white cop and said "Shit"
again just as he got whirled onto the floor.
Security guards from the library upstairs appeared,
and I maneuvered Gun over to the black cop. As I walked back to my
seat, Jurick was saying, ". . . and I want to thank our speakers
and all of you once more and remind you of the book signing that will
. . ."
Alec Bacall said, "And how did you enjoy the
debate, John?"
"It was all right. Kind of a cold crowd,
though."
Del Wonsley said, "Oh, I don't know. I thought
that many were appalled, but few were frozen."
Bacall grinned. "That's why I love him so."
=10=
PLATO'S BOOKSHOP OCCUPIED A DOUBLE-WIDE RETAIL SPACE
ON Newbury Street, three blocks from the lecture hall. I was delayed
at the Rabb, giving the cops and the units that responded to their
call the details as I saw them. By the time I got to the store, the
signing was in full progress.
The window next to the door held a poster with
information about the debate and the signing to follow. Under the
poster and inside the shop was a display table. Around an
eight-by-ten black and white glossy portrait of Maisy Andrus were
maybe a hundred copies of her book. Some lay on their sides in
irregular piles while others stood up in little wire holders. A dozen
copies of Paul Eisenberg's book were shunted to one corner. There was
no photo of Eisenberg and nothing at all about the Reverend Givens.
Two lines of people trailed back from signing tables
in the rear of the shop. Eisenberg's line was a lot shorter than the
one in front of Andrus, and many of the Eisenberg hopefuls also
carried a copy of her book under their arms. I saw Olivia Jurick
smiling and shaking hands in a regular-customer way as she moved down
the aisle created by the two lines. On side counters were wine and
punch, cheese and crackers, grapes and pretzels. I could see Inés
Roja standing beside the sitting Andrus, opening the next copy of the
book to a given page for the professor to sign. Manolo stood a step
behind Andrus, glowering at each fan.
Alec Bacall and Del Wonsley were holding wineglasses
and watching Tucker Hebert entertain several fashionable women with
what appeared to be hilarious stories. I spotted the blonde I took to
be Kimberly and then, when she turned, Walter Strock, which surprised
me. He wasn't carrying a copy of Andrus's book, which didn't surprise
me. I didn't see the Reverend Givens nor, if skin color was a gauge,
many of her flock.
Bacall saw me and beckoned to cut through the Andrus
line.
Eisenberg was shaking the hand of his last fan and
looking around, rather awkwardly, presumably for Olivia Jurick to
tell him what to do next. In front of Andrus, a matronly woman had
just handed her copy of Our Right to Die to Inés for prepping. Roja
opened it, turned a page, and then dropped the book like a picnic
plate with a bee on it. I pushed through the line as politely as
possible. Andrus had picked up the book and was apologizing to the
matron when Andrus saw Roja's facial expression. Manolo saw it, too,
and edged forward, eyes mainly on the matron.
I said, "What's the matter?"
Andrus replied, "I don't know."
Inés had one hand to her mouth and the other
pointing to the book Andrus was setting on the table. The matron
started to say something about the jacket being damaged and wanting
another when I said, "Please?"
Taking out a pen, I prodded the book to a centered
position in front of me. Using the pen as a friction finger, I opened
the book and turned the leaves until I got to the title page.
There, under "by
Maisy Andrus," was a stickum mailing label with the cut-out
words: "THIS CLOSE WHORE."
* * *
"I just couldn't tell you, Mr. Cuddy."
Olivia Jurick was behind her cash register, wagging
her head as Maisy Andrus gamely signed the last few books for the
faithful who had stayed on line. The offending copy was between
Jurick and me in a plastic Plato's Bookshop bag.
I said, "Any way to determine who had access to
the books?"
"Not really," said
again just as he got whirled onto the floor.
Security guards from the library upstairs appeared,
and I maneuvered Gun over to the black cop. As I walked back to my
seat, Jurick was saying, ". . . and I want to thank our speakers
and all of you once more and remind you of the book signing that will
. . ."
Alec Bacall said, "And how did you enjoy the
debate, John?"
"It was all right. Kind of a cold crowd,
though."
Del Wonsley said, "Oh, I don't know. I thought
that many were appalled, but few were frozen."
Bacall grinned. "That's why I love him so."
=10=
PLATO'S BOOKSHOP OCCUPIED A DOUBLE-WIDE RETAIL SPACE
ON Newbury Street, three blocks from the lecture hall. I was delayed
at the Rabb, giving the cops and the units that responded to their
call the details as I saw them. By the time I got to the store, the
signing was in full progress.
The window next to the door held a poster with
information about the debate and the signing to follow. Under the
poster and inside the shop was a display table. Around an
eight-by-ten black and white glossy portrait of Maisy Andrus were
maybe a hundred copies of her book. Some lay on their sides in
irregular piles while others stood up in little wire holders. A dozen
copies of Paul Eisenberg's book were shunted to one corner. There was
no photo of Eisenberg and nothing at all about the Reverend Givens.
Two lines of people trailed back from signing tables
in the rear of the shop. Eisenberg's line was a lot shorter than the
one in front of Andrus, and many of the Eisenberg hopefuls also
carried a copy of her book under their arms. I saw Olivia Jurick
smiling and shaking hands in a regular-customer way as she moved down
the aisle created by the two lines. On side counters were wine and
punch, cheese and crackers, grapes and pretzels. I could see Inés
Roja standing beside the sitting Andrus, opening the next copy of the
book to a given page for the professor to sign. Manolo stood a step
behind Andrus, glowering at each fan.
Alec Bacall and Del Wonsley were holding wineglasses
and watching Tucker Hebert entertain several fashionable women with
what appeared to be hilarious stories. I spotted the blonde I took to
be Kimberly and then, when she turned, Walter Strock, which surprised
me. He wasn't carrying a copy of Andrus's book, which didn't surprise
me. I didn't see the Reverend Givens nor, if skin color was a gauge,
many of her flock.
Bacall saw me and beckoned to cut through the Andrus
line.
Eisenberg was shaking the hand of his last fan and
looking around, rather awkwardly, presumably for Olivia Jurick to
tell him what to do next. In front of Andrus, a matronly woman had
just handed her copy of Our Right to Die to Inés for prepping. Roja
opened it, turned a page, and then dropped the book like a picnic
plate with a bee on it. I pushed through the line as politely as
possible. Andrus had picked up the book and was apologizing to the
matron when Andrus saw Roja's facial expression. Manolo saw it, too,
and edged forward, eyes mainly on the matron.
I said, "What's the matter?"
Andrus replied, "I don't know."
Inés had one hand to her mouth and the other
pointing to the book Andrus was setting on the table. The matron
started to say something about the jacket being damaged and wanting
another when I said, "Please?"
Taking out a pen, I prodded the book to a centered
position in front of me. Using the pen as a friction finger, I opened
the book and turned the leaves until I got to the title page.
There, under "by
Maisy Andrus," was a stickum mailing label with the cut-out
words: "THIS CLOSE WHORE."
* * *
"I just couldn't tell you, Mr. Cuddy."
Olivia Jurick was behind her cash register, wagging
her head as Maisy Andrus gamely signed the last few books for the
faithful who had stayed on line. The offending copy was between
Jurick and me in a plastic Plato's Bookshop bag.
I said, "Any way to determine who had access to
the books?"
"Not really," said
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