Free The Frankenstein Candidate by Vinay Kolhatkar

she said, “are you still here?”
    “Uhh…yes.”
    She told him she was not sure if she wanted to study. It was much harder than waiting tables, but she needed money to live on while she persevered at her acting ambitions.
    “Anything you want to talk about?” He wanted to read her thoughts— did she feel that way about him? “Perhaps you would like to have a chat over a coffee?”
    “There is the college cafeteria downstairs,” she said.
    He noticed her long, slim legs wrapped in a pair of sheer dark stockings. Had he just asked her out? His heart began to beat faster. He was making a mistake. He knew he should stop himself.
    “All right,” he said and packed his briefcase. She picked up her thick overcoat.
    Gary’s head rationalized all the way down the stairs and into the cafeteria. It’s just coffee; she’s young; she needs my advice; that’s all there is to it.
    The college cafeteria was closing, so they walked across the street to a little bohemian café that stayed open all hours. It could seat sixty, but because it was a U-shaped lounge, one had the cozy, dim atmosphere that epitomized a bohemian way of life. Little murals hung from the walls and nestled into the vines springing from the floor. Soft, upbeat music played in the background, and the waitresses dressed in 1920s Parisian outfits. A fake Picasso hung in the center, together with a large embossment of the artist’s famous phrase, “Everything you can imagine is real.”
    He could tell that the atmosphere relaxed her. She opened up and talked about acting school at night and auditions on the weekends. She kept talking, and he kept listening.
    “You do have the talent for interior design, but your focus is frittered,” he said, catching her off guard. “The thing to do is find at least one thing that sells, and at the moment, interior redecoration is about the only thing people can afford. And of course, movies. Escapism does better in depressing times.”
    He wanted to go on and on, but he looked at his watch. It was time to pick up Georgia and Natasha from school.
    She got up to go, her fingers fumbling in her purse.
    “That’s all right, the coffee is on me. I’ll wait for the bill.”
    “Till next Tuesday then,” she said, smiling and turning away.
    “Till next Tuesday. By the way, I have a friend who is a film producer.”
    She turned back swiftly.
    “Perhaps he needs an assistant. Want me to ask?”
    “Sure…thank you, Gary,” she bubbled in her delightful Belgian accent, and left.
    He was there only a few minutes after she left, waiting for the bill, when a tall man from the next booth walked past, dropping an envelope on his table.
    Gary thought it was accidental until he saw his name written on it. He looked up, but the man was already gone. Gary opened the envelope. A little piece of paper was inside. Words scribbled on the paper read, “Don’t even think about it.”
    Who was this man? Why this note? What did it mean?
    To be honest, he knew perfectly well what the words meant, but he had no idea who was following him and why he would feel the need to leave such a note.
    Gary picked up the tab and left to collect his daughters. He tried to form a picture of the man, but all he could remember was a tall, lean figure in a hat. He could have been any age, any hair color, any ethnicity—Gary hadn’t got a look at him, and why would he, when Francesca and the tall seat behind her completely obscured his view?
    Gary wasn’t scared. But he had stopped smiling.

 

9
The Future Is Now
    January 10 was almost upon them. Sidney Ganon and Casey Rogers had campaigned well, but both had a traditional liberal focus on the unemployed, the homeless, and the uninsured, and neither was an exceptionally eloquent speaker. The net result was that they were drawing crowds away from each other, which played right into Colin Spain’s hands with his distinctive Middle America campaign.
    Large corporations sometimes waited until after Super