Read Online The Diamond Lane by Karen Karbo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Karen Karbo
Ads: Link
searchlight sweeping through her bedroom sent her hurtling from a deep sleep into an adrenaline overdose in a matter of seconds. No wonder she was a high-strung, stressed-out basket case.
She knew it was selfish to put her book group above the arrival of Mouse, but she did have to think of herself sometimes. Whoâd kept an eye on Shirl all these years while Mouse had been living it up in Nairobi? Who called all over Zah-ear? It wasnât like Mouse went out of her way for the family. Mouse had gone â supposedly for a semester â to Tunisia, on a study-abroad program through UCLA, then never came home. Who shipped her stuff over to her? Who tried to explain it to Shirl, who was still amess nine years after Fitzyâs death and couldnât understand why her baby, her Mouse, had left them?
Not that Mimi had the foggiest idea. Africa? Come on. In her book that was like suicide without the commitment. Why not just the Peace Corps? Two years, good stories, great pictures. Mouse could have gotten on in one of those âibia countries, teaching the natives how to use video cameras. But no, she had to live there.
Mimi asked her boyfriend, Ralph, what he thought. Did he think she should she cancel and pick up Mouse and her fiancé at the airport?
Ralph told her she was a patsy. He said that people were too enslaved to their families. He asked her why she should rearrange her entire life around a sister she hadnât received a genuine in-an-envelope-letter â postcards didnât count â from in sixteen years. A sister who wouldnât come to her wedding, even after sheâd offered to pay her airfare. Ralph said, hypothetically, if you put one hundred strangers in a room, the six people youâd like the least would all turn out to be members of your own family.
What finally clinched it was that Mimi felt more guilty about Lust for Life . It had been her pick, and had turned out to be seven-hundred-something pages long.
Also, she had already cleaned the apartment.
Ralph arrived first, already whipped up and mad at the world. When he was in that state, which he was quite often, he looked like an angry baby. He had a downy bald head fringed with wispy oatmeal-colored hair, creamy skin, a simple oval face, and a mashed nose. He had full cheeks that got very flushed when he drank and not much of a chin. Mimi liked him because he made her laugh and knew the power of an unexpected flower arrangement delivered to her office in the middle of the afternoon.
He pushed past her, dumped his briefcase in the green butterfly chair by the door, hauled out a roll of photocopies of anarticle in Vanity Fair called âTheyâre New, Theyâre Hot, Theyâre Young!â about new film directors under twenty-five. Ralph obsessively searched for bad news to confirm his worst thoughts. Then he photocopied whatever heâd found and passed it out to prove how crazy the business was, as though anyone had any doubt.
âThese clowns were just getting their driversâ licenses when Lennon was shot. How can they direct anything? What do they know? Would you please explain it to me. I can understand how youâd keep giving movies to jerks whoâd already made you some money, but whatâs the appeal of these guys?â
âItâs another mystery of the universe,â said Mimi, punching his shoulder. He was wearing her favorite shirt, the pink and green Hawaiian rayon. It had that campfire smell of brushfires burning in the hills, the sad end-of-summer smell.
Coming up the steps behind him was his almost ex-wife, Elaine. Her expensive leather-soled shoes sounded like sandpaper on the plaster stairs. Elaine hardly ever came to Bibliothéques because she was always out of town on business, selling car FAX machines to corporate raiders. She also always seemed to have read whatever book theyâd picked for the month. She had her masterâs degree in Comparative Literature.
She knew it was selfish to put her book group above the arrival of Mouse, but she did have to think of herself sometimes. Whoâd kept an eye on Shirl all these years while Mouse had been living it up in Nairobi? Who called all over Zah-ear? It wasnât like Mouse went out of her way for the family. Mouse had gone â supposedly for a semester â to Tunisia, on a study-abroad program through UCLA, then never came home. Who shipped her stuff over to her? Who tried to explain it to Shirl, who was still amess nine years after Fitzyâs death and couldnât understand why her baby, her Mouse, had left them?
Not that Mimi had the foggiest idea. Africa? Come on. In her book that was like suicide without the commitment. Why not just the Peace Corps? Two years, good stories, great pictures. Mouse could have gotten on in one of those âibia countries, teaching the natives how to use video cameras. But no, she had to live there.
Mimi asked her boyfriend, Ralph, what he thought. Did he think she should she cancel and pick up Mouse and her fiancé at the airport?
Ralph told her she was a patsy. He said that people were too enslaved to their families. He asked her why she should rearrange her entire life around a sister she hadnât received a genuine in-an-envelope-letter â postcards didnât count â from in sixteen years. A sister who wouldnât come to her wedding, even after sheâd offered to pay her airfare. Ralph said, hypothetically, if you put one hundred strangers in a room, the six people youâd like the least would all turn out to be members of your own family.
What finally clinched it was that Mimi felt more guilty about Lust for Life . It had been her pick, and had turned out to be seven-hundred-something pages long.
Also, she had already cleaned the apartment.
Ralph arrived first, already whipped up and mad at the world. When he was in that state, which he was quite often, he looked like an angry baby. He had a downy bald head fringed with wispy oatmeal-colored hair, creamy skin, a simple oval face, and a mashed nose. He had full cheeks that got very flushed when he drank and not much of a chin. Mimi liked him because he made her laugh and knew the power of an unexpected flower arrangement delivered to her office in the middle of the afternoon.
He pushed past her, dumped his briefcase in the green butterfly chair by the door, hauled out a roll of photocopies of anarticle in Vanity Fair called âTheyâre New, Theyâre Hot, Theyâre Young!â about new film directors under twenty-five. Ralph obsessively searched for bad news to confirm his worst thoughts. Then he photocopied whatever heâd found and passed it out to prove how crazy the business was, as though anyone had any doubt.
âThese clowns were just getting their driversâ licenses when Lennon was shot. How can they direct anything? What do they know? Would you please explain it to me. I can understand how youâd keep giving movies to jerks whoâd already made you some money, but whatâs the appeal of these guys?â
âItâs another mystery of the universe,â said Mimi, punching his shoulder. He was wearing her favorite shirt, the pink and green Hawaiian rayon. It had that campfire smell of brushfires burning in the hills, the sad end-of-summer smell.
Coming up the steps behind him was his almost ex-wife, Elaine. Her expensive leather-soled shoes sounded like sandpaper on the plaster stairs. Elaine hardly ever came to Bibliothéques because she was always out of town on business, selling car FAX machines to corporate raiders. She also always seemed to have read whatever book theyâd picked for the month. She had her masterâs degree in Comparative Literature.
Similar Books
