The Aerie
It was Writing Group again last night, and that means writing
exercise.
As described [1]previously, the writing exercise involves drawing a
random set of words that describe characters, places, situations and
emotions, and then writing as fast as possible for 20-30 minutes on
our selections.
I was particularly pleased with my effort last night, and so I'll
share it with you...
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"So honored we are to have you with us."
Gloria Viceppi turned away from the windy balcony railing where she'd
been trying to get some fresh air, and quickly adjusted her gaze
downward. Another fan gripped her book, "The Occidental Tourist," in a
sweaty, vicelike grip. Despite two similar receptions she
unconsciously extended her hand to the small, black haired fellow even
as he bowed. He then reached for her hand, whether to kiss it or shake
it she never knew, because she whipped it up to adjust her hair,
ruffled in the wind atop the high tower where the reception for her
book was being held, and then she bowed in return, finding herself
briefly staring at his own extended hand.
"This is how new customs are born," she thought briefly. "A hundred
years from now Americans and Japanese alike will greet each other by
bowing in turn over the other's extended hand, tallest first." She
wondered idly if the European habit of kissing each other's cheeks had
started with a similar set of faux-pas, maybe it was originally one
kiss right on the nose but people missed.
Her attention returned to the Japanese man in front of her, who, she
realized, was nearing the end of an amusing anecdote about how her
book had helped him understand the Western Mind.
"...and so I said to him, "'Hey, bud-dee, it's cool with me!'" he
finished, laughing uproarously. She joined in politely and signaled
over his head for the dour looking caterer to bring by the tray of
drinks. She was getting the idea that he was deliberately avoiding
her.
"Well," she replied in to the awkward silence, trying to remember what
the little man had been saying, "I'm very happy that you enjoyed my
book, and that it helped you in your shituation."
There was a pause, and for a panicked moment she wondered if she had
offended him, "Did I just say 'shituation'? Could he tell? His English
was very good. I'd better layoff the drinks!"
But the man seemed to be momentarily lost in thought and just then the
waiter arrived. She waved him away, wondering if that was a scowl of
irritation masked behind his implacable Japanese countenance. She
wondered what he would be like in bed. At five-foot-eleven she was
tall even for a gaijin, why he would hardly come up to her breasts!
She bet she could make him lose that porcelain expression!
"Miss Viceppi," the little man said, and she suppressed a startled
jump. She'd forgotten he was there. "I should tell you, I am more than
just a fan of your work."
"Oh god," she thought, "here it comes. Now he'll express his undying
love and devotion for me. Really, next time I need to use less
powerful stuff." Much of her book had come from information she found
in the Osaka University archives. In Japan on a grant to the Social
Sciences department, Gloria had stumbled across a treasure trove, a
cache of doctoral and post-doctoral works of Japanese social sciences
students examining Western thought. A little tweak here, a
transcription there, lace it all with classical Japanese and Western
poetry, and Gloria Viceppi's flagging academic career was gilded with
book tours and public appearances. She signaled the caterer for
another drink. She was sure that he was avoiding her.
"I'm sorry, am I disturbing you?" the man in front of her asked. Did
she detect an edge in his voice? Who was he again, another fan?
"Forgive me, I just can't seem to get the waiter over here," she
cooed, soothingly, "please go on with what you were saying?" She tried
to fix her full attention on him, but the dour caterer in his pressed
tuxedo was drawing ever closer. Damn but he looked good in that
austere, mysterious way these Japanese had...
"I was saying that I, too, worked at one time at the Osaka University
myself." The man said. She glanced at him again. Everything about him
was smiling except for his eyes.
"Oh, did you?" she grasped at the thread of conversation, "When was
that?"
"Four years ago. I worked with Doctor Nakimura."
"Ah, I'm sorry, he was a fine man," Gloria murmured politely. She'd
never met the man but had heard he was a boor.
"I left in order to care for my family after my parents died."
Another polite murmur as she snatched a martini and threw a wink at
the caterer. His face remained as impassive as ever.
"Do you know what I was working on before I left?" the little man was
still here.
She sipped her martini while slowly shaking her head no and raising
her eyebrows to encourage him to continue.
"I was working on a comparative study of Western and Japanese thought.
I wanted to examine ways in which we are alike and in which we are
different, your people and mine."
"Oh, really?" she asked, trying as best she could to charm the little
fellow into going away.
"Yes," he replied shortly, "Do you not think that your successful book
and my work bear a striking resemblance to each other?"
For just a moment she caught a thread of his meaning, and she choked
briefly on her drink.
The little man took this as a sign of encouragement and continued,
"Yes, and when I left for home, I stored my work in a little used
portion of the University computer system, under Dr. Nakimura's name."
Gloria remembered now. Remembered being given access to the late Dr.
Nakimura's files and research. The thrill of discovering the cache of
postdoctoral studies... suddenly the man interrupted her again.
"Imagine my surprise to find my research within this very book!" the
man cried, his implacable Japanese face now livid with rage. He raised
her book over his head threateningly... and at just that moment a
fresh martini appeared at the edge of her vision. She turned, feeling
something brush by her, and heard a cry like that of a seagull. She
glanced behind her, but the little man was no longer on the balcony.
It was nice that he'd left, he had seemed to be getting angry about
something...
She turned back to face the caterer, who was gazing at her with his
smoldering Oriental eyes. "Let me give you my room number," she
purred...
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My words were "A therapist", "Japanese", "a cocktail party", "envy and
jealousy", and "a close call with death". 25 minutes writing, no
revisions. I thought it was pretty good!
[2]Last
Posted by Albatross at July 3, 2002 12:00 AM