Silenced by the Yams - By Karen Cantwell Page 0,3

his throat. I waited for Kurt Baugh’s reaction before deciding.

He regarded me silently for a few scary seconds. Sweat dripped from my armpits and I prayed that my deodorant would get me through the stress smelling like that pretty lavender on the label. Thankfully, Kurt turned on a smile, shook my hand, and invited me to sit in the empty seat next to him. Whew! Frankie would get a kiss when he returned with those yams.

“So,” said Kurt, turning his back to Randolph Rutter and giving me his full attention, “it sounds like you live an exciting life.”

I blushed again. “Not as exciting as yours, I’m sure.” I was about to segue brilliantly into a discussion about the rumored Steven Spielberg project when the sharp sound of feedback startled us both.

I couldn’t believe it. Shut down dead by a woman on a microphone. The tall and buxom blonde introduced herself as Susan Golightly of Climax Pictures, and blah, blah, blah, thank you for coming and would everyone move into the screening room. I knew she was just doing her job, but at that moment, I really hated Susan Golightly of Climax Pictures, and not just because she had a stunning body and a really cute last name.

Anxiously, I stood along with Kurt hoping to still squeeze in my Spielberg question, when that dirty rat reached over and did a little squeezing of his own, right on my rumpus.

Since I was taken completely by surprise, I simply yelped and moved back a few inches, wondering if it might have just been an accident on his part.

It wasn’t.

He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Wanna sit with me, beautiful?”

I was about to release a diatribe on him, citing my marital status, when Frankie piped up. He’d arrived behind us with the warm candied yams, and must have seen the whole thing. “She’s a married woman with standards and morals, asshole. Leave my friend alone.”

Kurt and Randolph Rutter whirled around. Frankie handed the plate of yams to Randolph. “Warm and to your liking I hope, sir.”

Kurt stole the plate from Randolph, laughing. “You obviously don’t know this man’s reputation for jerking people around, Mr. Romano. He didn’t dislike the yams because they were cold—he just isn’t a yam man. Me, on the other hand, I could eat a boat load of these sweet babies.” In a swift movement, he took a fork from the table, speared three yams, and deposited them into his mouth. He threw me a quick wink for added effect.

Frankie did not look pleased, but he kept his mouth shut. I was glad, because I didn’t want him to lose a good gig while defending my honor. Randolph Rutter laughed, then scooted away with his young chippie dinner date, who he’d practically ignored up to this point. I quietly excused myself, hoping to make a quick getaway to a seat in the screening room far from Kurt Baugh and his way-too-friendly-fingers.

I thought I’d made it to safety until I found myself caught at the tail end of a body gridlock. The dinner guests had converged upon the one entrance to the screening room, and feet shuffled slowly as people trickled in. I felt a rush of exhilaration, however, when I realized the man to my right was none other than the director, Andy Baugh. He acknowledged me with a slight smile. I considered introducing myself, then felt hot breath on my neck. Kurt the Flirt was all over me.

I cringed and Andy grimaced. He slid me a look that said, Sorry about my foul brother. “Bro,” he said, “why don’t you hit the men’s room and throw some cold water on your face. I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

“Drink?” slurred Kurt. “You know I don’t drink.” He clutched his bulging stomach, stumbled and glommed onto my arm. “Anymore.” His face was right next to mine, so it wasn’t hard to see the drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. I tried to pull away, but we were packed tight with people trying to push their way into the screening room. Despite the fact that I didn’t actually know this man, his behavior was odd since I’d only seen him drinking water during dinner. I was inclined to believe his denial and wonder if he was sick rather than inebriated.

Andy removed his brother’s hand from my person. “Why don’t you come with me?” he said to Kurt. “You don’t look so good.”

“You know,” Kurt responded slowly, “I