Read Online Only in the Movies by William Bell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William Bell
Ads: Link
letter,” she pointed out.
“You’ll be like those people at the United Nations.”
Vanni heaved a monumental sigh and gave me a blank look. “Not for the first time, Jake, you’ve lost me.”
“Simultaneous translators,” I said. “You’ll be like one of them.”
She shook her head in disgust.
“Okay, you’re right,” I conceded. “Bad simile. It doesn’t make sense to me, either, now that I think about it. But you know what I mean.”
“You got this brilliant idea from
Romeo and Juliet
, didn’t you? The balcony scene.”
“Yeah.”
“Except Romeo didn’t have anyone coaching him.”
“He didn’t need anyone. He had Shakespeare.”
Vanni rolled her eyes and shook her head slowly. “
That
doesn’t make any sense, either.”
“See? That’s why I need you.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“‘
Mad for her love
,’” I said, smiling.
“Now you’re quoting Polonius, from
Hamlet
.”
“Pretty good, eh?”
“Not really. Hamlet’s lover dies,” Vanni pointed out. “And so does he.”
We got to the chosen spot half an hour early. It had rained for two days, and the gravel path along the river was pockedwith puddles, each reflecting sky and forest. The trees hung sodden and limp, as if they couldn’t wait to shed their leaves and be done with it.
Stepping carefully down the muddy bank, we made our way to the positions I had selected. If I craned my neck I could make out a bit of the path, so I’d be able to see Alba coming. I stood on a flat, grassy area by the rushing water. Vanni slipped and slid as she gingerly picked her way under the bridge. It was constructed of timbers, with a plank bed that allowed rain to drip through, so the sloping ground beneath was treacherously boggy.
My stomach fluttered like a leaf. I checked the path again. No Alba. Would she come? I wondered.
“Vanni, maybe we should—”
“Ahh! Ahh! Aarrgh!”
I turned just in time to see Vanni standing rigid, feet together, a startled expression on her face, her arms straight out from her shoulders and windmilling frantically as she slid backwards down the bank. “Ah! Ah!” she shrieked again. Then, as if a rope had been looped around them and suddenly jerked, her feet darted from under her and she crashed nose first into the mire, sending up an explosion of mud and water.
Heaving herself onto her hands and knees, glaring in my direction, she spat out a mouthful of mud. Her face and the front of her dress were dripping with ooze. A blob dropped from the end of her nose and plopped onto the ground. One of her shoes had come off.
“My nose!” she exclaimed, wiping clay from her face, smearing more sludge across her cheeks. “Where’s my bloody shoe?” She got carefully to her feet, struggling, legsapart, to regain her balance, and took a step toward the missing clog, which had rolled down the bank. The greasy clay beat her again. Her feet slid apart and she dropped like a bag of cement onto her backside with a loud squelch. “Ow! My bum!” she howled, looking at me over her shoulder. “Don’t you say a single word. If you laugh, I’ll drown you in that creek.”
Through the trees I saw someone walking our way.
“Quick! Here she comes!”
“Grand,” was all Vanni managed, once more scrambling drunkenly to her feet. She wiped her hands on her sweater and shook her head in disgust.
“No, it’s okay,” she said snarkily. “I can manage on my own.”
But I wasn’t listening. Alba was looking around—for me, I hoped—as she approached the bridge. Her feet thumped on the planks. I waited until she was halfway across before I called out to her.
“Greetings, Pilgrim,” I offered, using the affectionate name Romeo called Juliet.
She stopped, stepped to the railing and looked down. She was wearing a burgundy leather bomber jacket, white denims and western boots the same deep red as her coat. Her hair was plaited in a French braid, and diamond studs winked in her earlobes.
“Oh,
“You’ll be like those people at the United Nations.”
Vanni heaved a monumental sigh and gave me a blank look. “Not for the first time, Jake, you’ve lost me.”
“Simultaneous translators,” I said. “You’ll be like one of them.”
She shook her head in disgust.
“Okay, you’re right,” I conceded. “Bad simile. It doesn’t make sense to me, either, now that I think about it. But you know what I mean.”
“You got this brilliant idea from
Romeo and Juliet
, didn’t you? The balcony scene.”
“Yeah.”
“Except Romeo didn’t have anyone coaching him.”
“He didn’t need anyone. He had Shakespeare.”
Vanni rolled her eyes and shook her head slowly. “
That
doesn’t make any sense, either.”
“See? That’s why I need you.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“‘
Mad for her love
,’” I said, smiling.
“Now you’re quoting Polonius, from
Hamlet
.”
“Pretty good, eh?”
“Not really. Hamlet’s lover dies,” Vanni pointed out. “And so does he.”
We got to the chosen spot half an hour early. It had rained for two days, and the gravel path along the river was pockedwith puddles, each reflecting sky and forest. The trees hung sodden and limp, as if they couldn’t wait to shed their leaves and be done with it.
Stepping carefully down the muddy bank, we made our way to the positions I had selected. If I craned my neck I could make out a bit of the path, so I’d be able to see Alba coming. I stood on a flat, grassy area by the rushing water. Vanni slipped and slid as she gingerly picked her way under the bridge. It was constructed of timbers, with a plank bed that allowed rain to drip through, so the sloping ground beneath was treacherously boggy.
My stomach fluttered like a leaf. I checked the path again. No Alba. Would she come? I wondered.
“Vanni, maybe we should—”
“Ahh! Ahh! Aarrgh!”
I turned just in time to see Vanni standing rigid, feet together, a startled expression on her face, her arms straight out from her shoulders and windmilling frantically as she slid backwards down the bank. “Ah! Ah!” she shrieked again. Then, as if a rope had been looped around them and suddenly jerked, her feet darted from under her and she crashed nose first into the mire, sending up an explosion of mud and water.
Heaving herself onto her hands and knees, glaring in my direction, she spat out a mouthful of mud. Her face and the front of her dress were dripping with ooze. A blob dropped from the end of her nose and plopped onto the ground. One of her shoes had come off.
“My nose!” she exclaimed, wiping clay from her face, smearing more sludge across her cheeks. “Where’s my bloody shoe?” She got carefully to her feet, struggling, legsapart, to regain her balance, and took a step toward the missing clog, which had rolled down the bank. The greasy clay beat her again. Her feet slid apart and she dropped like a bag of cement onto her backside with a loud squelch. “Ow! My bum!” she howled, looking at me over her shoulder. “Don’t you say a single word. If you laugh, I’ll drown you in that creek.”
Through the trees I saw someone walking our way.
“Quick! Here she comes!”
“Grand,” was all Vanni managed, once more scrambling drunkenly to her feet. She wiped her hands on her sweater and shook her head in disgust.
“No, it’s okay,” she said snarkily. “I can manage on my own.”
But I wasn’t listening. Alba was looking around—for me, I hoped—as she approached the bridge. Her feet thumped on the planks. I waited until she was halfway across before I called out to her.
“Greetings, Pilgrim,” I offered, using the affectionate name Romeo called Juliet.
She stopped, stepped to the railing and looked down. She was wearing a burgundy leather bomber jacket, white denims and western boots the same deep red as her coat. Her hair was plaited in a French braid, and diamond studs winked in her earlobes.
“Oh,
Similar Books
