Henry James was blathering on, about what exactly Addison had little or no idea. Not for the first time in his life he thought, yes, this was life, people blathering, because blather they must, even if they were famous novelists.
"Don't you agree, Mr. Paddison?"
"Oh, yes, entirely, sir," said Addison, because he knew that everyone wanted to be agreed with. Even he would probably want to be agreed with if he actually had any opinions.
Mr. James was staring at him out of bloodshot eyes in a red bloated face. What was he thinking? Did he expect Addison to elaborate on his stated agreement, or was he just experiencing one of those drunken fugues when even the most voluble windbags fall silent as their batteries of bloviation recharge?
Suddenly Addison realized he needed to piss, that tedious occupational necessity of every drunkard.
"Oh, by the way, Mr. James, I hate to interrupt you –"
"No, please do, sir. I love to be interrupted by intelligent younger men."
"Well, I was just wondering if you could direct me to, uh –"
"Yes? You seek direction? My dear boy, someday you will learn that no one can give you direction, that we all must find our own way through the winding byways and cobbled back alleyways of this dream we call life. Will we choose the wrong turnings? Yes. Will we sometimes – sometimes! – choose the right turning? Perhaps.
But – and this is quite possibly the only real direction I can give you – sometimes we might find that what at first seemed the wrong turning was, in hindsight, the correct one. And, yes, the opposite might also be true, videlicet that the choice which seemed at the time to be right, true, and correct proves in the end to be wrong, horribly wrong, perhaps even fatally so."
"You make some very good points, Mr. James, but –"
"But in the end you must make your own mistakes. No one can make them for you."
"Yes, I can see that, but, actually, I just wanted to know where the men's room was."
"Oh. Well, that's different, isn't it?"
"Yes, I guess."
"Because there can only be one set of directions to the men's room. Provided of course that there is a men's room."
"Is there one?"
"No, you have to go out back and micturate against the wall."
"Oh, okay, so how do I get to the back door then?"
"I was just jesting," said Mr. James. "Of course we have a men's room. Just go to the end of the bar, make a left, go past the cigarette machine and the jukebox, and you'll soon enter a dim narrow hallway; keep going down the hall, and it's the first door on your left. It says Pointers."
"Pointers."
"Yes. Like the dog. And even if you're illiterate there's a picture of a dog on it. A pointing dog."
"Okay. Pointers."
"Yes, a bit farther along is another door that has a picture of a squatting dog and it says Sitters. Don't go in that one."
"I guess that's the ladies' room."
"Most perspicacious of you. I knew you were a smart lad from the moment I laid eyes on you. I should love to read your novel."
"Well, I only have the first few chapters written, or sort of written."
"I should love to read them."
"They're pretty rough. First draft stuff, and I wrote them without any sort of outline or much of a plot in mind at all."
"All the better. I always tried to outline all my novels but I never followed the outlines anyway."
"That's good to know."
"When I started The Golden Bowl I intended it to be about a female assassin who agrees to take one last job, and look how that novel turned out."
"Um, yes –"
"Just let it rip is my advice to you, my boy, and the less you think about it the better. That's what your what I believe Dr. Freud calls your unconscious is for."
"Thanks, it's good to hear that, because frankly I never know what I'm going to write next."
"And isn't life like that? Who knows what's going to happen next? Only in bad novels does life follow any sort of strict and ironclad plot."
"So, anyway," said Addison, "it's go to the end of the bar, then left and down the hall and the first door on the right?"
"First door on the left."
"Left, right."
"Left, not right."
"Right, left."
"Pointers. Just look for the sign."
"The pointing dog."
"That is correct. Would you like me to accompany you?"
"No, that's all right, sir. I'm sure I can find it."
"I don't mind."
"No, please, I wouldn't want to put you out."
"It's not putting me out."
"Down the bar, go left, down the hall, first door on the right –"
"Left. First door on the left."
"First door on the left, right."
"Pointers."
"Yes," said Addison. "Pointers."
He climbed off his stool, almost knocking the stool over, but Mr. James was quick and he grabbed the stool before it could fall.
"Are you quite all right?" said Mr. James.
"Yes, fine," said Addison. "Thank you."
His grog tankard was sitting there on the bar, and he picked it up, drank the half-ounce of sludge that was left in it.
"Shall I order you another grog?" said Mr. James.
"Yes, thank you," said Addison.
"It's pretty good, isn't it?"
"Delicious, yes."
"Of course the good rum is the essential ingredient, good strong Royal Navy rum, Jamaica rum, aged in old oaken casks,
but you know what really makes the drink for me, besides the cinnamon, the cloves, the blackstrap molasses, the star anise?"
"No."
"It's the fenugreek."
"Okay."
"You've got to have the fenugreek."
"Okay, well, look, uh –"
"Go. Go, my lad, and godspeed. And when you return you will find a fresh tankard of hot steaming grog awaiting you."
"Thanks. I mean, thanks in advance."
"My treat."
"You are too generous, sir."
"Not really. You don't know what it means to me to pick the brains of a rising young talent like yourself. Now go, go, before you wet your trousers."
"Okay, I'll be right back," said Addison.
"And I'll be right here, bating my breath."
At last Addison escaped the fat old bore, and headed headlong down the bar, past all these shouting and laughing people, amidst the clangor of the jukebox and the thick clouds of smoke.
Down to the end of the bar, then make a left, and into a hallway. Go down the hallway until you see a sign that says Pointers. First door on the left, or was it the right? No matter, just look for the door that said Pointers.
He could do this.
The music blared, the people laughed and shouted, the thick smoke swirled, it was like a great sea of drunkenness and Addison swam through it.
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