A Stiff Critique Read Free Page B

no one else seemed to think Slade was very funny.
    “What’s this?” he said, once he’d finished hooting. He speared one of the suspicious-looking brown chunks on his fork. “Tofu?”
    “Seitan,” Joyce murmured.
    “What the hell is seitan?” he demanded.
    “A meat substitute made from wheat gluten—” Joyce began.
    Slade put up his hand. “No, don’t tell me. Why you people seem to think there is anything inherently appealing in this garbage is beyond me…”
    He complained about the food for a good ten minutes more, both generally and specifically, with insults for each individual dish. At least his tirade gave me a chance to sample the dishes he was criticizing.
    “Maybe if the food was better,” he finished up, “Vicky might consider eating it.”
    Vicky clutched her plate of green salad so hard that the veins stood out on her thin arms. But she didn’t say anything. I wasn’t too surprised, though. I had yet to hear her utter a word.
    “Speaking of better food,” Nan said. “What’s for dessert?”
    “Coconut-honey-date bars,” said Russell Wu, his mild, soothing voice a welcome change from Slade Skinner’s loud haranguing one.
    The coconut-honey-date bars were good, too. Even Slade didn’t criticize them. Once they were gone, Nan licked the last crumbs from her fingertips and got up from her chair.
    “Past four o’clock, time to toddle on home,” she said, reaching for her purse. “A friend and I are going to that fabulous new Japanese place on Morton for dinner tonight. And I have to get up hideously early tomorrow to sell some red-hot real estate.”
    One by one, everyone began to stand then, shuffling, stretching and reaching for belongings. Travis and Donna turned toward the kitchen.
    “The next group meeting will be at my house on Saturday afternoon,” Carrie told us before anyone could leave the room. “We will be reviewing Slade’s and Donna’s manuscripts. Everyone should have received copies at the last meeting.” She looked around. No one contradicted her. “And if each of you would please prepare to tell Kate a little about your own work at the next meeting, it would be appreciated.”
    I watched people nodding, wondering if I should speak up. I wasn’t at all sure I was actually coming to the next meeting, but I couldn’t think of a polite way to say so. And then it was too late. Everyone was moving and talking again.
    “Mave, I brought you those pamphlets from the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals,” Travis said as he trailed the older woman into the kitchen.
    “Need a ride?” Russell asked Joyce.
    “No, I’ll take the bus,” she answered.
    “You’ll be wanting a copy of my manuscript,” a voice whispered, very close behind me.
    I jumped and turned to see Slade, less than a foot away, smiling down at me. He shoved a sheaf of white paper in my direction. I caught it as it connected with my chest.
    “ Cool Fallout ” he said with a wink.
    “What?” I said back.
    “ Cool Fallout, it’s my newest manuscript. Not many people get to see it in this form, Kate. You’ll enjoy it. See how a real writer works.”
    “Oh, thanks.” I turned to look for Carrie.
    “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.
    “Doing?” I repeated, looking back at him. The smile was still on his weasely face. The man wasn’t asking me out, was he?
    “Know a great place for a late dinner,” he said. God, he was asking me out. I wouldn’t have thought short, dark and A-line would be his type. “California cuisine—”
    “I have to work tonight,” I cut in.
    “But you’re your own boss—”
    “We’re the worse kind,” I assured him, looking around for Carrie in earnest now.
    She came striding over from the direction of the kitchen, Tupperware in hand. And I was glad to see her. But before we could leave, Slade asked her out to dinner. Right in front of me. And he kept on talking after Carrie had politely refused his offer.
    “I had a little talk with my