remember that stupid rap song “Colors”?
The colors of the ’80s were fuchsia, teal, and purple.
The colors of the ’90s were hunter green, burgundy, and Williamsburg blue.
What were the colors of the ’60s? What will the colors of the 2000s be?
conversation endured
In the hall, I see a woman who has made it clear that she resents me for petty reasons, and whom I know has been informed of my book deal by a mutual friend. She walks ahead of me. I study the stress lines across the back of her jacket and don’t bother to paste on my phony corporate smile. She turns around.
“Hey there!”
“How’s it going.”
“What’s wrong?” She simpers this while making a clownish sad face.
“Nothing.”
There’s a pause with which I’m content to end the encounter, but she goes on.
“Hey… I heard you wrote a book.” Her phonily friendly/conversational tone is an attempt to disguise her abject fishing for dirt.
“You heard I wrote a book?” I echo blandly.
“Yeah. So… Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“So… How’d it go?” You can tell she’s hoping I’ll confide that nothing has come of it, so that she can be smug in her assumption that our mutual friend was wrong — that my book deal was an exaggerated rumor.
“It’ll be out in 2004.”
“Oh.”
I didn’t stop to see her reaction. I just went on to get my Styrofoam cup of water from the break room.
The sweetest thing about that conversation was that, while it was taking place, my outfit freaking ruled.
