Pay and Pay

Chapter 7

THE leaves had begun to turn after several very chilly nights in the last week of September. Kevvin had taken advantage of the cool mornings to wear his Burberry coat to work even though that meant he usually had to carry it folded over his arm on the way home. That morning was Saturday, so he sat at his writing table with a cup of coffee to one side and slowly reread the fair copy of the story he had been working on for over two months.

He was very pleased with it, and had taken particular care over the previous weeks to proofread, revise and edit it before be began to type up the final copy for submission. On one level, re-reading the fair copy was very stressful because he found himself dreading the discovery of a misspelled word or some such trivial error in the very next sentence after all his careful work. The tension grew worse the further he read without finding any errors.

Kevvin was also aware that the greatest danger at this stage was to want to go back and change something... a paragraph, a sentence, even one word. He had long since learned that when he had a fair copy in front of him, he could only preserve it intact if he kept a notepad and pen at his side to write down any ideas for changes. This allowed him to go back after a final reading and deliberate on any proposed changes. So far, he only had a handful of very minor possible changes written down on the pad.

He turned to the last page of the manuscript. Part way down, he paused and made a quick note on the pad beside him. He finished the page. After neatly stacking it on top of the others and replacing them all in a file folder, he stood up and took his empty coffee cup into the kitchenette to wash it. Looking out the window at the sunny day as he rinsed his cup, he considered taking a break, but he wanted to do something different to celebrate the completion (or near completion) of his latest work. He noted the mixture of red, orange and yellow leaves in with the stubborn green on the trees outside. He wanted to go out for a while. He could pick up his Times later.

Returning to his writing table, Kevvin placed the file folder containing his story into his briefcase to take to work the following Monday to photocopy. To calm any doubts that might arise-he was his own worst critic, he knew-he took one more careful glance through the notes he had made, but decided he had been right in his snap decision. One or two did recommend themselves to him, and another might lighten the tone of a particular sentence, but none really had the nature of a necessary change, and none could really improve the quality of the writing. It would be gilding refined gold or painting the lily. He smiled at the comparison of his work to the Bard's.

Kevvin went into his bedroom to dress. The problem he faced next was what to put on. To know that, he would have to make a decision on what he would do next. He did consider following his normal routine of picking up a copy of the Times and going to read it in his bistro, but after a solid week of intensive work on his story, he felt the need for something more active. Jane Austen's phrase, "the felicities of rapid motion," sprang into his head. He smiled, both because he thought it was one of her better lines, and because he himself disliked dancing. When he wanted to impress someone, he did not choose the dance floor as the place to do it.

At any rate, at least some rather more gentle exercise in the fresh air was in order. The fall leaves had made a definite impression on his aesthetic sensibilities, so he thought he might spend a few hours taking photographs. Before picking out the appropriate clothes for the expedition, he retrieved a leather shoulder bag from his closet, took his camera down from the shelf, and fetched the novel he was currently reading. With his accessories now in place, he began to select the appropriate costume from his wardrobe. He finally settled on a pair of tan chinos, a shirt, a light jacket and brogues.

With his clothes and equipment laid out on the bed, Kevvin took his toilet bag and towel and left his apartment to shave and shower down the hall. While he was getting ready, he considered several locations that might afford superior photographs. He finally settled on a large park a twenty or thirty minute walk away, went back to his bedroom to dress, and left the apartment again.