Read Online Bosom Bodies (Mina's Adventures) by Maria Grazia Swan - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maria Grazia Swan
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Calvi.”
“Call me Mina, okay?”
“Would you like for me to walk through the house?” The guard asked.
Mina shook her head. “No need, really. Do you get calls like this often or am I the only pain in the neck?”
Herb must have weigh ed some two hundred fifty plus pounds and reminded her of the Pillsbury D oughboy . “You are not a pain . B esides, if no one need ed us, we’ d be out of a job.”
Mina nodded. He was probably a retired professional who never did any physical work in his life. Someone’s asthmatic grandpa.
“Thanks, Herb, you make me feel better. I’ll be fine. Thanks again, and good night.” Was she supposed to tip him? What did other people do?
After he left, Mina sat on the couch. She no longer wanted to watch the news. She felt lost and lonely. Was this a preview of her life? She didn’t have a job or a purpose. She stopped going to school the same month her mother died. At first she kept busy straightening out her birth papers, the inheritance. All that legal stuff she hated so much because every paragraph, every word, every comma, reminded her that her mother was gone forever.
Brian and their budding romance lightened her dark days. Then came the sale of the home and soon after , the merger of the business. Her friends were more acquaintances than friends. Paco and Adams would always be there for her if she needed them, but both had families and professions that came first. Here she sat in this high-end condo staring at a blank wall, too sad and depressed to even finish unpacking. Herb, the guard, must have thought she had been robbed or something since the bare walls left the condo looking as warm and lived in as a highway rest stop.
Looking back , she realized the reason she had so easily accepted the Ginger/Bosom Bodies charade was more because it sounded exciting than because she wanted to do a favor for a friend. Same story with driving Angelina, or whatever her name really was. Ginger, Barbara and Angelina were not her friends. She didn’t even know where they lived. Come to think of it, she didn’t know the name of Ginger’s husband either.
Enough with self - pity. She would make herself something to drink, and then watch TV. Maybe Brian would call after all, and she could apologize.
She went into the kitchen to explore her options. No hot cocoa, the thought of it made her nauseous. She had a bottle of Prosecco a vendor had given her as a gift because the wine came from V icenza, a town very close to her birthplace. She was s aving it for a special occasion but remembered some instant tea bags in the welcome basket left in the condo by management. Green tea, perfect, it suited her mood.
She filled a small saucepan with water , and put it on the stove to heat up, the she went to look for a mug. DeFiore had taken two of her mugs and the other two were still in the dishwasher from coffee with Margo that morning. How much more pathetic could her life get? She had to wash a mug in order to drink a cup of tea. Damn.
A noise, like something bouncing on glass , she turned . Oh, no. The water had come to a full boil and sputtered over causing the saucepan to quiver and sh ake on the smooth stovetop.
“No, no. What’s wrong with me? I can’t even boil water.” She grabbed the saucepan handle, burning her fingers while spilling water all over the kitchen floor.
Mina sat on the wet floor, paper towels spread around her, and sobbed.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, crying and calling her mother’s name. She knew she had to stop the nonsense, take control of her life. Grow up. When she tried to stand, her left leg had gone to sleep.
“So be it.” She hopped to the refrigerator, grabbed the bottle of Prosecco and went looking for a flute .
She had never ‘popped’ a bottle of bubbly on her own before. Time to learn. It shouldn’t be as painful as boiling water. Waiters in restaurants always used a napkin around the bottle, like people do with scarves around
“Call me Mina, okay?”
“Would you like for me to walk through the house?” The guard asked.
Mina shook her head. “No need, really. Do you get calls like this often or am I the only pain in the neck?”
Herb must have weigh ed some two hundred fifty plus pounds and reminded her of the Pillsbury D oughboy . “You are not a pain . B esides, if no one need ed us, we’ d be out of a job.”
Mina nodded. He was probably a retired professional who never did any physical work in his life. Someone’s asthmatic grandpa.
“Thanks, Herb, you make me feel better. I’ll be fine. Thanks again, and good night.” Was she supposed to tip him? What did other people do?
After he left, Mina sat on the couch. She no longer wanted to watch the news. She felt lost and lonely. Was this a preview of her life? She didn’t have a job or a purpose. She stopped going to school the same month her mother died. At first she kept busy straightening out her birth papers, the inheritance. All that legal stuff she hated so much because every paragraph, every word, every comma, reminded her that her mother was gone forever.
Brian and their budding romance lightened her dark days. Then came the sale of the home and soon after , the merger of the business. Her friends were more acquaintances than friends. Paco and Adams would always be there for her if she needed them, but both had families and professions that came first. Here she sat in this high-end condo staring at a blank wall, too sad and depressed to even finish unpacking. Herb, the guard, must have thought she had been robbed or something since the bare walls left the condo looking as warm and lived in as a highway rest stop.
Looking back , she realized the reason she had so easily accepted the Ginger/Bosom Bodies charade was more because it sounded exciting than because she wanted to do a favor for a friend. Same story with driving Angelina, or whatever her name really was. Ginger, Barbara and Angelina were not her friends. She didn’t even know where they lived. Come to think of it, she didn’t know the name of Ginger’s husband either.
Enough with self - pity. She would make herself something to drink, and then watch TV. Maybe Brian would call after all, and she could apologize.
She went into the kitchen to explore her options. No hot cocoa, the thought of it made her nauseous. She had a bottle of Prosecco a vendor had given her as a gift because the wine came from V icenza, a town very close to her birthplace. She was s aving it for a special occasion but remembered some instant tea bags in the welcome basket left in the condo by management. Green tea, perfect, it suited her mood.
She filled a small saucepan with water , and put it on the stove to heat up, the she went to look for a mug. DeFiore had taken two of her mugs and the other two were still in the dishwasher from coffee with Margo that morning. How much more pathetic could her life get? She had to wash a mug in order to drink a cup of tea. Damn.
A noise, like something bouncing on glass , she turned . Oh, no. The water had come to a full boil and sputtered over causing the saucepan to quiver and sh ake on the smooth stovetop.
“No, no. What’s wrong with me? I can’t even boil water.” She grabbed the saucepan handle, burning her fingers while spilling water all over the kitchen floor.
Mina sat on the wet floor, paper towels spread around her, and sobbed.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, crying and calling her mother’s name. She knew she had to stop the nonsense, take control of her life. Grow up. When she tried to stand, her left leg had gone to sleep.
“So be it.” She hopped to the refrigerator, grabbed the bottle of Prosecco and went looking for a flute .
She had never ‘popped’ a bottle of bubbly on her own before. Time to learn. It shouldn’t be as painful as boiling water. Waiters in restaurants always used a napkin around the bottle, like people do with scarves around
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