Page 76 of Flirting with Forever

“Going…?” Jeanne waited for a location.

“Going?” Ball said, appearing next to her in the doorway.

“Gone.” Jacket strode by, tossing a bottle into the recycling bin and reaching for the refrigerator door. “Sounds like a plan to me.” He pulled out four beers, handed one each to Jeanne, Ball, and Cam, then gave Peter a smile that made Cam wonder exactly what had transpired before she arrived. “Pleasure to meet ya, buddy.”

“I’m Woodson Ball,” Ball said. “Jeanne tells me you’re an artist.”

Jacket choked, and Peter accepted Ball’s outstretched hand.

“’Tis kind of her,” Peter said. “I paint.”

“I was just telling Jacket here the stuff he does—oh, it’s marvelous, don’t get me wrong—just isn’t what moves me anymore. It’s the new guard pushing the old guard, the Jackets of the world, out of the way. Not that Mr. Sprague here will ever be going hungry, right?” He gave Jacket an affectionate thump on the back, and Jacket grimaced. “I’m looking for something new, something that knocks your loafers off, something that says in the context of everything that’s come before me, ‘This is where I stand,’ you know what I mean? Not an iconoclast for iconoclast’s sake. A synthesizer. Someone who stands upon the shoulders of giants and doesn’t say…”

“‘Fuck you’?” Jacket suggested.

“Well,” Ball said, pushing his thick black frames up with a finger, “I think I was going for ‘Y’all be damned,’ but I suppose ‘fuck you’ captures the essence as well. Someone who stands on the shoulders of giants and doesn’t say ‘fuck you,’ but says, ‘I understand, and I see even more.’ Do you see what I mean?”

Jacket tipped the beer and swallowed thoughtfully. “Sounds like an irritating little sod to me.”

Peter crossed his arms and slouched against the counter. “You’re a patron?” he said to Ball. “A collector?”

Ball beamed. “As if my life depended on it.”

“I can see where you find the ‘fuck yous’ of the world tiresome,” Peter said. “They betray a lack of substance. It’s all rhetoric. And when the posturing’s done, where are you?”

“Exactly,” Ball said, and Cam postured a discreet middle finger in Peter’s direction.

Ball rubbed his hands. “Well, Cam, I hate to chat and run, but the Gators are on in half an hour.”

Cam silenced Jeanne with a sharp look. “No problem, Mr. Ball. I really appreciate the ride.” She gestured for Jeanne to follow as she walked Ball to the elevator. When the elevator door closed behind him, Cam whispered, “How did he get here?”

“What do you mean, ‘How did he get here?’ The same way you did. He landed at your desk.”

“Couldn’t have. No Amazon in 1673.”

“Amazon?”

Peter appeared behind them. He smiled. “Do you mean the river?”

Cam didn’t say anything. Jeanne gave her a look and said, “Yes.”

“Ah. I’m afraid the river did exist in 1673. And for a good deal before that, I can assure you.”

“Thank you,” Jeanne said.

Cam rolled her eyes and jabbed the Down button.

“No, no, no,” he said, holding up his palms. “I cannot stay. Thank you for the kind offer, though. I am most sensible of your generous hospitality.”

Jeanne giggled, and Cam shot her a glare that would have ignited marble.

Ignoring this, Jeanne said, “Do you need a ride? I’m heading back to the office. I mean, like, what exactly do you do now?” She met Cam’s eye in a quick sidelong glance.

“What town do I have the pleasure of visiting?”

“Mt. Lebanon,” Cam said dryly.

“There is a small public house I spotted across Mt. Lebanon’s strand. I believe I shall retire there.”