Literary Agent Orson: A Three Ring Circus

Great tendrils of steam rose off their four coffees. The booth was cozy. Warm scents of cinnamon and hazelnut hung lazily in the warmth of Ground Coffee Shoppe. Outside was another frigid, grey day in the coldest winter on record.

“It took a half century, but Keynes finally overcame Friedman as the preeminent--” Lisa began again.

“Stop,” Orson ordered. “Too timid. Kick it up a notch.”

Garth saw the women waiting in line at Live Free! The Abortion Boutique across the street. A steady snow piled four inches on their hats, and shoulders. He looked away. Jeremy glowered at the new appliance; it loomed, crass and loud.

“But it doesn’t belong,” Jeremy whined again looking up at it. Lisa stared at him.

“Get used to it. I saw one in a coat closet yesterday. Now be quiet.” Orson said. “Lisa’s working on her query for her new novel. We need focus.” He turned to her. “Again.”

“Macroeconomics makes strange bedfellows—“

“Stop. You sound retarded. Pop! Make it pop! Take a deep…Oh no,” Orson saw Randi, head of the local NOW chapter and lead writer for She RANT! Magazine, slip in and shake off the cold. “What’s she doing here?” bad things happened when Randi was around.

“I mean we might as well have chicken wings?” Jeremy said.

Lisa rolled her eyes, leaned and whispered to Orson, “he’s irritating me.”

“He irritates everybody.”

“Your friends are strange. I’m not used to people like this. I’ve lived a cloistered life.”

“Hey what’s this?” Randi blared as she walked up, “Oh my God, these things are popping up everywhere. I even saw one in the commode down at the transit station,” Randi said. “I sat down to take a festookas, and there it was, right in the stall.”

Great, Orson thought.

“Gross,” Lisa said.

Garth chuckled.

“And where are the girls with big knockers?” Jeremy chimed louder. “We want big boobies!” he yelled. “And jock straps stapled to the walls.” He waved his arms.

“Did he say boobies?” somebody murmured. “I think so,” another whispered. They looked at Jeremy for a long moment, “I said shut up. We’re working,” Orson commanded. “Now go on,” he turned back to Lisa.

“You don’t understand. It’s too hard. My book’s not easily quantified. And I’m shy.”

“Lisa, put on your big girl panties, or I can’t sell this book,” Orson threatened. “Do you want to work at the convent library forever? Your query must make me crave your book,” Orson said.

“Okay, Okay!” she said. “Maynard Keynes made a compelling case for a centrally planned economy, and deficit spending, but nobody listened. Consequently, Friedman’s laissez faire model has led to the three ring circus in which we find ourselves today. Now they’re listening. Capitalism needs the iron-fisted grip of government,” she reached her hands toward Jeremy’s neck, briefly, “strangling its craven neck, and now we’ve got it. If they don’t cooperate, our president will fire them--”

Orson yawned, “I heard a little passion there, but it sounds like you’re reading that menu. You’re holding back. Come out of your cloistered shell. Make it sizzle, or I’m gone!”

“Sounded good to me,” Randi said.

“I’m the literary agent here.”

Jeremy’s grip on his man-bag turned his knuckles white. No one listened.

“But she’s missed the point,” Garth began. “Capitalism hasn’t failed; it’s Capitalists who have failed. We’ve become an instant gratification society and lost our moral bearing. Hayek had it right. Freedom leads to an efficient economy, but with freedom comes certain ethical and moral obligations.”

“Oh gimme a friggin break!” Randi shouted.

“Oh, so no man’s entitled to an opinion in your world?” Garth said, which enraged Randi.

“It’s a freakin flat screen TV.” Jeremy roared. “It doesn't belong here. This is The Ground Coffee Shoppe, not Hooters! We should be listening to Joni Mitchell.”

Randi took a swing at Garth. He gracefully dodged her first swipe, but her second was too quick. She snatched a handful of hair and twisted him out of the booth onto the ground, and leapt on top. They fell into a grunting, scratching, wrestling ball on the floor as Lisa exploded on Jeremy, “Look Nancy boy, you need to grow a pair. If you don’t shut up, Goddammit, I’m gonna jack slap you, punk.”

Convent? What convent…? Orson was shocked, but not too shocked to run. Tame little Lisa suddenly made Randi look like a doe-eyed choirgirl. As he hit the door, he realized he’d left hat, scarf, gloves and coat. He looked out at the falling snow, back at the conflagration; now Lisa was slugging Jeremy while yelling unmentionable obscenities and it looked as if Randi may soon establish dominance. He flung the door open and fled.