NO HARD FEELINGS
"Tell me about yourself, " Senior ordered, "Where do you come from and what doyou do?""I'm from a small town out West. I was a business executive there, but quit my joband came to New York to write and to dance. I've been writing to amuse myself for a long time, but I've just begun to dance and I really like it.""Hey, I like you. You've got brass balls! Say, meet my son, here. He's an award-winning film maker," Senior stated matter-of-factly, then tossed back anothershot. Junior had been staring at his beer glass; he looked up with a countenancethat said, "Here we go again, Dad's hooked another one," and offered Paul a limphand to shake."Like I said, you've got brass balls to come here out of the blue like that. Well, atleast you came to the right place. What are you working on now?" Senior asked."I've just completed a series of articles about dance in New York City.""Where is your work? I want to see it now," Senior leaned over and leered at Paul."You give it to me and I'll tell you what, if I like it I'll back you up.""I don't have copies with me," Paul said, as if that were the end of it. He felt likehe was on the verge of winning a jackpot, yet he did not want to blow it byseeming too eager. But he had no reason for reticence."Look, look here, look, uh, what did you say your name was?" Senior was well intohis cups by now, his head lolling about, but he managed to stay in command."Paul. Paul Bowman.""Look here, Paul Bowman," Senior ordered, now staring at Paul's face, "if yourstuff is as good as you seem to be, I'm going to back you up. Understand?""Yes," Paul felt his heart thumping at the prospects."You send your stuff to John Wilson, Senior, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, zip code,zip code, oh what the hell, just send it along to me. Everybody knows me."