A Stiff Critique Read Free

Damn.
    What was that all about? I was liking the idea of spending time with working writers less and less.
    “Now, Nan,” Mave said, waggling a finger. “We all get a mite testy when we’re critiqued, but that doesn’t mean you can just ride roughshod over the rest of us—”
    “Mave, will you knock off the folksy routine?” Slade demanded. “You grew up here in Marin just like I did and you had fucking well better—”
    Travis leapt from his seat. “Don’t you talk to Mave that way!” he shouted. “Or I’ll—”
     

 
    - Two -
     
    “Or, you’ll what?” Slade cut in. He rose from his chair, dumbbell in hand and squinted his close-set eyes. “Tell me how politically incorrect my actions are?”
    Travis’s mouth opened and disjointed words came sputtering out. “You—can’t—Mave—”
    Carrie stood then too. She placed her small, round body between the two men and spread her arms like an umpire.
    “You two cut it out right now,” she ordered, her voice low and firm. “Both of you.”
    The order wasn’t up to her usual formal standard of speech, but it did the trick. Both men glared for a moment longer, then lowered their eyes simultaneously and returned to their respective seats.
    Carrie sat back down, muttering to herself and shaking her head. I caught “ye gods and goddesses” and “damn fools,” but none of the other words in between. It was probably just as well, because Mave was talking at the same time.
    “…is all right, Travis,” she was assuring the younger man. She leaned back against the cushions of the sofa and let out a braying laugh. “An old warhorse like me has heard plenty worse, let me tell you. Good golly, seems to me—”
    “Well, this has been oodles and oodles of fun,” Nan interrupted. “But I for one need a break.” She stood and stretched, her fingers laced behind her head as she arched her back. It was quite a sight. Even Travis seemed to forget he was mad at Slade as he turned to stare at her.
    Once Nan had everyone’s attention, she dropped her arms and asked, “Can we eat now?”
    So we ate. Food was potluck and spread out on a long wooden table in the kitchen. There was lots of it and it all looked good. And better yet, most of it was recognizably vegetarian. I helped myself to a pasta salad studded with broccoli and almonds, green salad, French bread, marinated asparagus and Carrie’s homemade carrot muffins, which, on the way over, she had assured me were vegetarian. Then I added a scoop of my own Thai-style noodles. The other dishes might have been free of animal products too, but I was suspicious of the little brown chunks in one and the brown broth in the other, so I left them alone and carried my full plate back to the living room to join the others.
    Travis was shoveling food into his face as fast as he could swallow, looking a little less gorgeous than usual as he did, but not much. In fact, everyone seemed to be packing it in. Well, not everyone. Donna had spilled something on her blouse and was busily shredding a paper napkin on it in an effort to scrub it away. Joyce was prodding bits of food with her fork but had yet to raise that fork to her mouth. And Vicky, whose emaciated body looked like it could use the food more than the rest of our bodies put together, was ignoring her own plate with its small serving of green salad to watch everyone else eat.
    I opened my mouth to ask why she wasn’t eating, then realized it was none of my business. Anyway, I had a better use for my mouth. I was hungry. I broke off a piece of carrot muffin. The tantalizing scent of oranges and cloves wafted up to my nose.
    “Well, Kate,” Mave said just as I was about to stuff the piece in my mouth. “Tell us about yourself.”
    My stomach clenched. I set the untasted piece of muffin back on my plate unhappily.
    “Oh, I own a gag-gift company, Jest Gifts—”
    “Gag gifts?” Her gray eyebrows shot up above the violet rims of her glasses. “Holy gee, do