A Writer's Tale by Richard Laymon

the box. The key pushed in, the lock fell open, and he tossed the two together onto his bed. His white hands threw open the door of the box.
    “Time to rise an’ shine,” he whispered. The stiff mouse didn’t stir. Rich lifted it from the box and tickled its belly with his forefinger.
     

The Pink Tea and Me
     
    WITH THE SALE OF MY FIRST STORY IN 1970, I BECAME A “PRO” AND therefore eligible to join the Mystery Writers of America. I found the MWA’s address in The Writer’s Market, wrote a letter, paid my dues, and joined.
    In those days, the Los Angeles chapter held a meeting in the Sportsman’s Lodge on the last Friday of every month. We all got together, listened to a guest speaker, and spent a lot of time standing around afterward, drinking and chatting.
    Robert Bloch was at the first meeting I attended. I worked up enough nerve to approach him, introduce myself, and tell him what a huge influence he’d been on me. (To which he responded with a quip.)
    I really didn’t know anybody there, so I hung out with an elderly fellow named Bill Clark who seemed to be a bibliographer. Bill introduced me around to several of the members.
    One of them, Warner Law (an Edgar award winning short story writer) took me under his wing and introduced me to Clayton Matthews (who would later become rich and famous collaborating with his wife, Patricia, in writing numerous historical romances). It so happened that Matt (Clayton) would be hosting the next meeting of their writers’ group, called the Pink Tea. Encouraged by Warner, he invited me to attend it.
    At the time, I had no idea what an honor it was to be invited. The Pink Tea was a small, informal group of real pros, including the people who had started the Los Angeles chapter of MWA and who were its early leaders. Such men as Clayton Matthews, Warner Law, Arthur Moore and Jack Matcha formed the heart of the chapter in those days and for several years to come.
    The Pink Tea was a private group, and its existence was something of a secret. There was only one way to attend a meeting: you had to be invited by the person who would be hosting it. After the first meeting, you didn’t necessarily get invited to another.
    Here is an example of the procedure at work.
    A rather annoying, aggressive, aspiring writer once pressured me into inviting him to a Pink Tea when it was to be held at my house. I caved in, and said, “Sure, come on over!”
    At the end of the meeting to which I’d invited him, he approached the guy who would be hosting the next one. “Say,” he said, will it be all right if I come to your . . ?”
    “No,” the writer told him. A bit cruel, maybe, but effective. For many years, the tight control over membership kept the group from disintegrating into a bunch of “hanger-onners” and “ne’er-dowells.”
    I was a lucky one. After being invited by Matt, the others kept asking me to subsequent meetings until I was considered a permanent member.
    The Pink Tea had been in existence for some time before I showed up. I’ve heard more than one story about how the group got its name. Apparently, it was first suggested by Warner Law, Arthur Moore, Clayton Matthews or Jach Matcha. (I recall that they each seemed to take credit for it, at one time or another and argue about the origin.) “Pink Tea” was intended as a wry, tongue-in-cheek reference to the olden days when little old ladies would get together to trade gossip and sip tea.
    None of us sipped tea.
    We were mostly a pack of hard drinkers and heavy smokers. (My smoke of choice was the pipe, but there were plenty of cigarettes and cigars.) Twice each month (every other Friday, except when MWA meetings got in the way), we would meet at the house or apartment of a member and have a party/workshop. We alternated locations, each of us taking his turn. (Almost each of us. Some people rarely or never hosted.)
    The meeting places were scattered all over the Los Angeles area members living in such areas as