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Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-The_Talent_Scout-by_Christine_Venzon.docx

about that one, girl.” She always was — about his type. “You think Dexter can do something for him? Introduce him around, take him to the clubs? He is old enough.” Lucille elbowed Marti’s ribs with a wrinkle-deepened smile, eyes merry beneath arched brows. “Just old enough, I’d say.” Marti feigned confusion, then chagrin. “Lucille. He’s a kid.” “And when did you get to be an old nanny goat?” “It’s been a while since I was carded.” “It’s never too late,” Lucille sang. “Leave that and come back out.” She hoisted the tray and sailed back to the living room. Marti soaped a salad bowl. No, not too late. Right on time, in fact. When she was 23, it was the racehorse trainer in Chicago; at 26, the TV journalist in D.C. And now at 29, him, found at the South Main gallery in Memphis where she worked. It was a Friday in September, an Art Tour Friday, and the downtown trolley had unloaded another handful of off-season passengers. Marti roused herself to greet them, entering hour three on automatic smile, talking art with just-lookers who used the conversation as cover for the free chardonnay and Bel Paese. He looked an unlikely browser, a spare figure hung with


Microsoft Word - 2014_Great_American_Fiction_Contest-The_Talent_Scout-by_Christine_Venzon.docx
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