She had no idea how to react to their statements; it wasn’t something that was covered in the employee manual. Almost a minute passed before she said, “Oh.”Jerry closed the cell phone and announced, “She’ll see us at six. We’ve got three hours to kill.”Bill groaned at his father’s choice of wording. Melissa felt her stomach twist at the thought of sitting in that booth for another three hours. Tears welled up in her eyes. While dabbing at them with her napkin, she said, “I want to talk to Jenny.”Wishing that he knew how to comfort the children better, he nodded. He didn’t want to face Jenny, but would do it for Melissa’s sake. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he said, “I’ll give her a call.”The waitress was still standing at the end of the table trying to decide what she was supposed to say or do. Finally, she asked, “Would you like your bill?”“Yes, that would probably be best,” answered Jerry tiredly.Given an excuse to leave, the waitress ran away from the table. This had been. My sister's lover added to our number. The young poet and his new lover arrived seconds before the first film screened only because the great poet made a long winded and breathy introduction. He spoke of modernism. The canvas can't be ignored. The artist's gesture must be apparent. The illusion must be revealed. The material, the thousand stills, the magnetic lines of sound, the sprocket holes, and the fragility must be embraced. I couldn't have agreed more. I flashed on the Vase. Proud of no fourth wall, no desperate manufactured illusion could be destroyed by the intrusion of reality. A baby screamed. A siren wailed. People walked out scraping chairs. Nothing distracted. The performance included anything and everything. Through a weird concept, life in between became vivid, reality became amplified. We pounded the keys until the piano reverberated and we played within if only for a few.It became a long evening of short films. The eccentric NYU professor showed his collection and.
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