Read Online Little Did I Know: A Novel by Mitchell Maxwell - Free Book Online Page A

We sat at the crowded bar amid a sea of humanity noticing nothing but each other. It was as if there was a spotlight shining, one that muted the cacophony surrounding two individuals who were quickly becoming an “us.”
    Veronica had been born and raised in Plymouth, the youngest of three children and the only girl. Her dad was a fisherman, as was her grandfather. One of Veronica’s brothers worked with her father and the other was serving time in the state pen for a bar fight that had gone horribly wrong. Veronica’s mother was a supervisor for a cleaning service that worked the hotels and estates throughout the area. No one in her family had gone to college nor had ever lived more than ten miles from where they were born. She described herself as a people watcher, having observed tourists come and go her entire life. Once she got her degree, she intended to hang up her psychiatrist’s shingle in some urban haven like Boston, New York, or San Francisco. She had been working part-time jobs since she was eleven, and she’d saved wisely.
    She didn’t loathe Plymouth; she just knew too many friends who had grown angry and frustrated by their flatlined service jobs, leading them nowhere but the bottle, divorce, and one wasted life after another. She described the town as akin to a nightclub, all glitter and gold in the evening, but depressing and sordid in the morning with nothing but stale smoke, sweat, and rancid beer.
    Patrons paraded across the dance floor as the piano man played dozens of tunes. The only lyric I heard was “I only have eyes for you.” It could have been minutes or hours or an entire day that had passed when she leaned in close and whispered in my ear, “You know, you are really sweet. Who taught you that to listen is to get lucky?”
    “You don’t learn much about people from hearing yourself talk,” I replied.
    “That was amazing,” she said, pulling back a bit. “It seemed eerily practiced, well rehearsed, almost frightening.”
    “No, Veronica, it is all as real as rain.”
    We were silent for a beat. Then another. It felt as though there was nothing we could say to match the moment. The piano man was on a break. The place had become quiet, and the wind had picked up, as had the rain. The drops were percussive against the windows, and I could see their distorted reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I had come to talk with Marty Stanhope, for discovery. Yet I had found a different kind in the deep-blue sensual eyes of this special girl.
    Sidney walked over and placed a platter of shrimp in front of us. They were huge, the size of softballs, garnished with lemon wedges, horseradish, Tabasco, and little red plastic toothpicks with the initials WC emblazoned in white. He stared at me, then without looking at Veronica asked with a wink, “So, sweetheart, ya like this guy? Ya havin’ fun?”
    She measured me with her eyes, took a long pause and said, “He’ll do for now. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
    Sidney’s gaze stayed on me. “So what are you doing here in Plymouth?”
    “Working. Research,” I replied.
    “What are you researching?”
    “I’m trying to rent the Priscilla Beach Theatre and put on some shows this summer.”
    His brow furrowed. “You talking with Barrows?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Be careful. The old man is a fuckin’ bastard and the woman is a black widow.” I nodded warily.
    Sidney continued. “What kind a shows do you want to put on? Musicals?” I nodded.
    “You a queer?”
    “Not the last I checked.”
    Veronica jumped in. “No, Sidney, he’s not. I can assure you he most definitely is not.”
    “How you so sure, sweetheart?” he asked.
    “Woman’s intuition. Nothing more.”
    Sidney fixed me with his gaze again. “You got any references? Anyone vouch for ya?”
    “My mother would say nice things. I dated a lot in college, broke a few hearts. Does that count?”
    “Remember what I told ya, kid. Be nice to my girl or there’ll be