Genesie regarded me seriously over the rim of her red reading glasses. I suddenly felt as though I was sitting an exam. A very important oral exam, for which I had forgotten to study.
“Where is Nigel?” she asked.
I racked my brain. “I—I don’t remember a character called Nigel,” I said. “Is he in THE SCOTTISH PRISONER? I’ve only read that one through once, and it was on a borrowed Kindle with half the screen that wouldn’t light.”
She shook her head at me and tut-tutted gently. “Nigel. From our group at the library. You must have seen him—black jacket and long hair?”
“Oh! The guy with the—ah—dental issues?”
The nameless lady leaned forward. “I think he has lovely teeth,” she said, seriously.
Genesie rattled her needles at me. She’d knit two rows since we’d sat down.
“Nigel is a sweet young man. Writes very interesting stories, too—usually in the Harry Potter genre, but occasionally in the OUTLANDER universe. And we try never to judge based on appearance in this group.”
“Perhaps he’ll join us later,” Marlene added placidly.
Right about then, Genesie ordered two tequila shooters, and the evening took on a dream-like quality from that moment onward.
“So,” she said, clutching me by the arm after downing the first in a single gulp. “You’re a fan of the OUTLANDER books, are you?”
As I nodded, the table fell silent. It was like the group was collectively holding its breath.
“Betcha like that Jamie Fraser, then, do ya?” she said, pounding the second tequila and waving her glass at the server in a smooth, practiced move.
I nodded again.
Genesie slammed her hand on the tabletop. “What—and I’m looking for details here, mind you—just WHAT do you think some fictional character like Jamie Fraser has over a REAL man like Braveheart?”
“I—he —I guess what I really like is the relationship he has with Claire,” I stumbled. “I love Jamie because he is such a manly man. He’s a man of honor, but the love he holds for Claire is what really touches me.”
Marlene sipped her Irish coffee, oblivious to Genesie’s change of state. “I do enjoy the OUTLANDER books,” she said, “but only in the way one enjoys the pioneers within any milieu. Certainly the series opened a door to the Scottish Time Travel genre, but it remains for those of us who REALLY care about the field to polish and improve upon the genre.”
“Scottish Time Travel … genre …” I said, slowly. I’d never heard the expression before, and the idea that anyone could improve upon Jamie made me want to laugh.
So I did.
Genesie’s face turned an interesting shade of plum, beginning with her nose and slowly spreading outward. The server scooped up her empty shot glasses and replaced them with full ones. The yellow liquid danced in the light as Genesie threw the first one down her throat.
“You think something’s funny?” she said to me, after she’d swallowed.
I shrugged back into the sleeves of my coat. It didn’t seem like I’d be doing too much research here after all. “Well, yeah,” I said, taking a reckless slug of my wine. If she could shoot her alcohol, so could I.
The problem wasn’t so much the wine, as the candor that came along with it.
“I think the OUTLANDER books show Jamie as a man who all men could aspire to emulate. And I know a cop in Pittsburgh who agrees with me, too.”
Genesie’s voice dropped dangerously low. “He is no man,” she snarled. “He is merely a character! The truth, no matter how you cut it, is that Jamie Fraser may have made a good lad in a story, but he never existed.”
“I don’t know,” I said, the wine making me bold. “I’d like to believe there is a Jamie Fraser out there somewhere. In fact, I’m going to try to find him.”
Genesie looked at me as if I was insane. “You’re going to find someone who’s never existed? That’s ridiculous.”
“Look—Jamie’s more than a character to me. He’s—he’s like a sort of blueprint for what I’d like to find in a man. He’s smart and heroic …” I struggled to put into words all that I was feeling, but she waved me down.
“Heroic? Emma, if you want a hero, you need only look to William Wallace. He was a real man. A true Scot. Just one look at those wild eyes, the blue woad on his face, avenging his family and his country—now THERE was a man of honor.”
Marlene tilted her head. “You’ve got a point,” she said. “That Mel what’s-his-member did cut a fine figure in a kilt.”