Reading Party with No Drinking
Behind a long whitewashed enclosure a building stood high and impregnable, and it didn’t look like a pub or a club to conduct my reading there. Still, its address answered my purpose, and I gazed around for an entry. There was the only one, supposedly for a mobile telephone company office. I knew that the edifice had served as a telephone exchange before it was equipped with digital communication facilities. Since the possessions turned out to be excessive, an art deck was set there by some folks calling it “Hub Space”. At noon I met none there but a pale guard in blue uniform, and my reading was supposed to happen at night.
There I arrived beforehand, after I had left an editorial office of ÊÈË (Culture/Art/Literature) magazine, where they handed two current issue copies to me as a contributor. There my interview with American Gloom Cupboard journal was reprinted in Russian, and I had time to visit a post office to mail a copy to my American editors.
The guard at the “Hub Space” entrance was the same, young blond guy. He just nodded and let me pass: “Go straights the passageway and take up the second floor!” I had an hour ahead. A hall of generous proportions was a bit murky in spite of a paintings collection with pictures hànging here and there. A huge black top hat able to cover a musician with a contrabass stood on its brim, left by a Mad-hatter from a previous performance, maybe. A cloakroom was to be found behind it, as I told every of my guests who were arriving on my invitation later on.
At the moment I came in, there was the only guest sitting in the first row. A young lady with her back to me was slim, with a boyish haircut. That’s all what I could tell from behind. Wearing jeans, I supposed, she couldn’t have been dressed in a gown. She didn’t look at me, but I recognized her: Dasha! I didn’t greet her; there was some reason for that.
… I had met her first several years ago. Then she called on my office after I had advertised in the press that I needed a private secretary. She looked the same way: a young slim girl having graduated a philology faculty, possibly. At the interview she was pushy and insisting to get the vacancy. I didn’t like her rasping voice, and her curt tone. And I found something of a mouse in her face, because of her piercing eyes, maybe. In spite of all that there was something attracting about her, she was sexy, yes. Her white skin was sleek; I could easily imagine her tapering fingers giving me a massage. That was a wrong way to conduct a job interview! Then I took on another lady, a married one, and Celtic type: black hair and blue eyes.
The reading started later for quarter of an hour than announced. We were waiting for those being late, but there happened almost none. I think the club managers were wrong to set the time so late for the place aside major streets. Students wouldn’t go to such a place when it was time for drinks and dancing, and those who had office jobs were not after my talking and reading.
Another visitor greeted me, a tall stylish girl; I couldn’t recall her name though knew her well enough: she was a librarian at the National Library. They had their head-work at Lenin Prospect, the main street in Cheboksary. There I had a reading a pair of years ago, still she didn’t join the event then; she took up the duties later. When she had read my love stories she turned out to be a fan of mine. And I asked her to conduct the reading with me as an interviewer this time.
From the very beginning she notified that she adored reading my short stories and that she was a fan of mine. After her declaration a couple of girls left the premises immediately. Still it was just the beginning: at the end two more ladies declined having a drink with me after the event.
While I answered Jane’s questions (yes, she was Jane!), I put out of my mind the reading itself. Jane knew most of my pieces almost by heart and was eager to know more about them. Sure she was interested if my love stories were true to life.
- No, it was just fiction - I did my best to convince the audience. Then there was more of her examination. When I recovered I read out a short story. The public applauded me and I passed on to another work, and it was success as well.
Other questions were from listeners. Each time I presented an interrogator my book or an audio book with my stories, it depended on the question. Whenever I liked it, my book was presented. It didn’t last too long: I had only seven books with me and some copies of audio book.
When we were out, we drove to a nearest bar for a drink. And it wouldn’t work so late at night.
Æóðíàë MARCO POLO (ÑØÀ).
http://www.marcopoloartsmag.com/Reading-Party-with-No-Drinking