Zingiber

John and Jane Doe bring their microphone over to a side table where a nondescript white guy in his thirties with thick dark hair is sitting next to a tall, slim redhead wearing a long, brightly colored cotton dress and a hat with a silk sunflower. A loose stack of notes and a spiral-bound book of sketch paper lies open in front of the man, and a squat brown bottle of ginger beer sits to one side. The woman has an open jar of Nutella and a can of pressurized whipped cream by her side, and is intently spreading the hazelnut-chocolate spread onto a round sweetened whole-wheat crisp biscuit.

"Sir, are you a writer?" Jane asks earnestly but with her smile on low beam in case he was some bit player from "She's Hungry" or "The Stone Wall Mall."

"Eh bien?" he says.

"You can't fool me," Jane says. "All your notes are in English!"

The man clears his throat. "I rather think of myself as a sad bastard, actually," he says. "But I'm afraid that's not originally my line." He nods in the direction of a British fellow who is smiling at a young Indo-Briton girl who seems to be laughing at something he said. Not far away are two young redheads...sisters? twins?... in slinky dresses who seem to be giggling behind their hands as they look at the two.

"Yes, I'm a writer," he finishes.

"How are your ratings?" John asks. "Are you in the first rank?"

"I suppose," the writer replies. "At any rate, they seem to think I'm a better writer than editor. Ah well." He sighs. He blows eraser crumbs from the drawing in front of him.

"What...what's your motivation?" Jane asks. "Why do you write for Chyoo?"

"It's a darn sight easier than Adult Interactive Fiction. More satisfaction with less programming. None, actually. " He smiles at the interviewers. "One casual mention in alt.games.xtrek, and here I am. It's fun, and you can feel like you've contributed something with just a page of writing."

"Here you are!" Jane echoes in a jolly voice. She looks flustered. "What is your name?"

"Zingiber," he says.

"What a strange name," John says. "What does it mean?"

The man points to a computer screen on the next table, displaying a post to Literotica's Chyoo forum by Zingiber with a gnarled, sprouting ginger root as the avatar image. "That," he says. "Zingiber officinale."

The woman by his side giggles.

"What?" he asks.

"It was my idea," she says. "Your name. I thought it was cute." She looks at him through comically large round glasses with red frames.

"Listen," he says. "You're not even a Chyoo character. You're from Internet Relay Chat. Don't start thinking you run everything."

She laughs and points her butter knife at him. "Ha! Much YOU know," she says. Turning to Jane and John, she tilts up her chin, her silk sunflower bobbing. "I gave him his start." She clears her throat and mimes his voice. "It's like radio. Like theatre of the mind." She breaks down laughing. "And who," she continues in a Miss Piggy voice, "who is the star here?"

The writer rubs his temples. "I certainly can't compete with you, Pips," he says. "Maybe you should interview her," he says to John and Jane. "Ask her about the time she was tied spread-eagle and turned into a Nutella sundae. Or maybe some of the hot-tub stories." He shoots an uneasy glance at her.

She laughs. "Just as long as we know who the star is, and who the keyboard **** is." She squirts pressurized cream topping onto her Nutella-covered biscuit and takes a bite. She bats her eyelashes at John and Jane and reaches out her hand. Jane, looking a bit dazed, grasps it and gets a vigorous shake. "Pleased," the woman says. "I understand you're Jane Doe. I'm Pippi Mop-Skates!"

She reaches out for John, but he ignores her, his attention distracted by a scuffle nearby. A petite blonde woman with a golden tan wearing surf shorts and a bikini top chases after another petite blonde woman holding a surfboard. "Stop! I don't care if you're my writer!" the pursuer yells. "It's MY surfboard!"

John says to the writer, "To get back to the interview. We just had a few more questions."

The writer strokes his lip with his thumb and looks at John and Jane. "Mm-hm?"

"It's been said that you have trouble getting writers for your stories. Would you care to comment?"

"Writers come and go," he says.

John leans forward with an earnest look on his face. "But isn't it true that you've rewritten your threads, hoping desperately to find a hook question to pull in another writer?"

"That's not a very friendly way to phrase the question. Sure I've rewritten threads," he says. "Usually because it looks like there's a better place to break it than what I first thought."

"Haven't you shamelessly promoted your stories, your authors' updates to your stories, on Literotica?" John asks, pushing his microphone closer to the writer's nose. "Isn't this the mark of desperation? Unlike your supposed favorite, SlidingInSilk, who is rarely if ever seen on the Chyoo forums."

"Uh, yes," he says. "I could actually be better at it. Partly to say thanks to the authors and promote them, really. And I'm not sure what the second part has to do with it."

"I also have a question," Jane says. "About some of your transgressive themes..."

"Sorry, no comment on postmodern lit-crit questions," the writer says.

Jane leans forward at him. "I meant your obsessions with anal eroticism, group sex, bisexuality and consensual ****!"

"Um. Is that a question, Jane? And how does that, uh, specially distinguish me among the writers?"

"Oof!" Jane says.

Pippi guffaws as Jane tries to keep her balance.

Jane looks around to see who has bumped her.

A distinguished-looking fellow in a linen loincloth, carrying a wooden 3-4-5 right triangle and a set of papyrus scrolls, apologizes to her in Egyptian. Before he moves off toward a knot of giggling college girls, Jane sneaks a peek at the not-very-well-concealed erection he has under his loincloth.

The writer frowns at John and Jane. "So are you going to try and do a real interview here, or are you just going to keep badgering me?" he asks. "Maybe you'd prefer to talk with some of my characters instead?"

Pippi laughs. "Characters! Characters!" she says to John and Jane. Looking at the writer, she says, "Have 'em talk to Rory, she'll set 'em straight!"

"Uh, Rory Mishkin isn't straight," the writer says. "She actually leans toward girls."

"Do I need to slap you?" Pippi asks. "Or how about Ayanna Washington. She wouldn't put up with their guff. Or me, even. Watch this!" she says to John and Jane.

"No!" says the writer. But it's too late. Pippi stands up, picks him up by the belt, and tosses him over her head.

"Wheeee!" Pippi says.

"Aaaaahh!" the writer yells as he sails up in the air. "Why did I base you on Pippi Longstocking!?!?"

Pippi catches him, puts him down, and pats him on the head. "There there," she says. She smiles brightly at John and Jane. "Any more questions for my keyboard ****?"