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Weston was momentarily confused, until he remembered the hotline conversation.
"Talbot," he said.
"Tall what?"
"Talbot. Isn't that the password?"
"No. "
"It's last week's password," someone from in the room said.
"Sorry, buddy. " Old Guy folded his arms. "That was last week's password. "
"That's the one I was told to use. "
"By whom?"
"The SA hotline woman. Tina or Lena or someone. "
"Sorry. Can't let you in. "
"I brought you donuts. " He meekly held up the box.
Old Guy took them.
"Thanks. "
"So I can come in?"
"No. "
Weston didn't know what to do. He could call the hotline back, but he didn't have the number handy. He'd have to find Internet access, find the website, and by then the meeting could be over.
"Listen. " Weston lowered his voice. "You have to let me in. I'm a thespianthrope. "
Several snickers from inside the room.
"Does that mean when the moon rises you start doing Shakespeare?" someone asked.
More laughs. Weston realized what he said.
"A therianthrope," he corrected. "I'm the Naperville Ripper. "
"I don't care if you're Mother Theresa. You don't get in without the correct password. "
Weston snapped his fingers. "Zela. Her name was Zela. She liked to grab people's nuts. "
Old Guy remained impassive.
"I mean, she said she was a weresquirrel. She hoarded nuts. "
"I'll call Zela. " It was a woman's voice. Weston waited, wondering what he would do if they turned him away. For all of his Googling, he'd found precious little information about his condition. He needed to talk to these people, to understand what was going on. And to learn how to deal with it.
"He's okay," the woman said. "Zela gave him the wrong password. Said he's kind of a schmuck, though. "
Old Guy stared hard at Weston. "We don't allow for schmuckiness at SA meetings. Got it?"
Weston nodded.
