Read Online Just North of Bliss by Alice Duncan - Free Book Online Page A

correct.
    “What’s a hamburger?”
    “It’s a beef patty, cooked on a griddle and
served on a round bun. They put different condiments on the
bun—”
    “What’s a condiment?”
    “Pickles, onions, that sort of thing,” said
Mr. Richmond, who also seemed interested.
    After glancing at what appeared to be Mr.
Richmond’s rapidly expanding waistline, Win wasn’t surprised by his
interest. Pretty soon Mr. Richmond would have to abandon his belt
for suspenders, unless Win missed his guess. He vowed that if he
ever got rich, settled down, married, and began producing children,
he wouldn’t allow himself to get fat. The likelihood of any of
those things happening, other than the getting rich part, seemed
remote at present.
    “Perhaps we can do that tomorrow, Garrett,”
his father suggested. Win thought he heard the gentle smacking
sound of anticipatory lips. The lips were those of Mr.
Richmond.
    As they strolled down the Street in Cairo, a
reproduction of a Seventeenth Century avenue in Egypt, Win watched
Garrett discover new foodstuffs, unusual fabrics, reproductions of
ancient Egyptian tomb engravings, paintings, amulets, jewelry, and
images. Once, he shocked himself with the thought that it would be
nice to show a child of his own this amazing spectacle. He tossed
the notion aside with something akin to panic.
    His mood of maudlin sentimentality didn’t
last, thank God. Another one did, however. Every time Win’s gaze
lit upon an object, he envisioned Belle Monroe and the Richmond
children in the picture.
    The woman was absolutely perfect.
Physically.
    Her personality was something else again,
and Win hoped to heaven he’d be able to work with her successfully.
If she kept her mouth shut, it would be easier on his nerves. When
he concentrated on his project with her physical looks in mind, his
spirits lifted.
    She had flawless skin, which was a definite
asset when it came to doing a photographic study. Her eyes were a
lustrous brown, framed by thick, dark lashes that curled up
naturally. These were not assets a professional photographer
encountered every day in his life. Her shining chestnut-colored
hair adorned a perfect oval of a face, too. Win could picture her
hair tumbling over her shoulders as she tucked her precious
cherubim in their cots for the night.
    She should be wearing a voluminous night
dress at the time. It would be best if the night dress were gauzy
and rather sheer, but Win knew his public. They’d never go for the
ideal American mother being a sexual object, no matter how she got
to be a mother in the first place. Voluminous, therefore, could be
achieved. Gauzy, unfortunately, would have to be dispensed
with.
    It was only when Win recalled her
honey-thick southern accent and her tendency to panic at the least
little thing—she’d damned near thumped him with her parasol this
morning, for the love of Pete—that doubts assailed him. But he knew
himself to be a smooth-talker. He was sure he’d get her to agree to
sit for the study. And if, like artists who used brushes and
canvases to compose their studies, he could persuade her to sit
still and shut up, he’d probably survive.
    The only problem as Win saw it was that he’d
begun to envision another series of photographs. This series didn’t
involve children. They involved only Miss Belle Monroe and the
Columbian Exposition, with a few featuring Miss Monroe all by
herself, and Win’s mind’s eye distinctly featured the series
appearing in newspapers and magazines the world over.
    Even though he knew himself to be a superb
salesman, he had trouble featuring Belle acquiescing to this
particular desire of his. She seemed the type who took delight in
thwarting the schemes of others. He had a gut feeling she’d only
agreed to the study with the kids because the Richmonds wanted her
to.
    That night he joined the Richmonds for a
pleasant dinner at the most expensive restaurant at the Exposition.
After they’d all eaten their fill and Garrett