Read Online Am I Right or Am I Right? by Barry Jonsberg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barry Jonsberg
Tags: Fiction
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other thing worth mentioning about my shift was that my father turned up at about eleven o’clock. I noticed him out of the corner of my eye, much the way you do when a rodent scuttles out of the wardrobe and disappears under the bed. (Look, it might not have happened to you, but you probably live somewhere where wildlife have the decency to observe negotiated boundaries.)
Anyway, he skittered among the aisles, pausing occasionally to scan the shelves. I wasn’t fooled, though. He was giving me the once-over. Either that or there was something fascinating about the pan scourer section.
I ignored him and he disappeared. If only it could be that easy all the time! Certainly he didn’t buy anything. When you’re the only checkout operator, you notice stuff like that. It made me uneasy, though. When I left the store at midnight and walked the short distance home, I kept glancing over my shoulder. I had a horrible feeling someone was following. Once I thought I saw a shadow move when all the other shadows remained fixed. I stopped in the middle of the street and focused on using my peripheral vision, but I couldn’t see anything.
It must have been my imagination.
I went round to Vanessa’s house straight after school on Thursday. She had been avoiding me during the day and I wanted to defuse the tension.
Mrs. Aldrick opened the door in the manner of one expecting an advance party of invading aliens from Alpha Centauri, showed me into the front room, and disappeared in a flurry of rolling eyeballs. Vanessa was curled up on the sofa, watching something appalling on the TV. It was one of those soap operas where everyone is young, physically irresistible, morally unscrupulous, and emotionally screwed.
Scene 37
Interior. Daytime. Vanessa’s front room. Tasteful art is on the walls, potted plants with gleaming leaves stand in corners, and there is no hint of dirt anywhere. It looks like a room fumigated regularly by people in white coats and breathing apparatus. You could perform open-heart surgery on the dining table with complete confidence
(
see next episode
).
Vanessa Aldrick, seventeen, is lying on the sofa. She is dressed in flowing robes of pure white that drape elegantly over slender limbs. Her hair, a pale waterfall, catches the light.
Enter Calma Harrison. She radiates good health. Her long, muscular, tanned legs are perfectly complemented by an immaculately tailored designer dress. Her bust heaves dramatically, threatening to explode out of the confining material and concuss a cameraman. When she smiles, impossibly white teeth flash like a solar flare.
She stands in front of Vanessa, one beautifully manicured hand on hip, the other running through the silk of her hair.
Calma: Nessa. You were right about Jason all along. He has been two-timing me with Charlene.
Nessa: That girl who is so attractive she makes us seem like the rear end of a constipated Rottweiler?
Calma: The very same. I found out tonight when he crashed his sports car
(
with her in it
)
into the coffee shop, killing four extras, ruining the special of the day and turning Tammy into a paraplegic.
Nessa: Tammy? The champion surfer with the honed body of an Olympic athlete and flawless makeup?
Calma: The very same.
Vanessa and I talked. I apologized for swearing at her. She apologized for what she had said about Kiffo.
On the surface, we were okay again. But I wasn’t satisfied. Vanessa was hiding something. I mean, it was fine that she recognized her overreaction, but she didn’t offer any explanation for it. And there had to be something more. The difficulty would be getting it out of her—as you must have gleaned by now, Vanessa isn’t the best communicator in the world. It was a problem.
I didn’t have time that afternoon, so I filed the dilemma away for future reference. You see, I’d made an appointment at the hairdresser’s for five o’clock and I didn’t want to be late. I was overdue for a trim. My hair had been
Anyway, he skittered among the aisles, pausing occasionally to scan the shelves. I wasn’t fooled, though. He was giving me the once-over. Either that or there was something fascinating about the pan scourer section.
I ignored him and he disappeared. If only it could be that easy all the time! Certainly he didn’t buy anything. When you’re the only checkout operator, you notice stuff like that. It made me uneasy, though. When I left the store at midnight and walked the short distance home, I kept glancing over my shoulder. I had a horrible feeling someone was following. Once I thought I saw a shadow move when all the other shadows remained fixed. I stopped in the middle of the street and focused on using my peripheral vision, but I couldn’t see anything.
It must have been my imagination.
I went round to Vanessa’s house straight after school on Thursday. She had been avoiding me during the day and I wanted to defuse the tension.
Mrs. Aldrick opened the door in the manner of one expecting an advance party of invading aliens from Alpha Centauri, showed me into the front room, and disappeared in a flurry of rolling eyeballs. Vanessa was curled up on the sofa, watching something appalling on the TV. It was one of those soap operas where everyone is young, physically irresistible, morally unscrupulous, and emotionally screwed.
Scene 37
Interior. Daytime. Vanessa’s front room. Tasteful art is on the walls, potted plants with gleaming leaves stand in corners, and there is no hint of dirt anywhere. It looks like a room fumigated regularly by people in white coats and breathing apparatus. You could perform open-heart surgery on the dining table with complete confidence
(
see next episode
).
Vanessa Aldrick, seventeen, is lying on the sofa. She is dressed in flowing robes of pure white that drape elegantly over slender limbs. Her hair, a pale waterfall, catches the light.
Enter Calma Harrison. She radiates good health. Her long, muscular, tanned legs are perfectly complemented by an immaculately tailored designer dress. Her bust heaves dramatically, threatening to explode out of the confining material and concuss a cameraman. When she smiles, impossibly white teeth flash like a solar flare.
She stands in front of Vanessa, one beautifully manicured hand on hip, the other running through the silk of her hair.
Calma: Nessa. You were right about Jason all along. He has been two-timing me with Charlene.
Nessa: That girl who is so attractive she makes us seem like the rear end of a constipated Rottweiler?
Calma: The very same. I found out tonight when he crashed his sports car
(
with her in it
)
into the coffee shop, killing four extras, ruining the special of the day and turning Tammy into a paraplegic.
Nessa: Tammy? The champion surfer with the honed body of an Olympic athlete and flawless makeup?
Calma: The very same.
Vanessa and I talked. I apologized for swearing at her. She apologized for what she had said about Kiffo.
On the surface, we were okay again. But I wasn’t satisfied. Vanessa was hiding something. I mean, it was fine that she recognized her overreaction, but she didn’t offer any explanation for it. And there had to be something more. The difficulty would be getting it out of her—as you must have gleaned by now, Vanessa isn’t the best communicator in the world. It was a problem.
I didn’t have time that afternoon, so I filed the dilemma away for future reference. You see, I’d made an appointment at the hairdresser’s for five o’clock and I didn’t want to be late. I was overdue for a trim. My hair had been
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