Read Online Skinnybones and the Wrinkle Queen by Glen Huser - Free Book Online Page B

use language correctly.”
    â€œMaybe I’ll just keep my mouth shut,” I tell her.
    â€œIt’s probably not a bad idea.” She gives me one of her death stares. “Fix the mistakes, run the letters off again, and I’ll sign Byron’s name and they’ll be ready to pop into the mail. Look in that top drawer, will you?” She gestures to her bureau.
    I pull out a letter. It’s got an American stamp on it.
    â€œFrom Ricardo. He’s got tickets and he’s put them aside for us.” She smiles and pats the letter. “You realize they’re worth a small fortune, and we were lucky to get them at this late date. Bless Ricardo’s heart.”
    â€œYeah. Wow.”
    She looks suddenly mad and then sighs and leans back against her pillows.
    â€œMaybe just a bit more enthusiasm,” she says. She’s sounding crankier by the minute, and she keeps rubbing the knee that had surgery. I guess when you’re pushing a zillion, just about everything starts to hurt.
    â€œI think I need to get up and walk.” She struggles to sit up. She’s wearing a pink dress today and probably hasn’t noticed the coffee stains down its front. She tries to tell me how to support her as she gets off the bed, but I guess I don’t do it right and she’s moaning by the time I get her into a chair and set up her walker.
    â€œYou have the gentle touch of a prison warden,” she mutters, waving a bony hand at her purse on the bureau. She’s not going anywhere without her brandy and smokes.
    It’s going to be a trip to remember. Two weeks with a miserable old nag who’s losing her marbles.
    I smile at her.
    It’s raining today but we find a picnic table beneatha roof overhang on the patio. Of course she has one of her skinny cigars out and is puffing away as soon as her slippers hit the patio blocks.
    â€œWe’ll stay in a hotel,” she says through a small cloud of smoke. “There’s a place right on English Bay where I always stay when I’m in Vancouver. You can make a call when we go back to my room. I’ve got the number in my address book.” Then she levels one of her glares at me. “You can practice being a companion.”
    I come close to saying something. Like how it’d take a four-year course to learn how to be a companion to someone like her. But I chew on my lip for a second, flash the smile again and say, “Good idea.”
    Lighting up her second cigarillo, she seems to be getting into a better mood, and even manages one of her cackly laughs when she tells me about giving her nephew his birthday present.
    â€œYou’ll need a couple of good outfits for Seattle,” she says, giving me the once over. “And do you think it’s possible to do your hair in a way that doesn’t look like you’re auditioning for a horror movie?”
    â€œOh, sure.” I have my permanent smile on now. “Maybe I can dye it black and spray it in place so it’ll be hard as a rock for a month.”
    She looks at me with her witch eyes again but doesn’t say anything for a minute.
    â€œI have an account at Holt Renfrew. Go in and try on some dresses. Imagine...” She searches for words. “Imagine you are dressing to meet the prime minister at a banquet. You’ll need a pair of shoes, too. Have the clerk put them away and ask them to give me a call.”
    Holt Renfrew.
    Sometimes I used to walk by the Holt Renfrew windows in their big downtown store. When I was staying at the Rawdings and had a school bus pass. You could spend an hour going from one fancy dress shop window to the next. Security guards giving you the evil eye. There was one by Holt Renfrew who chased me when I stuck my tongue out at him.
    She has one more smoke and a coughing fit that lasts for about half an hour before we head back up to her room. I find the number of the Vancouver hotel in the back of a special book