“Unveiling Secrets: What Columbus Never Knew About His Journey”
The seduction is highbrow and imminent. Philip takes Humboldt’s Gift from my hands, sets it back on the shelf. We grin at each other. He puts a hand on my shoulder. I could float out of his building or into his bedroom, it hardly matters which.
As his hawkish face draws closer, I tell him: “My father wrote you a letter, and you didn’t write him back.”
Surprised, charmed, and only slightly less hard, he says, “Your father reads my books? Oh yeah? Has he read the latest one? It’s called The Plot Against America. What did he think? That’s very kind. Why don’t I write him now? I’m sorry I didn’t before—I don’t usually, you know; I have an agent who handles my correspondence. Come to the desk, we’ll take care of it now. What’s your father’s name? What is that, Irish? So you’re Irish? And Black, how wonderful. You’re a beautiful young woman. You’re from New Jersey too? You’re from Maplewood?”
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