Read Online Romancing the Dark in the City of Light by Ann Jacobus - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ann Jacobus
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shake. Summer observes her mother sizing him up, a disabled Arab kid in a hoodie, and silently dares Mom to make any condescending comment or gesture. But Mom doesn’t.
A familiar but unidentifiable beefy, balding man bounds up, sloshing a crystal tumbler overfull with scotch. “Hello, gorgeous. I don’t know what that thing is in your nose there, but you sure shed some pounds, you skinny thing.” He grabs and hugs her, spilling more of his drink. Summer steps back, scowling. Too bad she can’t say the same for him. She didn’t recognize Wild Winston because he’s gained thirty pounds and lost most of his hair since the last time she saw him.
He adds, “And nice of you to get dressed up for this. Har-har.”
She looks down at her old, too large Alcatraz T-shirt. A comeback involving his inability to remove his belly or put on another head of hair pops in her mind, but she just says, “Har-har yourself. This is my friend, Munir Al Shukr. Moony, this is Winston Thomason, Houston resident and chicken lawyer.”
Moony says, “Nice to meet you.” He shakes hands again with his left.
A catering woman offers them hors d’oeuvres. Summer takes the nearest, a gray slab with flecks of parsley spread on a thin slice of baguette.
Winston turns to her and says in a serious voice, “So how’s everything going?”
Summer says, “Fine. I’m working hard. Moony’s here, in fact, to help me with French. Yuck! Liver.” She spits the masticated hors d’oeuvre into a napkin then sticks it on the tray of a passing server.
Winston grimaces. Then says, “Are you on track to start up somewhere in January?”
“I don’t know.”
Winston’s eyebrows shoot up and his chin sinks back into his second one. Just answer him, she thinks. “Probably Jonesboro. We’re working on it. The college counselor is helping me.”
Moony’s staring down at the carpet. Mom pulls him over to meet one of the French guests.
“Awright,” drawls Winston. “Then we’ll see about transferring you. Assuming you keep your grades up.”
“Right,” says Summer, turning away. The other guests resume chatting all at once. They must have been enjoying the show.
She pulls Moony out of the room, grabbing two full champagne glasses from a tray on their way out.
“Sorry about the grand inquisition in there. I hate these things. They bring out the thirteen-year-old in me.”
“No kidding,” Moony says drily. “Jonesboro?”
“That’s where Arkansas State is.”
“You start in January?”
“Um, probably not. More likely next fall, at Whipperwill U. Or some place like that. At least, that’s the plan, for now.” She sighs. “First, I have to graduate. For that, I have to pass my French test.”
“ Insha’Allah .”
“What’s that mean again?”
Moony smiles. “God willing.”
“It’s going to take more than God.” She pauses at her door, and turns to Moony. “My grandpa left me money when he died. But I have to graduate from a private high school and a four-year university by the time I’m twenty-two to get it. I’m already a year behind schedule, and they’re about to call in a hazmat squad.”
“Oh. Get to work, then.”
“I guess.”
They go to Summer’s room and she indicates an overstuffed chair for Moony. He examines the boxed set of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy on her dresser. “Nice.”
“It was my dad’s. I think he secretly wanted to be Aragorn.”
“Don’t we all.”
Dad took her to see The Fellowship of the Ring when she was too little. She got so upset when the Balrog pulled Gandalf into the abyss of Moria under the Bridge of Khazad-d û m, they had to leave the theater. And get chocolate ice cream. They watched it all the way through a couple of years later, though.
Moony sits. She holds out a glass of champagne.
“No thanks.”
“How come? Because you’re Muslim?” She drinks down half of hers.
“No. Walking pharmaceutical lab. Throw in alcohol, I’ll
A familiar but unidentifiable beefy, balding man bounds up, sloshing a crystal tumbler overfull with scotch. “Hello, gorgeous. I don’t know what that thing is in your nose there, but you sure shed some pounds, you skinny thing.” He grabs and hugs her, spilling more of his drink. Summer steps back, scowling. Too bad she can’t say the same for him. She didn’t recognize Wild Winston because he’s gained thirty pounds and lost most of his hair since the last time she saw him.
He adds, “And nice of you to get dressed up for this. Har-har.”
She looks down at her old, too large Alcatraz T-shirt. A comeback involving his inability to remove his belly or put on another head of hair pops in her mind, but she just says, “Har-har yourself. This is my friend, Munir Al Shukr. Moony, this is Winston Thomason, Houston resident and chicken lawyer.”
Moony says, “Nice to meet you.” He shakes hands again with his left.
A catering woman offers them hors d’oeuvres. Summer takes the nearest, a gray slab with flecks of parsley spread on a thin slice of baguette.
Winston turns to her and says in a serious voice, “So how’s everything going?”
Summer says, “Fine. I’m working hard. Moony’s here, in fact, to help me with French. Yuck! Liver.” She spits the masticated hors d’oeuvre into a napkin then sticks it on the tray of a passing server.
Winston grimaces. Then says, “Are you on track to start up somewhere in January?”
“I don’t know.”
Winston’s eyebrows shoot up and his chin sinks back into his second one. Just answer him, she thinks. “Probably Jonesboro. We’re working on it. The college counselor is helping me.”
Moony’s staring down at the carpet. Mom pulls him over to meet one of the French guests.
“Awright,” drawls Winston. “Then we’ll see about transferring you. Assuming you keep your grades up.”
“Right,” says Summer, turning away. The other guests resume chatting all at once. They must have been enjoying the show.
She pulls Moony out of the room, grabbing two full champagne glasses from a tray on their way out.
“Sorry about the grand inquisition in there. I hate these things. They bring out the thirteen-year-old in me.”
“No kidding,” Moony says drily. “Jonesboro?”
“That’s where Arkansas State is.”
“You start in January?”
“Um, probably not. More likely next fall, at Whipperwill U. Or some place like that. At least, that’s the plan, for now.” She sighs. “First, I have to graduate. For that, I have to pass my French test.”
“ Insha’Allah .”
“What’s that mean again?”
Moony smiles. “God willing.”
“It’s going to take more than God.” She pauses at her door, and turns to Moony. “My grandpa left me money when he died. But I have to graduate from a private high school and a four-year university by the time I’m twenty-two to get it. I’m already a year behind schedule, and they’re about to call in a hazmat squad.”
“Oh. Get to work, then.”
“I guess.”
They go to Summer’s room and she indicates an overstuffed chair for Moony. He examines the boxed set of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy on her dresser. “Nice.”
“It was my dad’s. I think he secretly wanted to be Aragorn.”
“Don’t we all.”
Dad took her to see The Fellowship of the Ring when she was too little. She got so upset when the Balrog pulled Gandalf into the abyss of Moria under the Bridge of Khazad-d û m, they had to leave the theater. And get chocolate ice cream. They watched it all the way through a couple of years later, though.
Moony sits. She holds out a glass of champagne.
“No thanks.”
“How come? Because you’re Muslim?” She drinks down half of hers.
“No. Walking pharmaceutical lab. Throw in alcohol, I’ll
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