Hangin' with Stephen King

I walked into the cozy, dimly lit pub and he was waiting for me at the bar. As I took a seat on the stool next to him, I raised a hand at the bartender and he brought me the usual. Cold Miller Lite on tap.

I didn't speak until the glass was in front of me and of course being the polite gentlemen that he was, he waited.

I took a healthy sip. Its not easy maintaining a ladylike appearance while guzzling beer but I manage it.

I wiped my mouth delicately with a napkin and turned to him.
"So, Steve. What's up with you?"

He grins, his eyes wander admiringly over my face.
"Not much, ayah. Just wanted to meet you and let you know I'm a fan."

"Well, thank you. I appreciate that. I've always been a fan of yours too. A big one."

"Is that so? Glad to hear it, glad to hear it." His eyes continue to eat me and I decide to clear the air of any misunderstandings right away.

"Look, Steve. Maybe you heard I'm into older guys? Well, see that guy in the corner?" I point to my husband, sitting at a corner booth where I have forbidden him to move. He waves excitedly. We stare, and then ignore him as we continue the conversation.

"That's the only guy I'm into, see? I love you, always have. But it's a mind thing, ya feel me?"

Steve nods, a little disappointed. "I understand. Can't blame me for trying."

"No, I guess I can't." I smile in amusement and take another pull from my beer.
"So let's talk shop. Your brilliant, maybe the best writer ever. Now I have a book coming out soon and people are going to ask who my favorite writer is. I'm gonna say you, because it's the truth. When people ask you about me I don't want to hear you say some crap about how I can't write. Maybe you can get away with doing that to Stephenie Meyers, but I'm not going to let it slide."

Steve shakes his head and glances at me from the corner of his eye. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"Yeah, how can I be sure of that?" I twist on the stool and force him to face me head on.

"I read your stuff. My agent got an advance copy from your editor. He was hoping I could do a blurb or something. I gotta say, you're good, really good. If I'm the chicken fried steak of the literary world then you got to be the Texas Toast."

I laughed. Who doesn't like Texas Toast? "Thanks, Steve. That means a lot. Especially coming from you."

"You're welcome. I like you. You think you and your husband might want to come to dinner? Tabitha is a great cook and I'd love for the family to meet you."

I purse my lips in thought and glance over at my husband, still sitting patiently in the booth but beginning to look bored.
"I don't know, Steve."

"Ahh, now come on. Please?" His voice has a desperate quality. I can tell he doesn't want us to part ways yet.

"Ok, what the hell. We'll come over and hang out."

He clapped his hand down on the bar in excitement. "Great! We have so much to talk about."

I reached over and patted him on the shoulder. "Yeah, we do. Not the least of which is what your gonna say in that blurb......"

Learn more about this author, Marsha Sigman.
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