30- Spell Check

     "Spell check!" Paris said sliding into the booth directly across
from me.  My blank expression must have been obvious.
     "I'm guessing I'm not the only one who gets these little stories,
right?"  She asked taking a sip of the black coffee I had waiting for her.
     "Right," I said.
     "Well then hit the spell check button.  I see you on an almost weekly
basis so I know you are not a complete idiot.  If you are just writing sending
these stories to people you don't know that well, well you might come off as an
idiot."
     "Really, I'm fine and how are y.."
     "Plus they're getting too long again." She interrupted.  "I
can't get caught up reading you at work."
     "Then read me at home ... naked on your couch ... with soft music
playing."  I could feel the slick smile cut across my face.  Her face, on
the other hand, pinched up like she just caught the smell of sweaty feet.
     "Asshole."
     "So what do you do?  Where do you read them?"  I asked finishing
off my white chocolate chai.
     "I print you out and read you in the bathroom when I get free
time."  I could feel the slick smile again.
     "You're not that lucky," she said catching the smile. 
"Writers should know how to write and how to keep the audience interested. 
Understand?  Plus there's too much fucking profanity!"
     "Yes, ma'am."
     "At least it's not as dark as it's been over the past few months.  I
was really worried about you."  She started to light up a Marlboro light. 
I was tempted to join her but luckily you can't smoke in the restaurants in CT
anymore.  I pointed out the no smoking sign to her.
     "Don't these fucking people understand my needs?"  She jammed the
cigarette back into the pack.  "At least you get it.  So who's the girl
from this weekend?"
     "Come on, Paris, you're like the tenth person to ask me today.  You
know I can't tell you."
     "Whatever.  Just keep your stories like a good quickie; short,
interesting, and no boring parts.  Spell Check!"

That Beautiful Black Man