Read Online She's All That by Kristin Billerbeck - Free Book Online

journalist’s home. She’s in one of the swankiest parts of the City, the Marina. The area was ravaged in certain parts by the Loma Prieta earthquake in 1989. I figure that’s how the journalist must have afforded it. He probably bought it condemned in 1990. Max Schwartz is a television critic for the San Mateo Times . In other words, as long as people can still read about television, Nana has a home.
    I knock on her door. Nothing.
    Knock again. Nothing.
    Banging now. I think Nana is going deaf. “Nana!” I shout.
    â€œAre you looking for Mildred?” A voice from overhead calls after me. It’s the TV dork. He’s typical for what you imagine a journalist might look like. Fairly small in stature with a goatee trying to make him appear so anti-establishment; dark, closely-cropped hair; over sized glasses. But his strong, straight jaw is somewhat unexpected. He appears intellectual, but of course, he writes about today’s television shows. Since critiquing America’s Top Model doesn’t exactly attract the Pulitzer Prize Committee, he’s got a steady nine-to-five and not much opportunity for advancement. We have that much in common. A life without passion, but a job like the other drones in the Bay Area. The biggest difference? He’s got a majestic view of the San Francisco Bay and a job after Monday. “Do you know where my grandmother is?” I shout up at him.
    â€œShe’s up here. I’m getting ready for the new television season.”
    Sigh. And my Nana is up there—why?
    â€œShe’s making a roast chicken,” Max adds.
    Of course she is. “Can I come up?”
    â€œYeah.” He buzzes a gate, and I gain entry to his elitist iron staircase. At the top of the stairwell, he rubs his hand through his hair, then thrusts it toward me. Noticing his faux pas , he wipes his hand on his jeans and tries again.
    I take his hand. “Good to see you, Max.”
    â€œYou too, Lilly. Your grandmother was just talking about you. Saying you’re still trying the fashion thing.”
    â€œYep, still working at it. Rome wasn’t built in a day and all that.”
    â€œHow long do you think you’ll give it?”
    I open my mouth, but nothing good will come out, so I snap it shut. I walk into Max’s house, which is one-fifth living area, four-fifths television screen. My Nana is bent over the stove, a big commercial Wolf one, which is entirely strange, but considering the television, I question nothing. Nana has two oven mitts on her hands and props the chicken on the stovetop.
    â€œNana, what’s going on? I pounded on your door.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, what’s going on? I wasn’t home. It’s August. Nearly time for the new fall preview schedule. Do you live in a hole?”
    â€œI just don’t watch much TV.” I shrug to Max. “The rabbit ears, you know. It’s not really a season at my house.” I look at Max, and he winks at me. Oh brother.
    â€œLook at that television.” Nana waves a wooden spoon out of the salad bowl towards the enormous flat screen that could double for a drive-in should they ever come back into vogue. “The paper bought him that. Isn’t that incredible? Our Max, he knows how to watch television.”
    What a gift.
    â€œLilly, have you met Valeria?” Max asks as a tall, lithe figure emerges from the living room easy chair. She’s got that exotic look, perhaps a mixture of Indian and something else. She could model if she didn’t have such an expansive chest. Sigh.
    â€œNice to meet you.” I smile at Valeria, rhymes with malaria, trying not to gaze down at my own chest. Or lack thereof. I suddenly feel very deflated and for more reasons than just Sara Lang.
    â€œYour Nana has makes me right at home here in San Francisco. She makes me to learn to cook.” Valeria’s broken English only makes her that much more exotic.
    She’s