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“Sure. What do you do for a living, Ophelia? You a cleaner like your roommate?”
“Any work I can get, which isn’t much at the moment.”
“I know that feeling. What would you do if you had a choice?”
“I don’t know. Write, I guess. Maybe paint.”
“What kind of writing?”
“Have you heard of Tracy Benn?”
“The artist?”
“Yeah, I’m writing a book about her.”
“I’ll inform Mr. Felici. He’ll be most interested.”
“Really?”
“He’s a big fan. Owns several of her pieces already. Wrote her daughter a recommendation letter to get her into Harvard.”
“He did?”
“You going to get this book published?”
“I don’t know. It’s not even written yet. I’ve been trying to get her to agree to an interview for the last year but her agent just keeps fobbing me off. I can’t even think about publishers for a while yet.”
“Mr. Felici has a percentage of Random Card Publishing. I’m sure he could set up a meeting for you with one of their editors. Discuss it in person.”
“That’s very kind of you to offer but I’m nowhere near ready for that. I need to get it written first.”
“Take this.” He hands a card through to me. It’s got Felici written on one side and a handwritten phone number on the back. “Give us a call when your book is done.”
“I’ll think about it. Say, is there any chance of changing the channel back here?”
“Button panel is underneath the screen. Slide it open. Pick what you want.”
“Thanks.”
“Have a drink too if you like. It’s blended twelve year old. Pretty good. Relax and enjoy the ride.”
“I’ll try. Got to admit I’m not used to be driven about the place like this.” I pour out a glass of whiskey and take a sip. It burns a line down my throat like it’s a hundred percent proof. “That’s strong,” I manage to wheeze.
“Mr. Felici likes his liquor like he likes his women. Strong and fiery.”
“I thought you were going to say brown and trapped in a glass.”
He laughs. “I can see why he likes you.”
I flick through the channels and settle on an old episode of Frasier. I know it well but it’s comforting after the evening’s insanity. It’s the one where Niles overreacts to something. Oh, wait, that’s all of them.
By the time the episode’s done, we’re pulling up outside my place. Rocky stops the car and gets out, opening my door for me. I get a better look at him. He’s a similar age to Mr. Felici, maybe a little younger, mid to late thirties at most. “Thank you,” I say as he closes the door again.
“You’re welcome. You have our card. Call us when the book’s done. We’ll set up a meeting.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.”
He climbs back into the car and drives away, leaving me with the tipsy feeling from the glass of whiskey and the surreal sense that I must be dreaming.
