Free Scarecrow’s Dream by Flo Fitzpatrick Page A

you.”
    The taller of the two leaned down and gave me a hug. “Hey, Holly. Good to see you. And, no, I didn’t go to Canada. I was all prepped but ended up with appendicitis. Had to have an emergency operation and the draft board said ‘we don’t want you now.’ At least for another year. Hopefully by then this stinking war will be over. If not? I may yet wind up in Toronto. Rob, of course, already did his tour so he’s not getting sent back.”
    “I’d rather jump off a bridge,” Rob stated emphatically. “Shit, I’m still going to veterans’ support groups. So, Holly? What are you up to? Still taking classes?”
    “Oh yeah. I’m in the middle of the fall semester—teaching one freshman survey course, but also I’ve been working with my dad. I don’t know if I told you we live up in Inwood? Anyway, I’ve been helping paint apartments in our building and doing some minor repairs. We had about ten apartments turn vacant over the last six months. It’s two buildings connected, though, so it’s not really the mass exodus it sounds like.”
    Marshall asked, “Don’t the unions bar you from ever working again?”
    I laughed. “I’m not sure Painters DC Nine is aware there are buildings past Harlem—and we’re way past Harlem.”
    Marshall grinned. Rob nodded, then squinted at Shane, as if trying to place him. “Excuse me for staring, but you are Shane Halloran, right?”
    Shane had been following the short conversation with a frown. Now he appeared nervous. “I am. Why?”
    “This is strange,” Rob mumbled.
    I started to ask why, but was interrupted by Shane. “Why is this strange?”
    I responded before Rob had a chance. “Oh. Sorry, guys. My manners are bad today. Shane, this is Rob Stutzgraft. We’re at NYU together. He was in my scriptwriting class and sat behind me. He’s got a gift for poetic dialogue.” I fluttered my lashes at Rob and Shane. “Should be since he’s nearly as old as you, Shane. I’m so honored. So much experience from you ancient guys to share with the babies.” Shane and Rob, wisely, ignored my less than flattering comment. “And the super tall fellow on my left here is Marshall Di’Angelo. We’ve been to numerous marches on campus and…”
    “And?” Shane shot me a look that combined jealousy and worry.
    “Well, Marshall and I have gone sneaking around campus on more than one occasion to print off a few sheets of what has been referred to as an underground newspaper.”
    Shane appeared relieved. He asked in his mild brogue, “And who lets ya use their press, then?”
    I matched him with my own fake Irish accent. “The foin and good priests at the Newman Center.” I returned to my normal dialect. “And we do not want the word spread around since it could get them in trouble at the college, and the Vatican as well.”
    Shane chortled. “Well, bless their little rebel hearts. And fear not. I shall take your secret to my grave.” He stared at Rob. “So you’re a playwright, are you?”
    Rob nodded. “I am. Barely. I’ve only had one play performed and that was back in college before I got drafted. Way the hell Off-Broadway. But the reason I said it’s strange meeting you is because it’s like kismet or karma or something. I’ve been trying to get my new play produced, Trapped in the Basement . At this point we’re looking at a space over at the Elysium Theatre.”
    His tone grew more enthusiastic. “I’ve been talking to a friend who’s produced two Off-Broadway shows. He’s the one who helped produce the show I wrote before I went to ’Nam so he knows my work. He really believes Basement has a chance to make it to Broadway and he’s been busy contacting backers. Anyway, Derek told me he talked to your agent about you doing the lead, although your agent seems pretty hesitant. Have you had a chance to read the proposal? It’s slim but hopefully intriguing. I sent it to your agent last spring.”
    Shane took a long drag from his cigarette. A