the hot-eyed Tuscan maitre d’ is giving us the evil eye. Shall we go?
Abby_Donovan: I’d say “Your place or mine?” but since we’ve already established I don’t lick on the first date …
MarkBaynard: It’s still a lovely night. How about if I just walk you back to the villa where you’re staying?
Abby_Donovan: The 16th-century villa with the marble floors, the frescoed ceiling painted by Michelangelo, and the climate-controlled wine cellar?
MarkBaynard: That would be the one. You are paying for dinner, right?
Abby_Donovan: So (I say as we stroll down a cobbled alleyway), how did you end up teaching English lit? A love of books or of shaping young minds?
MarkBaynard: A love of being tenured before I was thirty-five. The books and young minds were fringe benefits along with the 401K and the dental plan.
Abby_Donovan: I’m not buying your dimestore cynicism, Mr. Baynard. I’m convinced the wounded heart of a romantic beats beneath that sardonic exterior.
MarkBaynard: If you must know, I chose English lit because I wanted to wear one of those houndstooth jackets w/ the leather patches on the elbows to work.
Abby_Donovan: It’ll look fabulous on the dust jacket of your first novel.
MarkBaynard: Plus it was really the only possible vocational choice for a kid who used to carry a briefcase to grade school.
Abby_Donovan: I used to do that too!
MarkBaynard: Yeah, but if you’re a girl they don’t steal your lunch money and give you an atomic wedgie for it.
Abby_Donovan: You never did tell me what book an English lit professor would take on his 3-hour tour?
MarkBaynard: The Kama Sutra, of course. Especially if Ginger and Mary Ann were on board.
Abby_Donovan: And if you had to choose a book WITHOUT pictures? Tolstoy? Dickens? Updike?
MarkBaynard: No Biff the Bunny, huh? How about A PRAYER FOR OWEN MEANY by John Irving?
Abby_Donovan: Really? I would have pegged you as more of a Hunter S. Thompson man.
MarkBaynard: He was gonzo, but Irving, like Jerry Seinfeld, knows the only way to survive this life is to view it as some sort of absurdist tragi-comedy.
Abby_Donovan: No matter how tragic or comic, all of Irving’s books incorporate a pervasive sense of destiny.
MarkBaynard: Maybe that’s the secret appeal for me. In a John Irving novel, nobody ever dies a meaningless death. Ah, here we are back at your villa.
Abby_Donovan: Do you want your coat back?
MarkBaynard: Keep it. It’ll give me an excuse to call you again.
Abby_Donovan: What makes you think I’ll answer?
MarkBaynard: Because you care enough to play hard to get.
Abby_Donovan: Maybe I’m just bored because my hot Italian lover is off racing his Formula One Ferrari at Monza.
MarkBaynard: His loss. My gain.
Abby_Donovan: Why are you looking at me like that?
MarkBaynard: I’m trying to decide if I should kiss you goodnight.
Abby_Donovan: I’m trying to decide if I want you to kiss me.
MarkBaynard: I definitely want to kiss you but I don’t want to scare you away.
Abby_Donovan: I don’t frighten that easily.
MarkBaynard: Then why are you trembling? (I lean down & ever so gently brush my lips against your temple, inhaling the scent of your strawberry shampoo.)
Abby_Donovan: It’s Paul Mitchell. I haven’t used strawberry shampoo since the 6th grade.
MarkBaynard: (Then I turn and walk away, the epitome of Steve McQueen cool, humming “Perfect Day” by Lou Reed while you gaze longingly after me.)
Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Sawyer (I call after you, admiring your carefully calculated slouch.)
MarkBaynard: Goodnight Freckles (I toss over my shoulder.)
Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Hurly
MarkBaynard: Goodnight Juliet
Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Dr. Jack
MarkBaynard: Goodnight Penny
Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Desmond
MarkBaynard: Goodnight Sun
Abby_Donovan: Goodnight Smoke Monster
MarkBaynard: Goodnight Tweetheart …
Long after Mark was gone, Abby continued to stare at her Tweetdeck through semidazed eyes. Several new tweets from
Charles Tang, Gertrude Chandler Warner