The Kitchen Readings Read Online Free Page A

room, table to table, pointing out, “That’s Hunter Thompson over there.” Everyone loves that stuff. Figuring me as his only potential ally, Hunter asked me to join him. I sat down, and he said to help myself to some lunch. He had enough in front of him to feed two or three. He ordered me a beer, and I started picking around the different plates the same way he was. The doofus began to hover closer and closer and finally sat down next to us. Doc explained how he and I were in the middle of an important meeting and could really use some privacy. The guy actually took the hint and drifted off.
    Doc and I started chatting, both of us relieved that we didn’t have to deal with the fool. We talked and drank and grazed over the food, with me occasionally leaning close to make sure that I wasn’t missing any Hunter Thompson wisdom. I thought it was going all right; sure, I’d miss some stuff here and there, but I believed I was keeping up. That is, I thought that I was keeping up until Hunter really took the ball and started to run with it. Now he was doing all the talking; I was merely audience. I listened carefully to every word, straining to understand, with only intermittent success. Nodding and smiling when I hoped it was appropriate, half comprehending, half bluffing. It seemed to be working. Hunter went on and on. One of us was having a great conversation. I started to get nervous about what would happen if, all of a sudden, Hunter required a reply from me. No need to fret; Doc was happy. He continued.
    Finally he stopped dead. He fixed me with a hard, searching look. “Michael,” he said, “you’re the most unflappable person I’ve ever talked to.” I am? My God, I thought, what the hell have we been talking about? The possibilities raced through my brain. Everything from sedition to loaning him my wife. “Hunter,” I confessed, “I’m sorry. I haven’t understood a word you’ve said for the last five minutes.” Hunter gave me a kindly smile. I knew it was all right because it wasn’t about me.
    The doofus was gone, and we had finished our drinks and Hunter’s lunch. We bade each other a good afternoon and promised to do this again soon.

Bob Tells Us About Maria and Lost Love
    Hunter and Maria lived together for several years; but by 1987 Maria Khan had left the farm. A beautiful girl of Pakistani descent from a prominent Phoenix family, Maria finally decided that she had completed her enlistment as Hunter’s live-in, sleep-in administrative assistant. Her black hair and gray/blue eyes probably accounted for part of Hunter’s attraction to her, but she was also very smart. Smart enough to know it was time to return to Phoenix to continue her education.
    Her parents despised Hunter, and although he knew it, he had difficulty accepting it. He retaliated by writing a gonzo exposé of the Khan clan in the Sunday supplement of a prominent Phoenix newspaper. This resulted in a serious widening of the Thompson/Khan chasm. His charges against the Khans were borderline libel, but in some sense funny—particularly if you knew that part of Hunter’s motivation was revenge for the family’s supporting Maria’s escape from Woody Creek. She had moved out unexpectedly, and Hunter was having trouble locating the particular straw that broke the back of the relationship. Certainly there had been some behavior issues, but nothing that dovetailed with the time immediately preceding her departure. Perhaps he deserved it, but in a just and fair universe there’d be an explanation, a measure of understanding. There’d be a straw.

    Maria and Hunter in happier times, joined on the links by David McCumber, Tex, Deb Fuller, and a pro.
    After Maria left him, Hunter had been sent to Phoenix on assignment with the San Francisco Examiner to cover the Evan Mecham impeachment hearings.
    Evan Mecham had run for governor of Arizona three