At the Symposium Max DeVoe Talley
T
he mailed invitation surprised Jonah Marquez. Symposium For The Arts, which held its annual awards ceremony in Santa Fe, New Mexico, had included him on their exclusive guest list: fifty nominees for ten awards, and each one could invite a significant other along. Although the engraved card didn’t list his category, Jonah had been single since Sophie dumped him last spring, so he must be a nominee. Jonah’s novel Are You My Stepmother? was two years old, but perhaps they were late in recognizing it. He felt puzzled over the absence of an extra invite. Did the selection committee hear of the breakup and his subsequent online dating failures? He squelched those thoughts. After suffering through the stultifying heatwave that had enshrouded Los Angeles, Santa Fe’s fall weather would be restorative. *** Jonah flew into Albuquerque and drove up to Villas de Santa Fe. The SFTA staked all invitees for two nights in one-bedroom suites with kitchens. The Villas
stood just north of the historic downtown Plaza. Practically walking distance to the Lensic Theater. The suites connected in block-long, two-story structures that resembled college dormitories. Inside a separate check-in building, Jonah saw SFTA attendees and European tourists thronged around the front desk, jostling for attention from millennial clerks. “There he is,” shouted a slight man. Tarick Rahal, master of magic realism. “You’re a nominee, Jonah?” His face tightened. “Wasn’t your last novel published four years ago?” “Two, actually.” “Just seems like forever.” Tarick slapped Jonah on the shoulder. Another man approached wearing a camel hair coat, his head tilted back as if sunbathing under the lobby track lights. David Fallow was rumored to carry favorable print reviews of his books like a rabbit’s foot. He perpetually worked a thatch of graying blond hair off his forehead, and whenever he made an incisive point, Fallow lowered his black rim glasses to allow unobstructed eye
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