“So,” said Bernie, “to what do we owe the pleasure of this non-visit?” We’re partners, me and Bernie, but sometimes he loses me completely. But Foster didn’t look lost at all.
“You’re a funny guy,” he said. “Any money in this job of yours?”
“We get by,” Bernie said. Meaning what, exactly? Our finances were a mess! That earthquake that turned out to be in the wrong place, Hawaiian pants – anyone out there want to buy a pair, by the way? – and other slip-ups I couldn’t remember at the moment meant our cash flow was bad. Cash flow! Just once I’d like to see that, like a green river. Where was that green river of flowing cash? Why weren’t we out there searching for it 24/7, whatever that happened to mean? Numbers: a very big subject, maybe for another time, but why isn’t two enough?
” … the point being,” Foster was saying, “that at the time I thought her name really was Ethel.”
Bernie gave Foster a long look. I wondered what was going on.
Saturday at 11, PA on a mystery panel at the Danvers Literary Festival:
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