Free Tripping on Tears by Day Rusk Page A

His imagination and pen were more evil than he ever was in real life.”
    “And the Hitler biographies?” she asked.
    “Always looking for answers as to how he and those around him could actually commit themselves to the task of trying to eradicate a whole race of people from the planet, and not during the Middle Ages or some primitive time, but during the 20 th Century.”
    She just looked at me.
    “They provide no answers, although I keep reading the bios looking for something to try and make any sense out of it at all,” I said, speaking the truth.
    “A fascination with evil, huh,” she said, putting the de Sade book back on the book shelf and continuing to peruse the others.
    “Not everything is based on evil. There’s a whole collection of Lincoln biographies, books on Rome and Alexander the Great, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and much more. Which reminds me, I got you a present.”
    Safia turned in my direction, a curious look on her face, as I moved to the drawer of my desk and opened it, pulling out a present I had wrapped for her just for this occasion. I handed it to her.
    “It feels like a book,” she said, holding it and smiling, “possibly written by someone I know?”
    She ripped apart the wrapping, and when I say ripped, I mean ripped. No dainty, let’s take this apart so we can save the wrapping and use it for something else later, just ripping with wild abandon. I liked that about her.
    Once she had cast the wrapping paper aside, she looked at the book, her excited expression turning from one of excitement to one of puzzlement.
    “ The Selected Essays of Gore Vidal ?” she said, holding up a mint copy of The Selected Essays of Gore Vidal , one of my favorite authors.
    “Yeah, and it’s autographed,” I said.
    She flipped open the front of the book and turned a couple of pages until she came to Gore Vidal’s signature. It read, “To Safia, from Gore Vidal.” She looked even more puzzled.
    “Seeing how I’ve never seen Gore’s autograph, that signature probably won’t hold up to any scrutiny, if passed off as authentic,” I said.
    “Gore Vidal?” she said. “What about your book?”
    “He’s a much better writer than me,” I offered.
    She just stared at me.
    “Okay,” I said, reaching back into my desk and pulling out a copy of my book. “It’s yours.”
    She took my book, a big smile on her face.
    “It’s autographed,” I said.
    She quickly opened the book and turned a couple of pages until she reached the autograph.
    “To Safia, from Gore Vidal,” she said, reading the autograph. She looked up at me, puzzled.
“I find people are a lot more excited to get his autograph than mine,” I said, with a smile.
    “You’re definitely a little unconventional,” she said, “and, thank you.”
     
    Dinner was great. I wasn’t sure what she would or wouldn’t like, or for that matter, what she was or wasn’t allowed to eat, so I took a chance on making salmon, with some asparagus and rice. I also had a nice red and white wine on hand. I know one of them went with fish, but I didn’t know which one. As much as I like to pass myself off as cultured, I’m still a simple boy from the suburbs.
    “This is lovely,” she said, as I poured her a glass of white wine.
    “Thank you,” I said. “I didn’t know what you’d like. I make a killer meatloaf, but I wasn’t sure you’d like meatloaf. I was also looking to impress you and meatloaf just doesn’t say cultured and refined, does it?”
    “It would have been fine,” she said. “A man that can cook is a catch, you know?”
    “So what excuse did you use to get out of the house tonight?”
    “Maybe I told my parents about you,” she said.
    “Did you?” I asked.
    “Are you nuts? I’m supposed to be staying over at Kareena’s tonight. Her parents are out of town, but my parents don’t know that.”
    “It must be a pain in the ass having to lie to them?”
    “It’s just the way it is,” she