
believe in true love.
<snip>
> In minutes Joeseph had finished his steak and potato and signaled for the
> check. This time the manager came to the table, a tall dark man with an accent.
Is there any particular reason that both Katy and Joeseph are fast
eaters? It takes even me longer than minutes to finish a steak.
<snip>
> The Reverend opened the door to the conference room. The sunlight reflecting
> from the snow filled the room with a cold light that did not permit a single
> shadow.
This makes me ask whether there is also artificial light in the room.
<snip>
> Roseanne spit, "HAVE YOU SEEN IT?"
"Roseanne spat." At least, I think you want to maintain the past tense.
<snip>
> "I'll brush the snow off. Just give me a minute." Reverend Blieler went out
> into the courtyard and climbed to the top of the sculpture and began wiping the
> wet snow away.
This is a very nice touch. Katy gets to have the sculpture revealed to
her slowly as the snow gets brushed off. It allows you to build
suspense, and you should take better advantage of it.
<snip>
> Katy plowed through the mountain of slush at the curb. As she got into her
> Lincoln and beat her feet against the side of the car she saw that her pumps
> were water-stained. Were her feet swelling again, or was the leather shrinking?
> Maybe cleaning would make them better. Maybe she could dye them black. Maybe
> she'd just throw them away.
This is a nice Chandleresque touch. You'd expect her mind to be boiling
about the meeting she just had with the church officials, but instead we
see her contemplating her shoes, and the little details tell a larger story.
<snip>
> "Well, that's up to you to decide." Tom had stopped counting the coins in his
> cash box. "I've just started sculpting. If you like, I can be flexible on the
> price. It would be my first sculpture sale."
There is something charming about Tom's lack of business sense. Wish
there were more like him.
<snip>
Thanks for posting this, and hope my comments were helpful.
Scott
> something come of a pith of authenticity rather than a surface sheen of manner, style, fashion or the like.
> Thank you for sharing.
Sorry to be so tardy in responding to your comments. As always they
are oh-so stylisly presented.
Scott
Scott
>
> Nice exchange. And even though it gives this impression of this busty
> restaurant/bar and accomplishes quite a bit of scene setting, it does make
> the story unnecessarily long.
You may be right. I was trying to show that Joeseph's world was
all-important and that Katy's was smaller and less peopled.
> The ending doesn't work for me. The two deaths(Tom's and Joeseph's) is too
> coincidental, and the ending is too wrapped up with her seeing Chris. IOW,
> I wonder if you could just end it at the space being reserved for her
> between the two of them and let us imagine the rest.
You may be right.
>
> You never explain how they die, and that detail is bugging me. My dark side
> wants to view her as a husband killer, but I don't think that was what you
> wanted to convey. :-) There's a hint that Tom was gay, so maybe he died
> from AIDS, but that's never explained.
I showed this story to a friend and she came up with the same
observation. Not my intended take.
This was a difficult story to write because I was hot about it when I
started, but it just sort of died on me. I slogged through to
completion and posted it to see if there was any reaction to it at
all. Not my favorite piece, and I don't even particularly like the
characters.
> Thanks for posting.
Patrick, as always thanks for the comments. Sorry for the tardy
response.
Scott
Scott
>
> Thanks for posting this, and hope my comments were helpful.
Miki:
It seems like ages since I've encountered you. Your comments are
always great. I feel a little guilty having you comment on this piece
because I don't feel like it's my best effort. Actually it took a lot
of effort to push this baby out, and for my money every grunt shows.
Still, thanks for taking it seriously and commenting.
My apologies for being so tardy in resoponding.
Scott
Alan Walkington
"Seymour Grass" <JP...@VirtualTourist.com> wrote in message
news:bnq9kn$14bta2$1...@ID-167346.news.uni-berlin.de...
>
>
> enlightening address from Anne Lamott at the Midwest Literary Festival.
Many
> should recognize the name, since she writes a column for Salon aside from
> being the author of 6 novels. She expressed a matter that I've been
trying
> to find a way to say for years in just one, clear, succinct statement--it
> was not her own thought, but one she had heard expressed by another author
> and it went somethng like this: The whole substance of a story or novel
> should be expressed, if not in its first sentence then certainly by the
end
> of the first paragraph. Now, let's have another look at what you have
here
> . . .
>
It's good you didn't find it. I doubt a professional such as Ms. Lamott
believes such an absolutism. Don't adopt it for yourself.
<throwing out the trash>
It is a shame, say-more. You have some valid criticisms. Yet your perceived
erudition won't allow you to proffer them in a civilized manner. You tender
sarcasm in place of irony, insult in place of instruction, and hubris in
place of expertise. I have looked at many of the more that 1600 Usenet
postings made by 'Seymour Grass', and I have never seen you recognize the
validity of a different opinion; the high ground is always yours, and from
it, you always attack.
As I say, it is a shame.
Alan