Read Online Little Miss Red by Robin Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robin Palmer
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exclaimed Mom as she rushed toward the fridge.
“Mom didn’t tell you?” said Dad. “Grandma Roz wants lox and whitefish from Nate ’n Al’s.” Nate ’n Al’s was one of the oldest delis in L.A.
“You want me to bring
fish
on an
airplane
?” I said. “That’s going to reek!”
He sighed. “What do you want me to tell you? Apparently, it’s one of her dying wishes.”
“But she’s not dying!” I exclaimed. “And there’s like four delis within walking distance where she can get that stuff.”
He shrugged. “She says none of them hold a menorah candle to Nate ’n Al’s.”
Mom held out two stinky packages wrapped in white paper. “Here. You can put it in your carry-on—”
“But—”
“But what?”
As I hadn’t told Mom and Dad I was a red cowboy hat kinda girl yet, I had put it in my carry-on for the moment.
“Nothing,” I said, placing the packages carefully inside my bag. I just hoped the smell of fish wouldn’t take away from any of the glamour of my new look.
As Grandma Roz also liked to say, “It’s always something.”
five
Two hours later, carry-on stowed safely in the overhead compartment, I was settled on American Airlines Flight 121 from Los Angeles International Airport to West Palm Beach. I knew that once I graduated from college and began living a jet-set life, I was going to have to get over my fear of flying, but for now, my hands were clutching the armrests, and my eyes were tightly closed even though we hadn’t taken off yet.
“It looks like we’re seatmates,” I heard a voice say.
I opened my eyes to see an old lady wearing a “San Fernando Valley Knitting Club” sweatshirt and holding a carry-on that didn’t look like it was going to fit beneath her seat.
And
an oversize, needlepoint tote bag with a picture of a cat playing with a ball of yarn on it.
And
a patent leather pocketbook.
“My name is Harriet. I’m in 12A,” she said pleasantly, pointing at the window.
I nodded. “Sophie. 12C. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re not blind, dear, are you?”
“Huh?”
She pointed to my Chunnels.
“Oh. No. I just…” I thought about telling her I was going incognito in case I ran into any of my classmates (Florida, at least for those of us who were Jewish, was a big Spring Break destination), but announcing you were incognito kind of ruined the point. While I did take the glasses off, I kept my hat on. It was a little crumpled after being folded up in my bag for the ride to the airport, but thankfully, it didn’t smell too fishy.
“So, would you mind getting up so I can sneak in there?” she asked. “Back when I was your age, I was a real slimster and probably could’ve weaseled myself right by you, but that was a long time ago,” she chuckled. Judging from the size of her butt in her polyester elastic waistband pants, it had been a
very
long time ago.
“Sure. Sorry,” I said, finally letting go and standing up.
As Harriet wriggled her way through the narrow space in our row, I heard what sounded like a meow coming from the overly large carry-on.
“Excuse me,” I said politely, pointing at the carry-on. “Is there a cat in there?”
She looked down at it, where the one meow had now turned into a bunch of nonstop meows, and then looked up at me and smiled. “There sure is,” she said proudly. Shelifted up a Velcro flap and shoved the case toward me. Through the mesh I could see the shadow of something very large and white, which began to hiss. “This is Lord Byron,” she said.
I gasped. “You named your cat after the greatest love poet in history? How cool!” I hadn’t actually
read
any of his poems, but one of the prison guards in
Battered by Betrayal
, the one where Devon was thrown in jail after she broke up with a Venezuelan dictator, used to read his poetry to Devon.
“I sure did,” Harriet said proudly. “After Nora Roberts, Lord Byron is my favorite writer.”
She settled herself in her seat and set Lord Byron
“Mom didn’t tell you?” said Dad. “Grandma Roz wants lox and whitefish from Nate ’n Al’s.” Nate ’n Al’s was one of the oldest delis in L.A.
“You want me to bring
fish
on an
airplane
?” I said. “That’s going to reek!”
He sighed. “What do you want me to tell you? Apparently, it’s one of her dying wishes.”
“But she’s not dying!” I exclaimed. “And there’s like four delis within walking distance where she can get that stuff.”
He shrugged. “She says none of them hold a menorah candle to Nate ’n Al’s.”
Mom held out two stinky packages wrapped in white paper. “Here. You can put it in your carry-on—”
“But—”
“But what?”
As I hadn’t told Mom and Dad I was a red cowboy hat kinda girl yet, I had put it in my carry-on for the moment.
“Nothing,” I said, placing the packages carefully inside my bag. I just hoped the smell of fish wouldn’t take away from any of the glamour of my new look.
As Grandma Roz also liked to say, “It’s always something.”
five
Two hours later, carry-on stowed safely in the overhead compartment, I was settled on American Airlines Flight 121 from Los Angeles International Airport to West Palm Beach. I knew that once I graduated from college and began living a jet-set life, I was going to have to get over my fear of flying, but for now, my hands were clutching the armrests, and my eyes were tightly closed even though we hadn’t taken off yet.
“It looks like we’re seatmates,” I heard a voice say.
I opened my eyes to see an old lady wearing a “San Fernando Valley Knitting Club” sweatshirt and holding a carry-on that didn’t look like it was going to fit beneath her seat.
And
an oversize, needlepoint tote bag with a picture of a cat playing with a ball of yarn on it.
And
a patent leather pocketbook.
“My name is Harriet. I’m in 12A,” she said pleasantly, pointing at the window.
I nodded. “Sophie. 12C. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re not blind, dear, are you?”
“Huh?”
She pointed to my Chunnels.
“Oh. No. I just…” I thought about telling her I was going incognito in case I ran into any of my classmates (Florida, at least for those of us who were Jewish, was a big Spring Break destination), but announcing you were incognito kind of ruined the point. While I did take the glasses off, I kept my hat on. It was a little crumpled after being folded up in my bag for the ride to the airport, but thankfully, it didn’t smell too fishy.
“So, would you mind getting up so I can sneak in there?” she asked. “Back when I was your age, I was a real slimster and probably could’ve weaseled myself right by you, but that was a long time ago,” she chuckled. Judging from the size of her butt in her polyester elastic waistband pants, it had been a
very
long time ago.
“Sure. Sorry,” I said, finally letting go and standing up.
As Harriet wriggled her way through the narrow space in our row, I heard what sounded like a meow coming from the overly large carry-on.
“Excuse me,” I said politely, pointing at the carry-on. “Is there a cat in there?”
She looked down at it, where the one meow had now turned into a bunch of nonstop meows, and then looked up at me and smiled. “There sure is,” she said proudly. Shelifted up a Velcro flap and shoved the case toward me. Through the mesh I could see the shadow of something very large and white, which began to hiss. “This is Lord Byron,” she said.
I gasped. “You named your cat after the greatest love poet in history? How cool!” I hadn’t actually
read
any of his poems, but one of the prison guards in
Battered by Betrayal
, the one where Devon was thrown in jail after she broke up with a Venezuelan dictator, used to read his poetry to Devon.
“I sure did,” Harriet said proudly. “After Nora Roberts, Lord Byron is my favorite writer.”
She settled herself in her seat and set Lord Byron
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