Astounding! by Kim Fielding Read Free Book Online

wouldn’t all take place in faux medieval Europe. They would be set in future or imaginary worlds that subverted the dominant paradigm. We’d allow works that transcended traditional genre boundaries. Everything we printed would subtly and powerfully critique hegemonies. We’d be postmodernist. With our words, we would change the world!”
    Exhausted by his monologue, Carter slumped back in his chair. The lingering taste of maple syrup didn’t counteract the bitterness on his tongue.
    “Your magazine does those things,” John said.
    “Yeah. We carried all these amazing stories. Lots of them won awards. Some of the authors went on to big things—like Freddy.” He wished he had another beer. Or a bottle of whiskey.
    “You don’t seem happy about it. I don’t understand,” said John.
    “The world didn’t change. Or maybe it did, but not because of us.”
    John squeezed a healthy dollop of batter on the griddle. His pancakes were almost perfectly round, whereas Carter’s tended to have craters and volcanoes marring the surface. John waited patiently for his food to brown, then carefully flipped it over. Carter sucked at pancake flipping.
    Only after John had slid the pancake onto his plate did he look at Carter again. “I don’t know if you’ve changed the world. But you’ve changed people. Some of them, I mean. People have read the stories you’ve printed and told themselves Yes! This is a better way to see. They’ve found pieces of themselves printed on your pages and learned they weren’t as strange and alone as they’d thought. Isn’t that important too?”
    Carter’s heart thudded more strongly than it had in years. “I don’t know,” he rasped.
    They both used up all their batter, and Carter drank a third beer. They didn’t talk about the magazine or why John was so desperate to get into it. Instead they ended up in a lengthy discussion of music. Not surprisingly, John liked stuff from the fifties. Not the doo-wop crap, but rhythm and blues like Little Richard and Chuck Berry, and rockabilly, and good old rock ’n’ roll. “Elvis,” John intoned with a grin.
    “Jerry Lee Lewis.”
    “Carl Perkins.”
    “Roy Orbison.”
    “Johnny Cash.”
    “Bo Diddley.”
    “Fats Domino.”
    “Buddy Holly.”
    They threw the names back and forth like a ball in a lively game of catch until they were both laughing. “Don’t you like anything more recent?” Carter finally asked. “You’re awfully young for this stuff.”
    John’s smile faded. “I’m older than I look.”
    That sort of killed the conversation, leaving them in awkward silence until the waiter came by with the bill. John paid him in cash, then toyed with his napkin. “Do you want to go have coffee? I can tell you… my story.”
    What Carter wanted was more booze. But it was getting late, and he had a long drive ahead of him. He really couldn’t afford a motel—not even a cheap one. “Coffee would be great.”
    They didn’t get back in the car. Instead, John led him a few blocks down the sidewalk, past darkened shop windows filled with overpriced crap nobody really needed. But warm light spilled from the windows of a coffeehouse called P-Town, and guitar music filled the night air.
    John paused outside the door. “I forgot. It’s Tuesday. We can go somewhere else. Or we can just wait. They’ll stop playing in about half an hour.”
    The music was very good. “I don’t mind waiting,” Carter said.
    This place was brighter than Perk Up, with mismatched wooden chairs painted a rainbow of colors and cheery art on the walls. One of the paintings appeared to be a green-and-purple stylized penis with a multihued swirl exuding from the tip and a pair of mallard ducks standing near the corner of the canvas, looking on disapprovingly. The painting made Carter smile. So did the aroma of coffee, tea, and baked goods. Best of all, though, was the song being strummed by a pair of guitar players on the tiny stage. The song had bluesy