Shriver Read Online Free Page A

a freshly plowed field and then a strip of tarmac rose up to meet the wheels of the plane, and with a bump and slide, they were on the ground. A pleased Delta Malarkey-Jones immediately began to collect her many articles from beneath the seat in front of her, including her bag, a jacket, a floppy hat, and a paper sack full of snacks.
    â€œDon’t forget my manuscript!” she reminded him, pointing to the seat pocket.
    â€œOh, I won’t.” He placed the epic on his lap along with his own papers.
    The plane rolled toward the terminal and lurched to a stop.
    â€œI hope to see you around,” Ms. Malarkey-Jones said as she leaped to her feet and started to remove items from overhead. “Remember: Hotel 19, room twenty.”
    The exit door swung open and the passengers shuffled up the aisle. Shriver rose unsteadily to his feet and entered the line. All the whiskey had settled in his legs. Wobbling a little, he gingerly disembarked onto a metal stairway that led down to the tarmac.
    Looking up, he saw that the sky here was enormous, dwarfing everything beneath it. The clouds seemed thousands ofmiles wide, with vast swatches of blue in between. As for the land, it stretched flat and unbroken all the way to the horizon. Even the little airport was squat and low to the ground. He waved away a mosquito buzzing at his ears.
    Shriver wondered who would be at the gate to meet him. For all he knew, Chuck Johnson would spring out from behind a potted plant and shout, Surprise! But he had the feeling his old friend was nowhere near this place. The letters from Professor Cleverly, the free airline tickets, that woman on the plane—it was too elaborate even for Chuck. These people really thought he was Shriver the Writer! As he walked across the tarmac toward the doors, he concentrated on the task of becoming someone else, and wished for the first time that his gastrointestinal system were at least able to endure the library long enough for him to have read this Shriver fellow’s work.
    What had he been thinking?
    Passing through a glass door into the air-conditioned gate area, where a crowd awaited returning friends and loved ones, he cursed his decision to come here, to leave the safe confines of his apartment, to leave the unconditional love of Mr. Bojangles, the dedicated service of Vinnie the Doorman and Blotto, the delivery boy from the local grocery store. He could have been home right now watching the afternoon edition of the Channel 17 Action News and napping on the patch of sun that fell across his bed at this time every day. Instead, he was in this strange, aggressively horizontal land, pretending to be someone else entirely, someone who was a genius, apparently, and infinitely more intelligent than he, albeit it with a dirty mind.
    How can I worm my way out of this insane situation? he wondered. Perhaps he could avoid the person dispatched to retrieve him and exchange his return ticket for the next flighthome. He decided right then and there that this was what he would do—he would go home to Mr. Bojangles—and so he started toward the main lobby and ticket counter.
    But his path was blocked by a petite young woman wearing a shiny yellow slicker.
    She offered her hand. “Mr. Shriver, I presume.”
    She had long blond hair, nearly the same color as her coat, and thin lips painted ruby red. He thought she was about eighteen years old until he looked closer and saw the crow’s-feet at the corners of her large brown eyes. She looked the way he imagined Tina LeGros would look in person, without the stiff hair and pancake makeup and power suit.
    â€œI’m Simone Cleverly,” she said.
    â€œYes,” he replied, taking her hand in his own. “And I am Shriver.”

Chapter Two
    When the luggage finally arrived, Professor Cleverly insisted on carrying Shriver’s suitcase, though it weighed nearly as much as she did.
    â€œReally, I can carry it,” Shriver told her,