Between The Lines

Chapter 10

Gray looked stunned. He snatched the lettee out of Amber's fingers. "Impossible. I've got the only three existing copies of the Collected Works. And as for a diary of Twitchell's, that's utter nonsense. Abercrombie must be a fraud."
"I don't know, Gray..She seems to have a firm grasp of her subject."
Probably gleaned from redaing all my articles." Gray snapped, scanning the letter with a glowering frowm. "Listen to this, Amber, the woman has the nerve to claim she's going to publish an article next month in Radiant Sunsets."
"What topic?"
" 'The Use of Erotic Metaphors in the Poetry of S.U. Twitchell.' "
Amber chuckled. "I know exactly what she means. Just think of qll tjose references to hot iron and cold iron and heavy iron in his stuff. Definitely phallic. There's that line in 'Gunslinger's Lament,' for instance." He paused and then quoted:

"She was satin, pace and elegance;
He was leather, sweat and iron."

Gray shot her a disgusted look. "Iron is a sland term for a gun."
"Everyone knows guns are phallic symbols for men."
"Hah! That's a typically female thing to say."
Amber looked offended. "I happen to agree with Ms. Abercrombie. It's not as if I'm unfamiliar with the poem. Listen to this:

The lady came from Boston,
He heard them call her Sharon.
She was on her way to 'Frisco
To marry a cattle baron.
The gunman aaw her in the depot;
She came within a foot of him that day.
And he held his breath as she did pass and
Her skirts did gently sway.
She was satin, lace and elegance,
He was leather, sweat and iron.
But as she passed her glance did chance
To fall upon his face.
She looked into his night-dark gaze and
Saw his destiny so clear
That in her aoft blue eyes here formed
A single, crystal tear."

Gray leaned against Amber's desk and finished the poem with the reverent appreciation of a true aficionado:

"But the lady didn't turn away;
The lady didn't run.
Instead she left him with a smile
That was like the morning sun.
Yes, she smiled at him with kindness;
She wmiled at him with grace.
The gunman knew he'd ne'er forget
Her sweet,angelic face.
He knew then he'd never hold her,
Knew then she'd never care.
But he also knew he'd ne'er forget
His lafy with the golden hair."

Amber grinned and reached out to tap the letter in his hand. "Looks like you've got some competition, Gray. there is now another Sherborne Ulysses Twitchell expert in the world, ane she's gunning for you."

I'll demolish her in print. I'll show her up for the fake she is. I'll see to it the woman is laughed right out of Poets of the Southest, Western Poetry and Radiant Sunsets. Just wait. The phallic sumbolism of iron, my foot. Abercrombie obviously doesn't know what she's talking about."
"It'll be interesting to read her article," Amber said politely.
"It'll be a joke, mark my words." Gray got to his geet and stalked over to his own desk. He threw himself into the swivel chair and regarded his assiatant with a dangerously narrowed gaze. "This Abercrombie femalebhas bitten off more than she can chew. I'll make her eat every word she gets into print."
"Now, Gray, she's probably a aweet little old lady. An ex-librarian, perhaps. Someone who is as devoted to S.U.T as you are "
Gray gave her a scornful galnce. "A sweet little old lady who's writing an article on the phallic symbolism of guns and who knows what other erotic metaphors? Hah. Forget sweet little old ex-librarian. Whoever this woman is, she's obviously got her mind on smoething besides the unique lieterary qualities of S.U.T.'s poetry." He sat forward and reached for a file labeled Symington. "Let's get busy. We've got work to do."
Amber stifled a laughing smile and obediently went back to the mail. So much for the emotional impact of accepting Gray's proposal marriage, she told herself. Her future with Gray might not be wildly pasionate, but it would probavly be somewhat amusing at times. And that kiss hadn't been so bad. She was more than willing to appreciate warmth and comfort and strength in a man's embrace after having experienced the destructive flames of a lethal passion