Part 39 (2/2)
He showed the publicity photo to the other couple and his date. They looked at the photo, at me, then at the photo again.
”It is him!” the redhead squealed.
”You're . . .” He had to turn the book over and read my name from the cover. ”. . . Grant Austin! You're Grant Austin, aren't you?”
”b.u.mmer! Today must have been a wild one for you, what with the president getting whacked and all,” the other male at the table said.
”Were you there? In the motorcade?” his blond girlfriend asked.
”I wasn't in the motorcade,” I said.
”But you saw it, didn't you? You saw the a.s.sa.s.sination?” the holder of the book asked. ”Man, that must have been rough, I mean, you've talked with the man, right? Sat down with him . . . interviewed him . . . did you get to know him?”
Had he asked me that question a couple of weeks ago I would have told him I knew the president. I probably would have boasted a little about being on Air Force One, or sitting in the Oval Office, or weekending at Camp David.
”No,” I said. ”I didn't know him that well.”
”But that must have been sad for you today,” the redhead opined with a pout.
A middle-aged man sitting with his wife at a neighboring table interjected, ”I believe he won an award for that book. The n.o.bel Prize. Am I right?”
”So what are you going to do now?” the man with the book asked. ”Write a final chapter or something?”
I took the book from him, autographed it with the date, and handed it back to him. ”Hold on to that,” I said. ”It may be worth something someday.”
Reaching the fountain in front of Horton Plaza with time to spare, I took a moment to look across the street at the U.S. Grant Hotel nestled in a cozy light, its polished gla.s.s doors reflecting the pa.s.sing car headlights of Broadway Avenue.
If I took Semyaza up on his offer I could return later tonight and stay in the presidential suite. Or I could take door number two and spend the night on a crowded ceiling with a couple hundred of my closest slimy green relatives.
I looked away. It was better if I didn't think about it, diverting myself instead with the sights and sounds of humanity.
The street I stood on had seen its share of history. I'd seen black-and-white pictures of Broadway on VJ Day at the end of World War II, and while the street didn't look nearly as crowded as it did then, the downtown's main artery was pretty much wall-to-wall people.
I turned westward toward the Emerald Plaza and nearly got run over by three boys on skateboards, all wearing hooded sweats.h.i.+rts. Despite their attire they seemed nice enough.
Noting my direction, one of them said, ”Going down to the bay?”
”Been there.”
”Kickin' president, saving those schoolkids like that! When I go down? I want to go down big time, in flames like that!”
”Careful what you wish for, kid,” I said.
But he wasn't listening. The three of them had already slapped their boards down and were crossing Fourth against the light.
Five blocks later I'd reached the Emerald Plaza. Pulling open the heavy gla.s.s door, I stepped into the lobby. The door swung closed behind me, shutting out the city noise. A huge atrium of chrome, gla.s.s, and greenery, it served as entryway to hundreds of businesses located in the towers.
Being nearly midnight, it was empty and as silent as a mortuary, except for a pair of bodiless voices coming from one of the adjoining corridors. One male. One female. Apparently he said or did something funny because she laughed.
Crossing the polished white tile floor, I summoned an elevator. The doors made a ritzy whoosh sound when they opened. I stepped inside. The doors whooshed closed behind me.
For several moments I stood there like a man in an oversized coffin. I stared at the double row of b.u.t.tons.
Semyaza appeared next to me.
I started at his sudden appearance.
”Going down?” he said with a smirk.
Without comment I pushed the b.u.t.ton that would take me to the top floor.
Sue Ling lunged for the door.
”Grant?”
Jana and Christina walked in. Sue Ling threw herself into their arms, laughing and weeping at the same time.
”He wasn't at the hotel,” Christina said. She was shoeless and worried. ”Did you have any luck with his cell phone?”
”A guy named Craig answered,” Sue replied.
”A tech at the station,” Jana said. She nodded as she pieced events together. ”We used Grant's phone to do the broadcast.”
”He said he'd return Grant's phone to you at the station,” Sue said. ”Are you . . . going out with him?”
”Who? Craig?”
”He sort of inferred that you and he have something going on,” Sue said.
”In his dreams,” Jana replied.
From the middle of the living room the professor watched with interest. The television set was on. It had been on all afternoon.
Jana said, ”We're going to drive around downtown and look for him. Come with us.”
Sue glanced hesitantly back at the professor. ”I probably should stay and-”
”She'd be delighted to go,” the professor answered for her.
Sue questioned him with a tilt of her head.
”I'll be fine,” the professor insisted. ”Go with them. You need to get out.”
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