From: "Tom Cole" Date sent: Sat, 20 Dec 1997 "The Truth" Copyright 1997 by Tom Cole "I am tired of you sitting around the house all day. Get a job or get your skinny ass out of here for good!" Shaken by his Mother's ultimatum, Jack didn't know what to do. So he sat and worried. He had sold one story to the magazine, Disgusting Science Fact and Fiction. It was his one success. The pittance he had been paid had long since been spent on more software for his beloved laptop, Lucy. After that he had sent twenty-three sparkling stories of science and the future to various magazines. None of them sold. Finally he decided that what he needed was a Mentor. Someone to help him polish his prose, adjust his adjectives, and verify his verbs. Maybe even live with. He brushed through his long uncombed brown hair. As he put his bony hand down it fell on a book he had bought the day before. It was a new epic published by Piteous Press by the famed author, Simply Smith PHD. The title was Vicious Vixens of Venus. SS, as he was known to fans all over the world was a generous person. Jack looked at the author's profile on the cover. He had heard SS give a very uplifting seminar several years before at a Star Trek convention. Maybe he could help! Would he want to help? He lived only 200 miles away in the small town of Smithville. The thought was an invitation to action. Next day, Jack and Lucy, boarded a bus headed east. He had consolidated Lucy's files, backed her up, and had a pocketful of diskettes. He had taken some money from his Mother's purse so he had enough to get by on for a while. His needs were simple; someone to help him become known, to become a selling writer, and never say anything about his appearance, clothes, or habits. Hopeful, he sat on the bus and thought about acceptance slips, advances, and royalties. Halfway there he had a wonderful dream. Waking, he popped open Lucy and started typing furiously. By the time he was there he had a complete and edited draft of a new science fiction story. It was good. He knew it would sell. He made a copy from his hard drive to floppy and dismounted the bus after it had come to a complete stop. In the small greasy bus terminal restaurant he sat and had a cup of coffee. The waitress seemed nice. "Do you have a telephone I could use for just a minute or two?" he asked politely. The waitress hesitated and answered, "It's against company policy." She looked at his pitiful expression. It had worked on his Mother up to yesterday. "Oh what the hell! Go ahead, but if you use it for a long distance call, it will be my ass." "I won't!' he answered. Deftly he connected Lucy's internal modem to the phone jack. Within six minutes his latest opus was humming by a devious route from host to host to soon reach the Internet address of the magazine that had rejected him least, Scrofulous Sex and Science Fiction Stories. The deed done and the story entrusted to the not so tender mercies of an editor, he handed the reconnected phone to the kindly waitress. He relaxed and ordered a burger. Surely this story would sell, he told himself. The waitress curiously asked him, "What did you just do to the phone?" "Connected to the Internet and uploaded an ASCII text file to my editor in New York." "Oh, you must be a writer, like SS. He came in here a couple of weeks ago." She sighed. "He is a true gentleman. He gave me a ten dollar tip on a five dollar order." How often have you met him? Jack asked. "Several times. He said he liked the food here. I tell you, it wasn't just words, the man cared about people. Once he sat on the very same stool you are sitting on and signed a three book contract with a publisher for a hundred thousand dollars. He even asked me to be a witness." The waitress glowed visibly at being included in the famous author's life. For some reason Jack felt irritated so he quickly paid for the meal. He did not leave a tip. Outside on the sidewalk it was afternoon. The sun was shining brightly and the air was warm. With his literary muse on hold for a moment he walked around town. It wasn't much. Somehow though he wandered into the bad part. There were several young ladies standing around. One of them, in a shorts and halter, approached him. She looked like she had plenty of padding in all the female places and so didn't need too much to wear. "Looking for a good time?" she asked. "I am looking for Simply Smith's home." 'SS? He used to come around here all the time. He was even a customer of mine once. A handsome man," she mused. You know they are having a big procession for him this evening?" "No," he answered. He worried if he would get a chance to talk to the great author. "Yes, indeed. Right down Main Street. Yes, he could show a girl a good time. He read me one of his stories and sent me right into orbit. What a man!" "Was he known to help up and coming writers?" Jack asked clinching his computer bag with Lucy strapped down inside. "Of course! He put out two books of collected amateur writings. They say he paid for the printing himself. I had a poem in the second one. Do you want to hear it?" She started to recite, "Slippery Suzy took a sex trip to Venus. On the way she tried everyman's ..." "Nevermind!" Jack quickly interrupted. "What time is the procession?" "About six. It will be a big event. The whole town is honoring him." Jack walked quietly off. His fears of rejection or not even getting to see him were balanced by his hope of meeting the great author and getting him to take Jack under his wing. SS was known to help new writers. He found his way to a library just a block off Main Street. There, in the lobby, was a big display dedicated to the works of SS. There were even some books he hadn't read. One title caught his eye, Salacious Spacehounds of Saturn. He picked it up and carried it over to a chair. Before starting it he noticed the library offered free Internet access so he sat down instead at a terminal. He typed the web address of the magazine he had sent his bus trip composed story. "Oh my God! He shouted. "It sold." "Quiet," the librarian admonished him with a stern look. "But it sold," he protested. Now he would be able to show SS something new and positive. Jack almost could not believe it. It was amazing that an editor would accept a submission that quick, but it had been a very slow day in New York. Jack's story was well written. It had action and a beginning and a smooth ending. It had been accepted in record time. The end of the message was a notice of payment to be made at Jack's convenience. Jack had to see the great man, had to talk him. He quickly left the Library and headed for the center of the Smallville. It was almost six. He found a spot that wasn't too crowded. It seemed to Jack that the whole town and more were lining the street. There was an air of anticipation. People were quietly waiting. Jack stood and began to get a little upset. He had to see this wonderful caring man. At last he would meet the winner of a six major science fiction awards. He would wait a little longer. Finally he heard a band. The unit from a nearby school was playing a solemn march. The uniforms were colorful. The instruments gleamed in the setting sun. Then several automobiles with dignitaries went by. They didn't wave to the crowd. They just sat there as the cars went slowly past where Jack was standing. What kind of parade was this? And then Jack saw the long black car. It drifted toward him like a cloud, silent and full of menace, yet quiet. The hearse rolled by leaving Jack alone in the respectful crowd. SS was going to his last affair, a funeral. All his stories, his caring, his success, and his loving were nothing to him now. Jack stood there. Silent tears crept down his freckled cheeks. He thought about his hopes and his ideas and his future. What was it all about? He knew. The End