Free A Note From an Old Acquaintance by Bill Walker Page A

faces every morning.”
    “It’s not that bad—except for Mondays.” She laughed. “I really love it, though. There’s nothing like seeing that flash of enlightenment in their eyes when they’ve made those same connections I made. It’s better than sex.”
    Brian arched a brow. “Oh, really?”
    “We’ll...maybe not....”
    They both laughed.
    “I’d like to see your art,” he said, after a moment of awkward silence.
    She brightened. “Would you?”
    Brian nodded. “I’ll bet it’s amazing.”
    “I don’t know about that, but it’s definitely me.”
    “Are they abstract or realistic?”
    “A little of both, actually. I guess you could say they’re like machinery. I find it hard to describe. Words fail me that way. They don’t for you, though, do they?”
    “Only when I’m sitting with a pretty woman.”
    She looked back down at her drink, a wistful smile turning up the corners of her mouth.
    “What’s the matter, did I say something wrong?”
    She shook her head. “Just thinking....”
    He’d hit a nerve, damn it. He’d tried to pay her a compliment, a genuine one, and it backfired.
    Brian leaned over the table, catching a whiff of her perfume. It made him dizzy. “I’m sorry if I offended you, Joanna. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”
    “I know...and you didn’t offend me—far from it. It’s just that I....” She stopped, looking off toward the bar. “It’s just that I haven’t heard that kind of thing in a long while...and it’s so nice to hear it from you.”
    Brian swallowed, feeling as if someone had just turned up the heat. Maybe it was time to switch gears.
    “So, how was it for you growing up on Long Island?”
    “How did you know I was from Long Island?”
    “Your voice. You’ve lost most of your accent, but I can still hear it.”
    “You’re very perceptive. But, believe me, my childhood was very boring. I’d rather hear about you, anyway. What kind of books do you write?”
    Brian sat back in his chair. Clearly, Joanna was uncomfortable talking about herself. Perhaps it was the combination of modesty and meeting someone new. Or maybe, in spite of what she’d just said, her childhood had been hard. Kids could be so mean, especially for a sensitive young girl who had not yet become the swan she was destined to be. Painful memories like those died hard, if ever. He decided not to press it. There was time enough for that later.
    “I write thrillers, mostly,” he replied. “A couple of them have been the international type, like Robert Ludlum. It’s what I love to read.” He took a moment to describe his latest novel, a story about a little-known aspect of the Normandy Invasion. What impressed Brian most was that Joanna really seemed to be listening.
    “How intriguing,” she said, when he’d finished. “I especially like the fact that you’ve woven in a personal story with the two brothers against the bigger canvas. But I’m wondering if maybe it’s too much of a man’s book.”
    Brian frowned. “How so?”
    “Well, for better or worse, most of the book buyers are women, and I think they find it harder to relate to a macho point of view.”
    “I think I’ve heard that once or twice,” he said, picturing that over-stuffed file cabinet.
    “So, maybe that’s why your books aren’t selling. Maybe you need to change your direction, try something new.”
    “Such as romantic thrillers?”
    “Why not?”
    She picked up her glass, clinked it against his beer bottle and drained it.
    The funny thing was Brian had begun to think these very same thoughts. It sure as hell was no fun banging one’s head against the wall year after year, knowing you’ve got talent, but meeting the same unyielding resistance over and over again. Somehow this amazing woman had seen this right off the bat. What was more amazing was that he could accept the wisdom in her words.
    “Sage advice for one so young,” he said.
    “I think you’re better than you’re giving