It sounded like an artillery
barrage going offI... It sounded like an artillery
barrage going offI commanded myself to run away
I commanded myself to faintLike a
man in a dream - but not a good one - I walked
onstageEverything seemed to be happening slowly
I saw that every seat was taken but no seat was
taken because they were on their feet, they were
giving me a standing OHigh above me, on the
domed ceiling, angels flew in airy disregard of
the earthly matters below, and how I wished I was
one of themDario stood beside the podium, hand
outstretchedIt was the wrong one; in his own
nervousness he had extended his right, and so my
return handshake was awkward and bass-ackwardsMy
notes were crumpled briefly between our palms,
then toreLook what you did, you asshole, I
thought - and for one terrible moment I was
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584
I'd said it aloud for the mike to pick up and
broadcast all over the roomI was aware of how
bright the spotlight was as Dario left me there on
my lonely perchI was aware of the microphone on
its flexible chrome rod, and thinking it looked
like a cobra rising out of a snake-charmer's
basketI was aware of bright points of light
shining on that chrome, and on the rim of the
water glass, and on the neck of the Evian bottle
next to the water glassI was aware that the
applause was starting to taper off; some of the
people were resuming their seatsSoon an
expectant silence would replace the applauseThey
would wait for me to beginOnly I had nothing to
sayEven my opening line had left my headThey
would wait and the silence would stretch out
There would be a few nervous coughs, and
chanel clutch bags then the
murmuring would startBecause they were assholes
Just a bunch of lookie-loo assholes with rubber
necksAnd if I managed anything, it would be an
angry torrent of words that would sound like the
outburst of a man suffering from Tourette's
I'd just call for the first slideMaybe I could
do that much and the pictures would carry meI'd
585
have to hope they wouldOnly when I looked at my
page of notes, I saw that not only was it torn
straight down the middle, my sweat had blurred the
jottings so badly I could no longer make them out
Either that or stress had created a short circuit
between my eyes and my brainAnd what was the
first slide, anyway? A mailbox painting? Sunset
with Sophora? I was almost positive neither of
those was right
Now everyone was sittingThe applause
chanel j10 watch fake was
finishedIt was time for the American Primitive
to open his mouth and ululateThree rows back,
sitting on the aisle, was that nozzy birch Mary
Ire, with what looked like a porthand shad open on
her lapHe'd gotten me into
this, but I bore him no anusI only wanted to
apologize with my eyes for what was coming
I'll be in the front row, he'd saidJack, my housekeeper Juanita, Jimmy
Yoshida, and Alice Aucoin were sitting on
Wireman's leftAnd on his right, on the aisle -
The man on the aisle had to be a hallucinationI
blinked, but he was still thereA vast face, dark
and calmA figure crammed so tightly into the
586
plush auditorium seat it seemed it might take a
crowbar to get him out again: Xander Kamen,
peering up at me through his enormous horn-rimmed
glasses and looking
chanel bags online more like a minor god than
everObesity had canceled his lap, but balanced
on the bulge of his belly was a ribbon-garnished
gift box about three feet longHe saw my surprise
- my shock - and made a gesture: not a wave but an
odd, beneficent salute, putting the tips of his
fingers first to his massive brow, then to his
lips, then holding his hand out to me with the
fingers spreadI could see the pallor of his palm
He smiled up at me, as if his presence here in the
first row of the Geldbart Auditorium next to my
friend Wireman were the most natural thing in the
worldHis large lips formed four words, one after
the other: You can do thisIf I thought away from this
momentIf I thought sideways
I thought of Wireman - Wireman looking west, to be
exact - and my opening line came back
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