The Drip, a novel by Michael Gullo
“Bill.”
“What the hell?”
“I was on my way to the Exxon for cigarettes, and I saw your van. So, this is the community center.”
“Yup. This’s where you’ll come vote this Fall.”
“I saw this place on my first day up here. Can you show me inside?”
“I don’t have a key, but more important, if my cousin Emma comes back and you’re still here, she’ll have you on the donations list before I can say, bless your heart.”
“That’s Stef - - - Hey.”
“Hey. What are you up to?”
“Oh, buddy.”
“All that, ha?”
“And more. I’m standing in the parking lot of the Community Center with Bill Thompson. And an avalanche just landed on me.”
“It’s snowing up there?”
“Oh, no. It’s white sand beaches and water so clear I can see your whole Sunday aria. That lady you met at church this Sunday, that’s Bill’s cousin.”
“Oh boy! And now that I think about it, you should stick around for the tour. Stef you coming?”
“No way, Michael. Get out of there. You’re not ready for Emma yet. Gonna take a whole lot more than a pond side pooper to earn those kinda credentials.”
“Bill, who you texting?”
“Get out of there Michael. Don’t I hear your mother calling you?”
“His mother is dead.”
“Exactly.”
“Good try, Bill - - - I’m in the truck. Launch mode on.”
“She’s awesome. I’m telling you. But she’s not ready for you yet, and multiply her by Bill, and that’s big math.”
“Holy shit. She was in the church. She’s coming out the front door, phone in hand.”
“Oh man. That was so close.”
“I mean, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.”
“No, not that. I just want to introduce you – in a controlled environment. You feral. You’d be six bits deep in that caricature insult gag of yours, and all the sudden I leave Sunday my dish untouched.”