Sherry Gottlieb was moved to reminiscences of a long-past decade by the A281 item about aged sf professionals with wandering hands: 'Back in the '70s, I entered the lobby of a Worldcon hotel, wearing hip-hugger jeans and a midriff top (as I was then young and had the body for it); I had not yet checked in and wasn't wearing a name tag. My progress was stopped by Isaac Asimov, whom I'd never met, so he couldn't have known for sure that I was there for the Con. / Asimov put his finger in my navel and said, "Nice tits. May I cop a feel?" / I said no and walked on, noticing his surprise that he'd been turned down. / The next evening was the con's Meet the Authors signing event, and I'd brought a few of my favorite first editions to get signatures, among them my first eds of Asimov's Foundation Trilogy. I went up to Asimov and said, "Mr. Asimov, would you please sign these for me?" He said, "Aren't you the girl who wouldn't let me cop a feel yesterday?" "Yes," I said. "Then I'm not signing your books," he replied. / I was aghast that the great author was an offensive old lech. Someone nearby – I believe it was John Douglas – overheard; he told me to give him my Asimov books to him, and he got them signed for me.'
А я думал, что только на наших фантастических конвентах процветает (жирно зачеркнуто)
