Free For Every Evil by Ellen Hart Page A

out to be a waste of time.
     
    Entering through the front door, he unwrapped the wool scarf from around his neck and trudged to the rear of the room.
     
    Rudy looked up from his notebook as he approached. “Mr. Micklenberg.”
     
    “Good afternoon. I can’t remember your name.”
     
    “Rudy.”
     
    “Right.” Hale eyed one of the textbooks on the desk next to him. “Freshman composition. I remember that. I’ve always loathed creative writing.”
     
    “But you do it so well.”
     
    “I do?”
     
    “Your column.”
     
    “Oh. Right.” He strolled around behind the desk, fingering a crystal paperweight. “Is Kate here?”
     
    “She’s in the back. If you want, I could go get her for you.”
     
    “Do that.” Hale flipped open a tattered copy of
Under Milk Wood.
“Dylan Thomas, huh?”
     
    “I’m also taking a poetry class.”
     
    “Uhm.”
     
    “I’ll be right back.”
     
    As Rudy scrambled to his feet and dashed into the hallway, Hale made himself comfortable behind the desk. “What’s this?” he said under his breath. He picked up Rudy’s notebook and began reading. It was a poem. The first line was so ridiculous it made him snicker. By the time he was halfway through, he was doubled over with laughter.
     
    “What’s going on in here?” asked Kate as she entered the gallery a few moments later. Rudy was right behind her.
     
    Hale pointed to the notebook and shrieked: “‘… as comfortable as a blueberry muffin in a brown paper bag’!” His face had turned beet red. “And listen to this one.” Again he quoted: “‘… if I could crawl into the bowels of your heart and remain there, a passionate pilgrim’ !” He pounded the desk and roared. “‘The bowels of your heart’! ‘A passionate pilgrim’!”
     
    Kate turned around. Rudy’s face had become almost as white as the gallery walls. The fury in his eyes told her everything. “Rudy … I — I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.
     
    Without a word, Rudy ripped the notebook out of Hale’s hands, picked up his coat and textbooks, and stomped back into the hall. Kate could hear the rear door slam as he left.
     
    Hale continued to giggle uncontrollably. “That kid is quite the poet.”
     
    “Shut up.”
     
    He took out a handkerchief and wiped the tears from his eyes. “What did you say?”
     
    “I said shut up!”
     
    His smile evaporated.
     
    “You humiliated him! Why?” She slammed the ruler she was holding down on the desktop, sending the crystal paperweight crashing to the floor.
     
    Hale straightened his bow tie. “Oh, come on. I was just having a little fun. Even you have to admit it was god-awful drivel.”
     
    “It was private.”
     
    “Then why did he leave it out here in plain sight?” He rose, coming eye-to-eye with her. Nobody, especially a woman, was going to make him feel like a criminal for simply having a little fun. He refused to blink.
     
    “Why are you here?” Kate stood her ground.
     
    Very calmly, he replied, “You mentioned you were going to be receiving more works by Ezmer Hawks on Monday. Since today is Monday, I thought I’d stop by to see them. That is,” he added, his voice taking on a calculated sneer, “if that meets with your approval.”
     
    She hesitated. After several seconds, she said, “All right. They’re in the back.” Turning abruptly, she left the room.
     
    “Here’s the first one,” she said, placing it carefully on an easel. It was another pastel. Heavy on the blues and violets.
     
    Hale stood back, an approving smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Good … good. Next?”
     
    Kate placed a larger drawing in front of the first.
     
    He scratched his chin. “These are even more naturalistic than the group you showed me the other day. But I like them. In a strange way they remind me of —” He stopped, a frown forming.
     
    “Of what?” asked Kate.
     
    He gave his head a small shake. “Never mind. Are there