Chapter 7

A man with a sign with my name on it who looked oddly like a younger version of Saul stood near the carousel where our bags would be delivered. Mine finally had wheels and a golden ribbon attached to the handle, since it looked like a lot of the other bags. Carol’s identical bag had a silver ribbon. Mel had bought them for us, and Maryanne had suggested the identifying attachments.

“I’m Joe,” I said to the driver.

“Trevor,” he said, shaking my hand. “I need to retrieve my limo, since they wouldn’t let me park it at the curb.”

“Understood,” I said.

“Who was that?” Carol asked.

“Our driver apparently,” I said.

“He’s kind of cute,” she giggled.

“And I thought I had to worry about girls,” I sighed.

“No one’s as cute as you, Babe,” she grinned and pulled me down for a kiss.

“Back at you, Cutie,” I chuckled.

It had actually been a convoluted flight since both of us wanted to stop at home before heading east. Because I already had my ticket to New York, and knew I’d be stopping in O’Hare to change planes, she made sure she was on the same flight to New York. I had charged her tickets on my American Express card which Mel promised to pay off. I guess I was a bit of a kept man, but neither Carol nor I had a lot of money, and Mel, with her teenage modelling, did.

I spotted the white stretch limo approaching seconds after we rolled our bags to the pick-up area of the airport, and being the only limo, I figured it had to be Trevor. Nevertheless I made sure it was him driving.

We walked down the area to a place he could pull in, where he did, popping the trunk and getting out. He helped Carol with her luggage, and I lifted mine into the spacious trunk. My trusty satchel I left beside my luggage, and Carol placed her larger carry-on beside hers.

Trevor opened the door for us, and we entered the spacious back area of the limo. When he sat at the driver’s seat, he asked, “Do you want the privacy panel up or down?”

“Up please,” Carol giggled and Trevor obliged. Almost immediately she knelt on the carpeted floor of the limo and lowered my trousers and my undies and took in my cock. I unbuttoned my shirt and moved the fabric, along with my jacket, away from her target area.

After sucking me fully hard, and then some, she managed to remove her own trousers and panties and straddled my cock, sending it in deep with a moan. When our pubic bones met, I unbuttoned her blouse and reached back and undid her bra. She managed to slip it off without removing her blouse, so that both our torsos were exposed at the front with fabric framing them. After a lengthy kiss, she began moving. Lips separated, and I lowered my mouth to her cherry red nipples and sucked each one into my mouth. She managed to keep them available to me while she rocked atop me. I remained mostly deep inside her. Almost a subtle fuck. Until my rubbing of her clit, and just her need, caused her to speed up and abandon restraint. Her curses and encouragement must have been heard by Trevor, but neither of us cared. My hands grabbed hold of her ass cheeks, increasing the power of our genitals meeting, and she took over the rubbing of her clit as well as pulling on her nipples. Until, you guessed it, we both came.

“There’s cloths in the cabinet to your left,” we heard broadcast from a speaker.

Both chuckling, Carol leaned over and retrieved a washcloth, somehow already damp and warm. She lifted off me and caught the drips before handing me the cloth and standing, sort of. While cleaning my flaccid penis, I watched her dress.

“Just put it in the small bucket beside where you found it,” said Trevor.

“Does he have a camera or something?” I asked Carol and she shrugged and giggled. When she placed the used cloth in the basket, and I pulled up my pants and buttoned my shirt, I said, “Okay, Trevor,” kind of quietly. No response. “Okay Trevor,” I yelled, and the panel slid down.

“How did you know?” I asked him.

“I could hear Carol. Not specific words. Kind of muffled. When the sound ended, I presumed you were done.”

“My cutie with the sailor mouth strikes again,” I chuckled.

Carol blushed. Or blushed more. But smirked as well. “Was I really that loud?” she asked me.

“Not quite as loud as Maryanne, but you’re getting there.”

“You don’t seem to mind,” she said, relaxing beside me.

“I don’t. I love my innocent dirty mouth cutie. Though I might get me some earplugs.”

Bringing her lips to my ear, and breathing out her words, she whispered, “Then you couldn’t hear me tell you how much I love your big long beautiful cock, Babe.”

I shivered a little and started to harden again. Since her hand was on my groin, she felt it. She helped it along with a subtle rub. “You’re insatiable,” I said.

“I haven’t been with you in two days,” she pointed out.

“True,” I chuckled, turning my head to kiss her.

“Should I put the panel back up?” Trevor asked.

“Unless you want to watch,” Carol giggled.

“Uhm.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I think we’ve salved our need for now, right Sweetie?”

“Maybe you,” she smirked and rubbed a little harder.

“Patience Carol,” I chuckled.

She removed her hand. “Just kidding, sort of,” she said.

We finally made it to Saul’s cool old townhouse on a corner lot across from Riverside Park. Just the sunken entrance wowed me, done up in Art Deco. Trevor had to double park. But Saul must have been awaiting our arrival. He and a gorgeous young blonde woman came out to the limo and Saul opened the door for us. Trevor popped the trunk, and the woman pulled out our bags.

“Essie?” I asked. She wasn’t identical to Charlie, but her beauty surpassed his. And their features were similar.

“Guilty,” she smirked. “Nice satchel,” she said, handing it to me.

“I like it,” I shrugged.

“You guys hungry?” Saul asked, taking hold of Carol’s bag. Essie carried Carol’s carry on while I pulled my luggage onto the sidewalk.

We saw Trevor’s arm wave. We waved back. “Thanks Trevor,” I said, and watched him drive off.

“Hungry?” Saul asked again.

“I could eat, and Joe’s always hungry,” Carol giggled.

The inside of the townhouse impressed as much as the outside. Obviously redone and beautifully designed, I followed Essie into a large modern kitchen where a beautiful older blonde welcomed me. “Mousaka?” she asked. “With eggplant because I’m vegetarian.”

“Sounds good,” I said.

“I’m Moe.”

“Joe.”

“Glad to meet you.”

“Me too. Thanks for letting me stay here.”

“We’ll see after you’ve experienced Saul’s circus,” she chuckled.

A sexy, slightly raspy chuckle, like her sexy lower octave raspy voice.

While she prepared to nuke the moussaka filled Tupperware, Essie said, “Let me show you your room.”

“Of course,” I said, and followed Essie to a really cool elevator with an Art Deco gate which I noticed between glances at her taut shifting ass.

The room we were guided to on the second floor wasn’t all that large. A queen sized bed. A small desk. A couple sets of drawers. An armoire. “It’s our guest room,” Essie explained, almost apologizing.

“It’ll do fine,” I smiled.

“We have a couple others,” she told us. “One in the other half of the townhouse on this floor. One in the basement in Eddie’s area. I heard you met Eddie.”

“I did,” I said. “This is really fine, Essie.”

“There’s a bathroom next door. You’ll be sharing that with my mother, Joanne.”

“Okay.”

Essie sat. “Do you know about our arrangements here? Our sleeping arrangements?”

“I heard,” I said. “Saul has more than one wife.”

“Three. Mom’s more of a girlfriend I guess. I’m with Saul too, but have my own bedroom not a lot bigger than this one.”

“Do you get jealous?” Carol asked.

“What would be the point?” Essie shrugged. “He and his wives have other lovers, and I do too. Well, not at the moment, but it’s actually encouraged. My mom and Saul hope I find someone younger.”

“You don’t sound like that’s what you want,” Carol noticed.

“It’s not. Since I was a kid and Saul helped raise me and Charlie, I’ve told him I’d marry him someday. The sex part came much later, although I wanted it as soon as I wanted sex, you know. Saul relented only a year or so ago.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” said Carol, “but how old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Me too,” I said. “You look older.”

“You too,” Essie smiled.

“So you were like sixteen... ?” Carol started.

“Fifteen actually. We’ve been discrete. But like I said I did all I could to seduce him, so please don’t blame Saul.”

“You do seem a bit irresistible,” I pointed out.

“Just a bit?” Carol giggled.

Essie glanced at us with different eyes. “Interesting,” she smiled. “We should head down. You two must be starved.”

Others filtered in while we ate. Eddie and his longtime companion Rachel, another older blonde beauty. A younger woman with Chinese heritage who was Joe’s third wife. Liang. “Call me Li.” And five kids, from five to ten years old. Two each from Moe and Cheryl. And Joanne’s kid we’d met earlier. Joanne was there too, seeming to be mother to them all. When she herded them to bed, Eddie pulled out a joint. We were sitting in the living room by then. “You guys smoke?” he asked.

“Yes,” both Carol and I said.

We ended up smoking two of the thick joints. The best pot I ever smoked. Shared by all the adults except Essie, who told us she avoided mind alteration. “A glass or two of wine is all,” she said. Though she must have had some contact high with all the smoke in the room. Her mother never returned.

“I should go check on Cheryl,” Saul said at one point.

“Have fun,” Liang smirked. “And I’m going to see how Jo is doing.” Meaning Joanne.

“I guess I’ll check in with Chandi,” said Moe. “She should be up.”

“Give her my love,” said Essie. “And have her say hi to Vic.”

“I will,” Moe smiled, and left the three of us.

“You guys must be tired,” Essie asked.

“Not so much tired as wanting to go to bed,” Carol giggled.

“If that’s the case, mind if I join you?” Essie surprised us.

At least me. “Uhm,” I responded.

“Only if you don’t mind watching,” said Carol. “At least for a while. I miss my big guy.”

“Not at all,” Essie chuckled. “Come on.”

As soon as we entered the guest room, Carol stripped. “Hurry up, Joe,” she said. “And you should get naked too, Essie.”

Not that I didn’t enjoy the view of the beautiful teen’s body, as perfect as her face, I focused on Carol. My mouth attached to her pussy, giving her two orgasms before moving over her and letting her guide my cock to her eager hole.

We fucked slowly, lovingly. It helped me last, and it gave us the intimacy we wanted. But not long after things became more urgent, and I was thrusting hard and fast into her, and her mouth let out the usual jumble of expletives, I found myself pushing deep into her pussy, lively with her third orgasm of the night, with me joining it.

“Quite the mouth you have,” Essie giggled.

“It’s good for other uses,” Carol told her.

“Like getting Joe hard again?”

“That too.”

“You don’t happen to have rubbers?” Essie asked.

“I still have some in my satchel,” I told her.

“Good.”

Essie ended up being the best cocksucker I ever experienced. Even better than Maryanne. She held me deep in her throat longer than I thought would be comfortable. It, and Carol’s able assistance, made me cum again.

“Sit on his face, Essie,” Carol insisted.

“Good idea,” Essie smiled. My tongue soon tasted her beautiful essence. Sweet and musky, though I preferred Carol’s, but only marginally.

Meanwhile, once more, I felt two mouths work me hard again, with, from my experience with her, Carol doing most of the work. She had me hard in minutes and rode the result. I could tell the two beauties leaned into each other, kissing and caressing. I felt what I figured were Essie’s fingers on Carol’s clit. They also pressed against my cock sliding by.

After Carol galloped to a climax, her expletives mostly muffled by Essie’s mouth, she ordered, “Switch.”

“Just a second,” Essie moaned, the moans soon louder when she climaxed, my reward for a job well done drinking much more of her essence.

“I want to taste you,” Essie said once recovered.

“Okay,” Carol smiled and handed Essie the condom she’d retrieved from my satchel. Essie handed it to me and positioned herself on her front, gorgeous ass high. I very much enjoyed the view. The ass, yes, but also the curve of her back. Beautiful from all sides.

Once gloved up, Essie reached back to it and led it into her. She had some tightness and some skills with Kegel muscles, creating a most exciting experience inside her.

I started slow, but her ass began moving against my thrusts, signaling she wanted faster. And harder too, the way she banged back against me. I reached around her with both hands, one taking hold of her hanging tits while the other rubbed at her clit.

I soon felt my balls demand release, and since Essie’s undulations had become erratic, I didn’t hold back. Essie proved an effective cunniliguist, and once again the three of us climaxed simultaneously. I knew it was rare, even for two lovers, and Maryanne remarked on it, but somehow Carol and I had some weird link, and any woman, Essie being the third to share the experience, always seemed to join in on the orgasm fest.

“Wow,” Essie expressed while her orgasm abated.

“I know,” Carol giggled.

“I hope you don’t mind if I fuck and run,” Essie said as I eased my softened, covered penis from her pussy.

“Of course,” I said, lying back. Carol lay beside me. We watched Essie cover her body with the minimum. No panties nor bra.

“See you,” she said, holding the underwear.

“Join us anytime,” said Carol.

“I just might,” Essie grinned. “Too bad you got Joe first.”

“I know,” Carol grinned. “I’m a lucky girl.”

“I’m the lucky one,” I said.

“You might be right about that,” Essie said, moving her gaze from me to Carol before leaving.

“She’s gorgeous Joe, and brilliant supposedly,” Carol said.

I shifted onto my side. “I hope you’re not worried. Because that’s what I worried about from the beginning.”

She shifted herself, facing me. “She’s supposed to find someone her own age,” she said to me.

“I hope you’re kidding.”

“Just saying.”

“Carol?”

She giggled, exposing the tease. “One more?” she said and moved down my body. She removed the condom and handed it to me. “Do something with that.”

“Yes boss,” I chuckled and spotted the Kleenex dispenser on the bedside table and leaned over to it to grab one, moaning when my penis felt her lips. Setting aside the Kleenex covered condom, I urged her to bring her pussy to my mouth.

Neither of us came from our oral attention. She climaxed riding my cock. I turned us over for Missionary and fucked her relentlessly through two more orgasms, each quicker to arrive than the last. I of course joined her for her third.

“So good,” she relaxed, pulling my mouth to hers for a long soft sensual kiss. When it broke I turned us over so as not to crush her anymore, though she never seemed to mind.

“Love you,” she murmured against my chest.

“Love you,” I returned. We soon slid into sleep.

After a sensuous shower together in the large shower stall the next morning, we dressed. Saul met us downstairs. “Quiche?” he asked.

“Sure,” we both said.

He brought us the carafe of coffee and poured it into a couple mugs. Half and half and sugar and a sugar substitute were on the kitchen table. After nuking a couple slices of the quiche, he joined us at the table with his own half full mug. “We need to head to Hunter soon,” he told me. “Do you write, Carol?”

“Poems,” Carol told him.

She’d showed some to me. Short and imagistic. I liked them.

“Good, because running the workshop has its perks.”

“You’ll let me join in?” she grinned, perking up quite a bit.

“Yep.”

“That’s great!” I exclaimed. “We were worried about that. Not that she wouldn’t keep busy exploring Manhattan.”

“We’ve been attached at the hip almost since we met,” Carol explained.

“No surgery needed,” Saul chuckled.

“How did you know?” Carol asked him. “I mean to add me to the workshop.”

“When Joe asked me about having you here with him.”

“But I never mentioned her poetry,” I said.

“But you did mention her being an actress and in award winning shorts. Curiosity had me call a friend who is involved in avant-garde film. Turns out Anthology Film Archives had purchased the films.”

“You saw them?” Carol asked.

“Yes. With how poetic they are, and quite beautiful, it seemed likely you’d write. That and you being from Iowa City, a bastion of poetry. I actually have a friend who spent some time there in a foreign exchange. She’s Spanish, and quite an accomplished poet.”

I thought, with his track record, to ask if they’re intimate. He must have read me. “Yes, we’re lovers, Joe. When we can be.”

“Understandable,” I said.

“I’ll be seeing her later in the summer when Eddie tours Europe.”

“Saul plays bass for Eddie,” I explained.

“Very cool,” Carol said.

“Eddie and I have been friends since we were kids,” Saul said. “I started playing bass with Eddie at the beginning of his career. When the bassist he replaced me with died, unfortunately, and after some ... recovery, he asked me to join him again. Like riding a bicycle,” he chuckled, “Although I actually kept at it. It helps me to think sometimes. You guys ready?”

“Sure,” we both said.

“Collect your stuff then. Did you bring your poetry, Carol?”

“I did,” she smiled.

“I’ll put them in my satchel,” I said.

We ended up walking to Hunter, which was only about five blocks away. Both Carol and I loved seeing Manhattan during the day. I’d visited before a few times, having relatives who lived there, or at least in its environs, but Carol had never been.

Along the way, Saul asked, “Are you guys into any exercise program? Or any martial arts?”

“I attended ballet classes until I went to LA,” said Carol. “I miss having the movement, both in stretching and working out.”

“I’ve been studying martial arts,” I said.

“Which?”

“It’s sort of proprietary. A friend of Mel’s father in the military. The guy who was working with us was his pupil. It’s a mix of Judo and Karate, but mostly Krav Maga I think.”

“That’s perfect,” said Saul. “My family and I have studied Krav Maga for a while. We also incorporate Tai Chi movement.”

“I’d love learning some of that,” I said enthusiastically.

“And you could show us some of your moves.”

“Gladly, though I’m pretty new at it.”

“Whatever you can show us.”

“I’d like to learn as well,” said Carol

“Excellent. And you could show us some of your stretches. The thing is, we always do it early in the morning, so that the kids can get to school, although in the summer that’s not a problem, but the adults need to head to work.”

“What time?” I asked.

“Six?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Okay,” Carol agreed.

Saul left us at the door of a large classroom where a pretty Jewish college student sat at a desk just outside. The way she gazed at Saul, I guessed a crush.

“I need to collect some stuff in my office,” Saul said. “I’ll leave you in Nancy’s capable hands.”

“Names,” Nancy asked.

We gave them. She marked us off on a list and handed us folders. “Maps of Hunter and schedules,” she explained.

“Thanks,” I said.

“I think you’ll enjoy this,” she said with a smile.

“I think I will too,” I returned.

A large round table with several wooden seats filled most of the room. Several of the seats had bags in front on the table. Few seats were actually occupied. A man in his late thirties, slim and fey looking, and a voluptuous dark haired woman in her fifties, a charismatic beauty remaining on her aging face, and a thickness settling into her body, each had several workshoppers hovering around them. The man, Carl Staten, I knew to be a novelist of marginal success, though becoming more successful once he received the National Book Award this past spring. I wasn’t a fan, finding his characters too arch and cynical to want to get to know.

On the other hand, I was excited to meet Elisabeth Morello. She’d been called the new Chekhov, and like the great Russian writer, she wrote both plays and short stories, subtly comic and ironic. Even if the comparison was obvious, and she must have been influenced by him more than anyone else, both in her female perspective and her style of slightly off realism making the language her characters spoke quite unique, she’d been paving her way as a significant writer on her own part for some time. As proof of her success, a couple of her plays had made their rounds amongst several regional theaters. And her most recent play had been as highly praised as any, and would probably make the rounds as well.

Carol and I chose our seats. Unfortunately I only had the one satchel to save them, and Carol thought it unwise to leave her purse. “I’ll sit,” Carol smiled. “Go talk to Ms. Morello.”

“Thanks,” I said.

She giggled.

I took out a slim paperback from my satchel, and a sharpie. Hovering around the group that surrounded her, listening to fairly interesting questions, and clever and often amusing answers from her, I awaited my turn.

She noticed me and beckoned me forward. “Looks like one of my plays,” she smirked.

“Sorry Ms. Morello.”

“Betty, please.”

“Okay Betty. I’m Joe.”

“Hello Joe.”

“Uhm ... this is actually for a friend who’s envious I get to meet you.”

She took the book and the sharpie. “Her name?”

“Oh sorry,” I chuckled while the others around her laughed. “Melinda. She’s been my scene partner,” I added for some reason.

“Actors?”

“Yes. Just high school for me, but it looks like she’s starting a career in film. Just got a plum role.”

“Good for her.”

“And ... well ... I’m hoping to write her her next role.”

“Ambitious,” she said, handing me back the book. “You write plays?”

I read her note. “To Melinda. Great success.” And she signed her full name. She had a readable signature.

“Just scenes,” I said while reading her note.

“What does that mean, just scenes?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I call them Fragments. They’re like mini plays that hopefully present a complete arc. They’ve never seemed to generate a fuller play. Even a one act.”

“Is that what you plan to work on here?”

“Poetry,” I said.

“Not my area of expertise.”

I got the message. And nodded.

“What else do you write?” she asked. I started feeling resentment from the others. Whatever.

“Short stories,” I told her. “It’s what I started with.”

“Any any good?”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Could you translate them to the stage?” she asked. “As an exercise for the workshop.”

“You want me to try writing a longer play?”

“If you want.”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

She moved on to her next fan.

I walked over to Carol and sat.

“How was she?” Carol asked.

“Really cool,” I said, showing her the note.

“Succinct,” she said.

“But kind of cool,” I added.

“True,” she smiled, handing it back. I shoved it into my bag. “I saw you talking to her for a little bit.”

“Yeah. She actually suggested me writing a play. Something...”

“Longer than a scene?” Carol smirked. “So you’ll be working with her.”

“And you’ll be working with Saul.”

We laughed.

The why came out immediately. “You going to seduce her?” she asked. “She seems interested.”

“And Saul?” I returned.

“His plate is full.”

“You mean his bed.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not ready to share you with a man.”

“I know, and believe me, I’m fine with that. More than fine.”

“And any interest from her would have to include you.”

“I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Understood.” The oldest woman we’d shared had been Maryanne, who was in great shape. Not so much Betty, despite her charismatic beauty.

The time for the workshop to begin arrived. Thirty students ringed the table, the oldest in her mid-twenties. It looked like I might be amongst the youngest.

Saul stood tall over our seated forms. “This is my seventh time leading this workshop. And believe me, I’m not jaded. It’s a favorite thing, being around young writers like you. It’s inspiring. Anyway, my name is Saul Loman. I was born in a small town southeast of the Twin Cities. I’ve lived in Minneapolis some, but mostly live in New York. I received my BA in literature here at Hunter and my Masters and PhD at Columbia. I’m known mostly as a poet, and have published four books, five if you include a sort of best of collection recently published. I’m also a playwright, and produce and direct my plays in Minneapolis every spring. None have been published.”

“One is being published,” said the Jewish woman, Nancy who had been at the door and was sitting just inside it.

“True,” Joe smiled. “And hopefully more in the future.” He picked up a piece of paper. “I’d like you to do what I just did. A brief autobiography. Tell us what you write. What brings you here. Typical of workshops. But also, I’d like you to read a small segment of your writing. It can be a short poem, a stanza. A paragraph. A monologue. Whatever you want. And please wait to applaud until everyone has read. Let’s avoid any applause-o-meters.”

He read a beautiful succinct little poem.

The other professionals followed him, and the young writers. Some more nervous than others. Most of the writing was pretty good. Occasionally great.

By the time my turn arrived, after introducing myself and telling everyone I would be attending Hunter, but not about the inside track I got from meeting Saul, I read a monologue I had written for myself. When I cut it off because of time, Betty asked, “Could you finish it?” No one seemed opposed, so I did.

Carol followed. “I was born and raised in Iowa City. For a small Midwestern city, it had a surprisingly thriving poetry scene, of which I’ve been a part for a couple years. There’s an abundance of small press zines, so I’ve been published a few times, mostly in a glossy magazine my girlfriend helps publish. It’s cool because the poems are surrounded by photos. Not really illustrations, but sort of. Anyway, I’ve just been to LA and now I’m in New York and feel like a small town girl in a big city. In awe a bit. To tell you the truth I’m here because Joe’s here. We’re quite fond of each other, and have grown literally attached,” she giggled.

She read a poem. One of her longer ones, because her poems tended to be short. Sort of haiku like, but not as structured. I watched Saul nod and smile.

When the last person finished and sat, Saul stood. “How about we applaud each other now?” The applause built, becoming near enthusiastic. When in tailed off, he asked, “Anyone want to discuss anything they heard?” One of the older women, in her early twenties raised her hand. “Karissa isn’t it? You can just speak up, okay?”

“Okay,” the pretty, thickly built brunette nodded. “I noticed that while some of the things read were obviously moments in much longer works, like a momentary gesture, I felt I got the gist of it. The language and the way it was being used. But I’d have to say when Ms. Morello...”

“Betty please,” Betty interrupted.

“Betty. When Betty asked that Joe finish his monologue, I kind of wanted the same thing. It felt dissatisfying somehow. And needed to be complete. And it was kind of satisfying as well when...” she glanced at her notes, “Carol followed with her complete short poem. The two together was like a highlight, I mean after you three pros,” she blushed.

“I’ve actually read some of Joe’s other work,” said Saul. “And I know what you mean. There’s always an arc there in his monologues and his short scenes that always have a satisfying resolution. So you decided to work on your playwriting here, Joe?”

“My fault,” Betty chuckled.

“I think it’s a good idea. I wanted a balance with prose writers, poets and playwrights. With Joe shifting to playwriting, it’s become more even. But Karissa brought up an interesting idea. About getting a hint, and wanting to hear more. Any others feel that way?”

“Uhm, it’s Bob if you don’t remember,” a blond sort of dandy looking young man maybe a little older than me spoke. “I agree with Karissa about Joe’s monologue and getting the gist of things from the rest who read partial. I’d say the other exception would be Carl Staten. Except I guess we wouldn’t have time to have him read his entire novel.”

Everyone laughed.

“That’s good, because it’s something I’m working on,” Carl smirked.