There was more applause, and then some whispering, confusion, it seemed, about how to proceed. Viridian said, “Oh don’t ask me, what do I know?” loud enough for the audience to hear it and laugh, though it seemed they weren’t certain if they were meant to laugh. I leaned a little closer to the curtain’s edge and saw Viridian make a shooing motion with her hand, as if Sacha and the rest of them were annoying flies.

Doug spoke into the microphone. “All right, I’ll start. Thanks for having me here and letting me be a part of this super-fun and important gathering. I know you’ve learned a lot from Viridian and the other great writers here. When I’m asked about Compass Points, about what we look for when we’re putting together an issue, I say we want poems that are of the moment, of the time and place we live in, but which transcend it.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Viridian said. “Honestly, I never know what that means.”

I have to give Doug credit, it didn’t throw him off. “Yes, what do we mean? I expect it’s the same for everybody. It’s how we start each new poem. Hoping to speak to our own experience, to validate it and make it credible and real to others. But also, to stand outside of ourselves, connect with what’s universal. What’s human and timeless.”

He paused, but Viridian didn’t speak. “Anyway,” Doug said, hurrying a little now, “the magazine has a long and storied history. I’m just the latest in a long line of caretakers. And I’ve tried to live up to that history. To seek out the best and most distinctive—”

“Honestly,” Viridian said.

Dead stop. I saw Larry lean toward Doug, a brief whispered conference. Then Larry took the microphone.

“Who out there is a fan of Compass Points?”

Applause, a few whistles and cheers. They were relieved to have something to cheer for, and to keep things on track.

“I’m a fan, too,” he said. “When I need to know what’s new and exciting, what lovers of literature are going to be paying attention to, Compass Points is where I turn.”

It was logrolling, but at some expert level. Doing each other favors so that everybody got ahead. These guys were so good at it. I expected that when it was Doug’s turn to take the microphone again, he’d say nice things about Larry. Whatever competition there was between them, they’d soft-soap over it, and carry on as if they earned their living playing croquet, instead of trying to clobber each other with giant ego-clubs.

Larry went on. “I’ve been asked, what is it that you do, exactly, at Artists United?”

I felt my face getting hot. I hoped I wasn’t the only one who asked. Maybe I was only the most recent.