2 Grand Delusion Read Online Free PDF

just the kind of support I needed. I looked back and scowled until he finally got the message and shut up, embarrassed, and blew his nose. On his shirt.
    Meanwhile I located the grape juice stain on my own shirt. It was right above my belly button. I tried to hide it with my hand, doing the Napoleon pose.
    I cleared my throat and nervously commenced with "Gentlemen," then realized I was squeaking. I was so rattled, and so intent on lowering my voice a few octaves, that I forgot to add the smooth "and gentlewoman" like Wells did.
    But then somehow, out of sheer desperation, I managed to find a rhythm. Waving that dishonest map aloft, forgetting all about my grape juice stain, I attacked. I tore the map's lies and half-lies to shreds. I described the Third-World living conditions at 107—"the nightmare on Elm Street," I called it—and used all the skills I'd honed during my years as a writer to vividly depict the late-night screaming, brawling, horn honking, and drug dealing. When I happened to turn sideways at one point, I noticed Tony beaming at me proudly. On the center aisle, Judy Demarest furiously took notes. I was cooking with gas.
    Maybe I was cooking with too much gas. Fueled by my eloquence, and by my two-months-long anger at being awakened nightly, I threw caution to the winds. I forgot there must be a reason why half of Saratoga seemed to be scared of Pop. I let him have it with both barrels.
    "Furthermore, gentlemen," I continued, "and gentlewoman," I added gracefully, "you all heard Mr. Wells inform you that, unofficially, this house has been a three-family unit for over ten years. But, Mr. Wells"—I turned to him—"and Mr. Doyle"—I turned to Pop—"and members of the board"—I turned back to them—"let's cut the crap. It wasn't just 'unofficial,' it was blatantly illegal . This man is a cop—a cop for God's sake, and yet he has broken the law with impunity for ten years. Now his lawyer shamelessly stands before you and declares that this man should be rewarded for his illegal actions. He actually wants you to approve Mr. Doyle's misdeeds, so he can sell his property at a huge profit and make even more money from breaking the law than he already has. Members of the board, on behalf of my wife, my children"—they'd come back in a moment ago, and Andrea was staring at me, astonished by my oration—"my neighbors, and the people of this city, who are represented here today by the esteemed editor of the Daily Saratogian" —I figured it wouldn't hurt to remind the board again that they were being observed—"I urge you to reject this man's appeal. I urge you to go even further," I proclaimed, bringing my fist down hard on the wooden railing, "and take steps immediately to force Pop Doyle to obey the law as regards his property. Thank you very much."
    Then I went back to my seat.
    The room was so silent you could hear Judy Demarest scribbling away in her notebook. The board members sat there stunned. Andrea, Tony, and my kids were still staring at me. The kids didn't know what was going on, but they knew it was something very weird.
    Everyone else was staring at me, too. Especially Pop.
    And Pop's face wasn't bright red anymore. It was dark purple.
     
    "Mr. Wells," the chairman finally asked, "is there anything you wish to say in reply?"
    Wells set his jaw. "There most certainly is." He advanced resolutely to the railing, but I noticed he stayed on the audience side of it this time. Maybe his confidence that he and the board were on the same side had been shaken.
    Or maybe not. His voice sounded just as self-assured as ever. "Members of the board, I will ignore the incendiary remarks with which Mr. Burns ended his impassioned though inaccurate speech. As you know, they are totally outside the purview of this board.
    "Let's move on to the real issue," he continued, oozing greasy sarcasm. "Since Mr. Bums claims to represent the people of his neighborhood, I have one simple question. Where are they?" He stopped,