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Chapter One
Nothing New Under the Sun
Present Day
Jenna
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you compare Sutter’s epic series
Sons of Anarchyto Shakespeare’sHamlet.”
The lecture hall erupted in claps and cheers. I leaned back against the desk at the front of the auditorium and smiled.
My work here is done,I thought as I gave myself a moment to enjoy the praise. Then I raised a hand, and slowly the crowd of college students stilled.
“Essay topics are in your syllabus, and your papers are due next week. We have one more day scheduled for discussion, so bring your questions tomorrow, and we’ll hit it hard.”
With that, class dismissed, and I turned my denim clad bootie to gather my things, listening as always to the murmurs of conversation as students left the hall. I found this a much more reliable barometer of student opinion than the bs professor evaluations.
A pack of frat boys passed by.
“Dude, when I see her at Malone’s, I’m gonna tap that.”
“You’re gonna crash and burn, you mean. I’ll put money on it.”
Okay, maybe they learned something today. And maybe my jeans are too tight.
A perky blonde stopped by my desk. “Dr. Albright?”
I turned, searching for her name.Sarah?“Yes, Sarah?”
The girl’s eyes sparkled at the recognition.
Got it in one.
“How do you think Sutter stacks up against Shakespeare creatively? I mean, we’re reading Shakespeare 400 years later. You think Sutter’s gonna have that kind of longevity?”
I pondered the question a moment. It was a good one. “Doesn’t matter. Because people are gonna be reading Shakespeare in 400 more years, so Sutter’s gonna be relevant one way or the other. Sutter borrowed. So did Shakespeare. Sutter just took a fresh look at something that was already great.”
“So plagiarism….?” Sarah let her question hang in the air.
“Nothing new under the sun, babe,” I replied.
Sarah nodded and smiled, “Thanks, Dr. Albright.”
I uncrossed my Frye boots and tagged my leather jacket from the rolling chair behind the desk. “Anytime.”
“God, she’s socool,” Sarah breathed as she walked away.
I snagged my Louis Neverfull, perched mirrored aviators on my nose, and made for the exit.
Ten years ago at the beginning of myliberation, as I liked to think of it, I’d thought of motorcycle man Talon often. Fantasized, imagined. All while I ditched my cheating husband and figured out who I wanted to be, for both myself and for Cassie.
It had taken a while, but I’d found the adult edition of the rocker chick I used to be. The South Georgia girl in American flag bikinis and cut offs, with graphic tees and kick ass boots.
Now, I was a nerd in tight jeans, concert tees, and piles of silver jewelry, one particular necklace hand crafted with a 9 mm bullet slug for a charm. In spite of the necklace, I hardly thought of Talon at all. But sometimes I remembered. And wondered what he’d think of me now.
I smiled as I hit the Georgia sunshine. Nothing like spring time in Savannah.
