Silver Basilisk - Zoe Chant Page 0,18
see his reaction, catching a grimace of total disbelief. And when Stryker in the next sentence turned to the adoring ex-assassin with the watermelon boobs, Godiva chuckled evilly as Rigo’s jaw dropped slightly, the wide eyes of disbelief quickly smoothing into polite endurance.
Heh, heh, for the first time in her life Godiva relished every word of Bill’s ludicrous drivel, mentally aiming it all at that pestiferous blister Rigo El Caballero. Take that!
Then it hit her that Rigo was taking it, but unlike Bill’s buddy Steven over there, he clearly was not enjoying it any more than she. How dare he have any taste? Outright villains didn’t have taste. That was part of their villainy!
For the first time since the nasty discovery of Rigo in the bakery, Godiva wondered if Rigo had read any of her own books. That gave her a weird feeling, as if he’d been peering through her windows. Then she rallied when she recollected that the villains of the first, oh, five or six of her books were all variations of Rigo, bwa ha ha, every one of them sleazy assclowns who got their exercise practicing seduction and abandonment the way anyone else practiced yoga. She wondered if he’d recognized himself in any of them.
Bill reached the last page of his chapter, his voice rising to a screechy caricature of a woman whining.
“ . . . his fat slob of an ex-wife Cindy shrieked at the judge, ‘What do you mean you’re throwing my lawsuit out?’
The judge gave her a stern look. “Suing an American hero will not happen in MY courtroom. One more word and I’ll have you jailed and fined for contempt of court . . .’”
Godiva shut out the rest, wincing inwardly as her thoughts arrowed to Wendy, who knew that her ex Bill was part of the writers’ group. But Godiva still hadn’t gotten the courage to tell Wendy that Bill had stuck this awful distortion of her into his novel, naming the ridiculous character ‘Cindy’.
Time enough to prepare Wendy if she ever got the courage to come to the writers’ group, Godiva promised herself. That would be armed and prepared. Otherwise, it was just pointlessly cruel.
She let out a sigh of relief when Bill laid the last page in his expensive briefcase as if it was made of gold, and harrumphed through the applause. Godiva sidled a peek Rigo’s way, as he gave several very light, very polite claps.
Under cover of that brief spate of applause, Doris leaned over to Godiva. She pointed with her chin in Rigo’s direction. “Gotta say . . .”
“Don’t you dare,” Godiva said between shut teeth.
“Right right right,” Doris whispered hastily. “If you feel he’s scum, then he’s scum.”
“Seems to have good taste, judging by his reaction to Bill’s pages,” Bird murmured on the other side, caught Godiva’s glare, then added hastily, “Which makes his treachery all the worse.”
Godiva sat back, satisfied that her support was not going over to The Enemy, seduced by his blasted good looks.
Then Linette, currently serving as moderator, turned her way. “Godiva, do you have pages for us today?”
Godiva did. Or rather, she had. She loved reading aloud, loved the comments good and bad, and of course especially relished when a comment she’d meant to be funny caused a chuckle, or when a plot turn she had maniacally plotted out caused a gasp.
But with that . . . that . . . scurvy abomination sitting over there staring at her, she was not going to read. She couldn’t help it if he’d read her books, which after all were available in public libraries as well as all discerning bookstores. But! Somehow the idea of him hearing her newly-written words felt like she would be offering him an X-ray of her soul. She was not going to let that mustard-gulleted poltroon climb into her soul, no way!
“Sorry, Linette. Skip me this week. Not ready,” Godiva stated, eyeing the ceiling.
“Then that leaves us some extra time,” Cassandra cut in quickly, jangling her bracelets as she dug into her designer handbag. “So I can read all twenty-six verses of a poem that resulted from a dream I had last week. Let me describe the dream first, so you’ll understand the symbols . . .”
Godiva let Cassandra’s piping voice slide into the background. Cassandra being one of those precious poets so sure of their own genius that all they paid any attention to was praise, Godiva didn’t feel guilty as she turned her mind to the