Read 1 Breakfast at Madeline's for Free Online Page A

stopped laughing and beating their spoons, and fell silent.
    Theoretically it's a great idea, giving local commu nities the power to decid e which of their artists to sup port. But there's a flaw. The gr ant panelists are often artists themselves, applying for the same grants they're giving out. When this happens, the interested party is supposed to leave the room while his or her application is discussed, but obviously there's great potential for conflict of interest.
    Gretchen broke the uncomfortable silence, declaring stiffly, "Some of them did receive grants, but of course we followed all the proper procedures, and—"
    "I know, Gretchen, I was just kidding."
    But everyone was still glowering at me. Fortunately Gretchen stepped in again and changed the subject. "Interesting way of working you've got there," she said, pointing at the plethora of notebooks, flattened milk cartons, and toilet paper piled high on the table in front of me.
    "Actually, this stuff isn't mine. It's Donald Penn's life work," I said, eager to keep the social ball rolling.
    Instead, the social ball screeched to a complete halt. If before I had put my foot in my mouth, this time I'd put my whole leg in. As for their mouths, they were all hanging open.
    Bonnie was the first to speak. " Really ," she said, treating me to one of her piercing looks.
    "Huh," said Ersatz Uncle Sam, scratching at his mustache.
    "How interesting," Pardou said, then started play ing the spoons with an angry vigor, off on some emo tional tangent of his own.
    "Yeah," drawled Novella Man. He wasn't a great conversationalist, but small verbal tasks like this he could handle.
    "Well, well," Gretchen intoned. I waited for her to say more, but all she said was, once again, "Well, well."
    And then they all went back to their coffee and soup-sipping and studiously ignored me.
    Somehow, I wasn't sure how, I had ruined their party.

6
     
    I stuffed Penn’s notebooks and assorted junk back into my pack and headed out of Madeline's back room, waving good-bye to my fellow artists. I must say, they didn't act like they'd miss me much. Why had they all reacted with such distaste when I showed them Penn’s magnum opus? You'd think I was showing them John Wayne Bobbitt videos or photographs of Jesse Helms or something.
    Madeline was gone from the front room when I came through, but Rob was still there, working behind the counter with Marcie.
    Marcie. Don't get me started. May God have mercy, Marcie was a young woman that I simply could not look at without picturing her naked. It wasn't just the long blond hair and the low-cut dresses—well, okay, maybe it was just the long blond hair and the low-cut dresses.
    No, there was something else, too. A sly gleam in her eyes that made you suspect she was picturing you naked. A smoky scent that snaked across the room and pulled you forward like some primeval mating call. I'm usually very olfactorily challenged, but Marcie sure brought out the nose in me.
    She smiled as I came in from the back room. I ducked my head and smiled back vaguely, without looking at her straight on. I get embarrassed when gor geous women can see on my face that I'd love to go to bed with them.
    I'm happily married with two great children. But still. For six months, ever since that three hundred K gave me both freedom and a midlife crisis simultane ously, I'd been wondering if I would suddenly start doing something totally out of character, like going scuba diving, or becoming a born-again Christian, or sleeping around. So fa r I hadn't. But I knew that, un chained from the constant demands of eight hours a day at the computer, anything was possible.
    And since anything was possible, I carefully avoided Marcie's sparkling eyes as I walked past her. But Rob stopped me. "So how's The Penn's stuff? Any good?"
    "It's, uh ... " I hesitated.
    Should I tell the truth? But that would turn the dead man into a laughingstock—and what right did I have to do that? Penn had tr usted me.