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Show Acting Alone pa g e 445 forth by our liberal universities, by appealing first to America's national voyeurism, as the old man suggested: titillate first, then hit 'em with the message - heck, even Sophocles and Aristophanes knew that, way back when. All of which, of course, were merely Sam's surmisals, and, if true, perfectly fine with him. No problem. Piss on the universities. Kill the professors. He obviously had no real firm idea what really was going on. He leeched and latched onto anti-academicism as an ulterior motive for his presence here, for greed could not be postulated. The old fart himself repeatedly reminded Sam of how piddling the sum would be by his astronomical standards. And, if not for money, and not to kill the professors (the only two things Sam could imagine - probably an indication of certain desires hidden under the layers of Sam's psychic fat), then the old man must be doing it just to torment Sam, individually, which meant that the whole schmear could be merely another paranoid delusion, this old author's representative as unreal and untouchable and uncommitted to Sam's talent as every other agent in America and Canada and Australia (he'd tried them all). Sam nevertheless tried to appeal to the old man's monetary sense. "What if he sues us for slander or libel or something? I mean, he's on the lam, but what if he works out some kind of weird fugitive lawsuit thing like Abbie Hoffman did? Couldn't you lose your shirt? Remember, Axelrad is a Jew, prepschool product, and -" The quiet sniff of amusement that sucked gently through the speakerphone was all Sam needed to hear. Lose shirt? He had a whole wardrobe full of silken shirts that shot the radiance of the sun. (The old man must be more |