We talked about Norman Mailer's new book on Picasso, which lead into a discussion of Picasso's work. I talked about a documentary I'd seen where the artist was filmed in front of an easel, drawing or painting these beautiful fish. Watching him, I was amazed at how easy it looked for him; the drawings just seemed to flow from his fingertips. Steve started talking about documentaries and how the Oscar always seemed to neglect the good ones like 'Roger and Me' or 'Hoop Dreams.' Which lead us back to a discussion of ignored or forgotten great books.
"A great book that nobody ever seems to talk about anymore is 'Wuthering Heights,'" Steve said with great drama. "More people have seen that corny Merle Oberon/ Laurence Olivier movie than have read the book."
"Oh, the book's fab!" I said. "It's so sick! All that perverted love and violence! People who love the movie's 'romance' would probably shriek and run in horror at the book. The movie's a romance and the book's more of a ---"
"A psychological profile about power and revenge."
I nodded in agreement. "Exactly! Very SM!"
"Excuse me. Can I speak with the owner?" A young woman in a well-tailored business suit, holding a briefcase in her hand, was standing at the register.
"I'm the owner. Can I help you?"
"Are you Hugo Ciccarelli?"
"That's me."
She handed me the envelope. "This is for you. Please consider yourself served."
"I usually do the serving around here. What is this?"
"Legal papers, sir. It's all self-explanatory."
