At three o' clock in the afternoon, with ten full, double-spaced pages of prose already behind them, Oscar stood up from the desk and stretched his back. Kate was so involved with the story thus far that she barely noticed him slipping from the room. It slowly dawned on her, as she finished off another page, leaving an unfinished sentence hanging and desperate for her to begin the next without being forgotten, that he'd mentioned a prior obligation that he felt necessary to see through. She could hear him even now, opening the closet of his bedroom and scraping hangers across the metal bar as he assembled his wardrobe, so she finished off her thought, to the relief of the poor sentence that finally became whole, and went to the hall, waiting patiently outside the study.
"Oh, hello, dear. I didn't mean to interrupt your work," he said as he stepped from the bedroom.
He was dressed in a dark suit with a black tie that had been neatly straightened, brass cufflinks studding his wrists, his hair neatly parted and sporting an apparent layer of sculpting gel.
"You look nice," she replied with an approving nod. "Where you going?"
"Out for a little while. It's nothing to trouble yourself about. I simply need to grab a short story from my study, and I'll be out of your way. Feel free to stay and work as long as you like. I won't be gone for more than an hour or so."
He walked past her triumphantly, believing he had successfully deflected whatever interest she'd had in his activities, but his major flaw was that he didn't know Kate Knight well enough to anticipate her stubborn curiosity.
"So... where are you going?"
"Just out, dear. As I said, I won't be gone long."
"Oscar."
"Yes?"
"Where are you going?"
He glared at her impatiently, but her reply was a simple, sweet smile.
"You might as well tell me," she said. "If you don't, I'm going to follow you anyway, so spill it."
"You'd really follow me?"
"Yes, and potentially make a scene. Didn't the Walrus warn you about me?"
"Not well enough, it would seem. Very well. If you must know, I'm going to a--," he said, then paused long enough for an exasperated, overly-dramatic sigh, "--a birthday party."
"That's nice. Who's birthday?"
He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket, covered in a scribbled handwriting that only Oscar could read.
"Dakota Banks--a very dear old friend of mine. I believe she's turning twelve."
"Don't tell me it's one of those birthday parties. How much are they paying you?"
"An exorbitant amount, I assure you. It seems that little Dakota's friend Madison had Tom Wolfe reading at her party last month, so now, of course, the Banks are taking the opportunity to one-up their social peers."
"Hey, at least they think you're better than Tom Wolfe."
"Yes, well, there is that. I'll understand perfectly if you want to continue working while I'm gone. After all, the only way one becomes a better writing is by writing as much as possible without interruptions."
"Oh, I'm going with you," she said with a smirk.
"Do you really want to see me humiliated?" he asked, defeated.
"Watching the humiliation of others is one of the finer things in life, I've found. Makes me feel all better about myself."
"Fine, then. You can help me pick out a story to read, but remember this: in ten years, this is what you have to look forward to."
"Oh, hello, dear. I didn't mean to interrupt your work," he said as he stepped from the bedroom.
He was dressed in a dark suit with a black tie that had been neatly straightened, brass cufflinks studding his wrists, his hair neatly parted and sporting an apparent layer of sculpting gel.
"You look nice," she replied with an approving nod. "Where you going?"
"Out for a little while. It's nothing to trouble yourself about. I simply need to grab a short story from my study, and I'll be out of your way. Feel free to stay and work as long as you like. I won't be gone for more than an hour or so."
He walked past her triumphantly, believing he had successfully deflected whatever interest she'd had in his activities, but his major flaw was that he didn't know Kate Knight well enough to anticipate her stubborn curiosity.
"So... where are you going?"
"Just out, dear. As I said, I won't be gone long."
"Oscar."
"Yes?"
"Where are you going?"
He glared at her impatiently, but her reply was a simple, sweet smile.
"You might as well tell me," she said. "If you don't, I'm going to follow you anyway, so spill it."
"You'd really follow me?"
"Yes, and potentially make a scene. Didn't the Walrus warn you about me?"
"Not well enough, it would seem. Very well. If you must know, I'm going to a--," he said, then paused long enough for an exasperated, overly-dramatic sigh, "--a birthday party."
"That's nice. Who's birthday?"
He pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket, covered in a scribbled handwriting that only Oscar could read.
"Dakota Banks--a very dear old friend of mine. I believe she's turning twelve."
"Don't tell me it's one of those birthday parties. How much are they paying you?"
"An exorbitant amount, I assure you. It seems that little Dakota's friend Madison had Tom Wolfe reading at her party last month, so now, of course, the Banks are taking the opportunity to one-up their social peers."
"Hey, at least they think you're better than Tom Wolfe."
"Yes, well, there is that. I'll understand perfectly if you want to continue working while I'm gone. After all, the only way one becomes a better writing is by writing as much as possible without interruptions."
"Oh, I'm going with you," she said with a smirk.
"Do you really want to see me humiliated?" he asked, defeated.
"Watching the humiliation of others is one of the finer things in life, I've found. Makes me feel all better about myself."
"Fine, then. You can help me pick out a story to read, but remember this: in ten years, this is what you have to look forward to."
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