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Authors: Olivia Goldsmith
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p. 67 to God she didn’t have buns in her oven. “Is this some trick to try to get Phil to turn over and play dead? Because your baking will kill him . . . not that that’s a bad thing.”
“I’m not going to dignify any of that with a response,” Tracie said, rising.
Jon got up, too. He didn’t want to show how desperate for company he was. And also he was interested in the mystery of Tracie’s new domesticity. Then it came to him. “It’s your friend, your friend Laura from San Antonio. Isn’t Laura a chef?”
“So what?” Tracie said as she shrugged into her jacket. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to do things, too.”
“You know how to do a lot of things,” Jon agreed. “You’re a really good writer, a good friend, and you know how to dress. You’re great at picking out gifts for mothers. But baking . . .”
Tracie gave him a look. “She’s from Sacramento,” she corrected him, which was her way of acknowledging he was right.
Jon smiled. “I’ll help you grocery shop,” he offered.
“What? Don’t you have to work, or sleep? You always need to do one or the other. Anyway, it’s the most boring thing in the world.”
“Not to a man who offered to fold laundry and was turned down,” Jon pointed out. “I can push the cart for you.”
“If that’s what you want.” Tracie shrugged and started to walk away from the booth as Jon went through his pockets and hurriedly threw p. 68 a twenty onto the table. Without turning around, Tracie spoke: “You’re overtipping again. See, your problem is that you’re just too nice.” Tracie shook her head as she wound her way through the deserted tables. “Women don’t want nice guys.”
Jon’s excitement was mounting. Exactly. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? It was perfect, a conception that came to him complete from beginning to end, as the Parsifal project had. He had to get Tracie to understand, to agree, and to make his vision a reality. But he was good at that. “See you next week,” Jon shouted to Molly, then caught up with Tracie as she walked through the door.
“So what’s your idea?” Tracie asked as she pulled a shopping cart from the corral. “If you’re planning another fake, on-line Girls of the Silicon Forest calendar, I’m out.”
“Come on, Tracie. I’m serious. I gotta make a change before I need Viagra.”
“Oh, don’t be so overly dramatic,” Tracie told him as they walked up the paper-goods and health-care products aisle. She looked him over with her peripheral vision as they panned the dairy counter. “Your sell-by date hasn’t expired. You’re good for another two or three years yet.”
“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being realistic.” He took a deep breath. He had to get her cooperation. “I want you to teach me to be a bad boy,” he said.
p. 69 Tracie was about to pass the hair-care products when she stopped and turned around to look directly at Jon. “Huh?”
He felt his heart actually thumping against his ribs. He gulped down a breath. “I want you to train me to be the kind of guy that girls always go for. You know, the kind of guy you’re always going with. Phil. Before him, Jimmy. And you remember Roger? The skin-popper. He was really bad. And you were nuts about Roger.”
“ You’re nuts,” Tracie said, and pushed the cart forward, leaving him behind her. She grabbed a bottle of Pert —a shampoo she’d never select if she wasn’t flustered —and Jon quickly caught up to her in the almost-deserted baking-supplies aisle.
“Please, Tracie. I really mean it.” He had to both calm her and create a wave of enthusiasm. He reminded himself that he knew how to build project teams.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you want to be a bum? Anyway, it’s impossible. You could never act —”
“Yes, I could. I could if you would teach me.” Overcome objections, he told himself. Then enlist her talent. “Remember what a good student I
“I’m not going to dignify any of that with a response,” Tracie said, rising.
Jon got up, too. He didn’t want to show how desperate for company he was. And also he was interested in the mystery of Tracie’s new domesticity. Then it came to him. “It’s your friend, your friend Laura from San Antonio. Isn’t Laura a chef?”
“So what?” Tracie said as she shrugged into her jacket. “It doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to do things, too.”
“You know how to do a lot of things,” Jon agreed. “You’re a really good writer, a good friend, and you know how to dress. You’re great at picking out gifts for mothers. But baking . . .”
Tracie gave him a look. “She’s from Sacramento,” she corrected him, which was her way of acknowledging he was right.
Jon smiled. “I’ll help you grocery shop,” he offered.
“What? Don’t you have to work, or sleep? You always need to do one or the other. Anyway, it’s the most boring thing in the world.”
“Not to a man who offered to fold laundry and was turned down,” Jon pointed out. “I can push the cart for you.”
“If that’s what you want.” Tracie shrugged and started to walk away from the booth as Jon went through his pockets and hurriedly threw p. 68 a twenty onto the table. Without turning around, Tracie spoke: “You’re overtipping again. See, your problem is that you’re just too nice.” Tracie shook her head as she wound her way through the deserted tables. “Women don’t want nice guys.”
Jon’s excitement was mounting. Exactly. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? It was perfect, a conception that came to him complete from beginning to end, as the Parsifal project had. He had to get Tracie to understand, to agree, and to make his vision a reality. But he was good at that. “See you next week,” Jon shouted to Molly, then caught up with Tracie as she walked through the door.
“So what’s your idea?” Tracie asked as she pulled a shopping cart from the corral. “If you’re planning another fake, on-line Girls of the Silicon Forest calendar, I’m out.”
“Come on, Tracie. I’m serious. I gotta make a change before I need Viagra.”
“Oh, don’t be so overly dramatic,” Tracie told him as they walked up the paper-goods and health-care products aisle. She looked him over with her peripheral vision as they panned the dairy counter. “Your sell-by date hasn’t expired. You’re good for another two or three years yet.”
“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being realistic.” He took a deep breath. He had to get her cooperation. “I want you to teach me to be a bad boy,” he said.
p. 69 Tracie was about to pass the hair-care products when she stopped and turned around to look directly at Jon. “Huh?”
He felt his heart actually thumping against his ribs. He gulped down a breath. “I want you to train me to be the kind of guy that girls always go for. You know, the kind of guy you’re always going with. Phil. Before him, Jimmy. And you remember Roger? The skin-popper. He was really bad. And you were nuts about Roger.”
“ You’re nuts,” Tracie said, and pushed the cart forward, leaving him behind her. She grabbed a bottle of Pert —a shampoo she’d never select if she wasn’t flustered —and Jon quickly caught up to her in the almost-deserted baking-supplies aisle.
“Please, Tracie. I really mean it.” He had to both calm her and create a wave of enthusiasm. He reminded himself that he knew how to build project teams.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you want to be a bum? Anyway, it’s impossible. You could never act —”
“Yes, I could. I could if you would teach me.” Overcome objections, he told himself. Then enlist her talent. “Remember what a good student I
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