My
friends Bentley and Roberta are meeting me here in Curacao.
I say friends. I don't have friends actually, don't need them.
But there are a few people whose company I find less distastful
than others.
Bernadette is here also. Bernadette will be the bait.
Dad sits across the table from me at Pete's Tavern, on 18th
Street, Manhattan. We hear the clanking of the plates and the
clinking of the glasses and the rattle of metal flatware.
Dad says: "That doesn't sound like someone
you're likely to marry." I have mentioned a woman from my acting
class at Herbert Berghoff's acting studio downtown.
This short story was nominated for a 2003 Pushcart Prize.
.....It was dawn. Roberta stood on the
riverbank and stared at a quiet pool upstream. Gentle rapids
tumbled into the head of the pool and eddies swirled quetly near
the bank. There was a mist on the water but no trout were
rising.
.....