That's a lot of running and a lot of
territory to cover to get to Vidal in time. I was about halfway down the long
dark hallway when Vidal came out of the studio. I raced up to him, shoved the
book at him, and asked him to sign it. He took it from me. His hands were
trembling. As he scrawled his name I asked him how the negotiations for the
movie version of the book were going. He mumbled something about Mick Jagger
being interested, fumbled the book back to me, and walked off.
That was
weird. He looked like a nervous wreck when just minutes before he was calmly and
effortlessly skewering The Jewish Television Network guys. What had
happened to him?
Well just maybe he saw some wild-eyed long-haired freak
in a leather jacket running pell-mell straight for him down a long dark
deserted hallway. The faint but perceptible bourbon-scented cloud
enshrouding said wild-eyed long-haired freak in a leather jacket probably didn't
help Vidal's piece of mind either.
And that's how I briefly met one of
the best writers of all time.
Rest in Peace Mr. Vidal. I'm sorry I scared
you.
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