Read Online The Days of Anna Madrigal by Armistead Maupin - Free Book Online Page B

gabardined loins. He yanked the strings so tight he might have been a wonderful Christmas parcel in need of extra protection. “It’s gonna be a big deal,” he said. “She’s comin’ through every state in the union.”
    The train, thought Andy, trying to concentrate. The train on the postcard.
    â€œWhy is she doing that?” he asked feebly.
    Lasko shrugged as if the answer were obvious. “To let folks know about Rexall. Spread the word. The Depression is over. Ain’t she a beaut?”
    The train on the postcard was a streamlined cylinder that seemed to stretch on forever, the horizontal cousin of a Buck Rogers rocket ship.
    â€œShe’s stopping in Winnemucca next month. For a whole day.” Now Lasko was wiping the counter with a towel, his naked forearms circling hypnotically.
    â€œBut . . . why?”
    â€œSo folks can come on board and look at it. See all the Rexall products.”
    Andy still didn’t get it. There were plenty of Rexall products to be seen right here: corn plasters, enema bags, mysterious-looking trusses for old people.
    â€œAnd it’s air-conditioned,” Lasko added. “All twelve cars.”
    Now that was something. Nothing in Winnemucca was air-conditioned, not even the movie house. Andy had experienced that supernatural coolness only once in his life: when Mama took him on a trip to Reno so she could interview a blackjack girl named Irene. They had dined on chicken salad sandwiches and cherry pie in an air-conditioned coffee shop next door to the casino. He had never forgotten the sensation, that instantaneous release from the blast furnace of summer.
    â€œDo you have to get tickets?” he asked Lasko.
    â€œNot if you’re a Rexallite.”
    â€œWhat’s a Rexallite?”
    â€œ He’s a Rexallite,” Mr. Yee piped up from over at the pharmacy counter. “You talk nice to him, I bet he’ll pull some strings.”
    Lasko laughed. “He’s a Rexallite, too. And you don’t have to talk to nobody.”
    But I want to, thought Andy. I want you to pull strings for me. I want you to take care of everything.
    â€œWhen is it coming?” he asked. “I mean she.” Trains had a gender, apparently, so Andy thought it best to follow Lasko’s lead.
    â€œWe ain’t got the schedule yet, but I could let you know. I could show you.”
    Andy knew better than to give him the phone number for the Blue Moon. Mama had always been clear about that. It interfered with business, she said. “Maybe at school,” he said. “I sit two rows behind you in Geography.”
    â€œI know,” said Lasko. “You brought in that book one day.”
    Andy nodded, exhilarated by the knowledge that he’d been remembered. “ Richard Halliburton’s Book of Marvels .”
    â€œWith the pictures of the new bridge in San Francisco.”
    â€œYep. That’s the one.” Andy almost never said yep, but he knew how boys were supposed to talk to each other, especially boys like this one.
    Lasko, scrubbing a glass with a brush, looked over at Andy. His nose was indelicate, broken-looking, his eyelashes so long and luxuriant they might have been painted on, like Robert Taylor’s on the cover of Screenland magazine.
    â€œCould I look at that sometime?” asked Lasko.
    â€œUh . . . what?”
    â€œThe book.”
    â€œOh . . . You bet. . . . I could loan it to you, even.”
    â€œI liked those pictures,” said Lasko. “And the ones with the Panama Canal.”
    â€œYeah, me too. Pretty nifty.”
    Nifty . Something else he never said.
    â€œI could bring it by tomorrow,” he added, barely able to breathe.
    Lasko shook his head. “Sundays I help my mama out.”
    â€œAt the Martin Hotel? I could bring it to you there.”
    â€œOkay . . . sure. Swell.” Lasko’s dark brows furrowed. “How did you