The Best of Friends

You could hear the gasps around the table. Someone whispered, “whoa.”

Morris sputtered for a moment, then spoke, “Mr. Graham, that is hardly the language appropriate for this situation.”

“Really? Oh. Sorry. It’s bloody dripping excrement, then. Doesn’t that sound better? I think so. But, whatever you call it, it’s still shit. Probably the worst that’s ever crossed your desks.”

The shocked silence deepened. Finally, Forrester found herself saying something, if only because no one else would. “I wouldn’t say … that.”

“No”—he laughed again, a warm, hearty sound—“but only because you’re much too nice. You would prefer the term . . . what was it? . . . Oh. Yes . . . Not Up To The Standards We Hold Dear.”

She felt as if some one had slapped her in the face. How had he known what she… ?

But by then he was speaking to the table. “Yes, shit. Of course, it didn’t have to be that. I mean, I’ve read his… my original. Naturally. And, frankly it wasn’t that bad, when it started out. What was it? Two years ago now? Or about that.”

He scanned the table with those fake red and yellow eyes. “It wasn’t a bad proposal, as proposals go. Not great.” The eyes focused on Putridrine, then moved on to Morris, rested at some spot between them. “But, then, you played games with it. Rewrite and revise. Obstruct and condescend. Patronize and pulverize. For no reason whatsoever, other than that you could get away with it.”

Aghast, Forrester glanced at her colleagues. Oh, shit. This would ruin her in the department! Morris was white with fury. Putridrine’s mouth had dropped open with disbelief. Oh, shit, shit, shit!

But Lester didn’t even pause to take a breath. “And, now,” he laughed again, “we have the fruits of your efforts. Trash. A piece of trash that shall be swept away with the other rubbish of the department. Marvelous.”

Morris rumbled into action. “How…how dare you.”

Another of the bright smiles went his way. “Yes, it is always difficult to dare speak the truth. But, it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving the program today.”

“You most certainly will,” Morris said, his voice thick with fury. His fists were clinched on the table before him.

“However,” Lester continued. “Let me make it certain that I hold you in the . . . deepest . . . affection. And respect. Yes, I respect you. Even admire you. In fact,” again the eyes swept over the committee, “I want to part friends. The best of friends.”