Hey. Aren’t we getting close to where the bridge is supposed to be?…
The blogger crossed her legs and sipped her latte. “So tell me, how did you get into an indie band as a lead violinist?”
Iced tea poured from the glass pitcher, raising the golden brown line in each glass painted with peaches below the rim. Mrs. Deity took a sip of her own. “So,” she said slowly, “y’all want my fried chicken recipe?”…
Ms. Jones-Berger looks up without ceasing the click of her nails on the keys. “Do you have an appointment, sir?”
The thundercloud doesn’t budge from the young man’s face…
“Sir, your four o’clock is here.”
“Ah, the after-school special!”
“Send them in, Ms. Jones-Berger.”
The door opens and the young man enters, stepping to the side and ushering in a small person about the height of a yardstick.
“Sir, allow me to introduce the lovely Honeysuckle Titus.”
The small person steps forward, hands clasped behind her. The pale pink dress wavers in the wind from the giant ceiling fan. The face lifts toward the man behind the mahogany desk….
Ms. Austen, tell me, if you were one of the Bennett sisters, which would you be?
Why, Lizzie, of course. Though I should aspire to be tempered by Jane’s good nature….
Mr. Dickens, if you could live anywhere in the world, where would you choose?
Is my wife coming along? …
Ms. Jones-Berger’s voice emanates from the intercom. “Sir, excuse me –”
Mr. Deity snaps, “I told you I wasn’t to be disturbed!”
“I’m sorry, sir, but he’s insistent –”
The door opens. “I need to talk to you.” ….
The office door breezes open. Mr. Deity is snug in his chair with his back to the door and doesn’t swivel around to face the intruder. “Go away, Ms. Jones-Berger, I’m busy.”
“Sir, it’s not Ms. Jones-Berger,” a deep voice rumbles…
“The Reverend Curry,” the assistant announced, holding the door open.
“Thank you, Ms. Jones-Berger. Please have a seat, Mr. Curry.” The man behind the desk steepled his fingers. “What can I do for you today, Reverend?” …