Read Online The Merchants of Zion by William Stamp - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: William Stamp
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frequent. You were there with him, I've surmised, and he was none too pleased by our aggressive colloquy. Then there's a blank. Then me catching a car. Then I woke up next to you Mary, a precious treasure dropped in my lap. That leaves one knot untangled. How could a broken scalawag such as myself, dripping with pity and self-remorse, nab a princess? And what kind of companions would let you venture home a cad like me? And why were you in Brooklyn to begin with?”
She clapped her hands, laughing. “That was good, except for when you broke character. I don't know if I would call your description respectable—it was more like an epic, and I imagine it comes from a childhood spent reading too much fantasy.”
“You pierce my soul,” I said. It sounded flat to my ears, I bit my lip, waiting for her inevitable cringe, but it failed to materialize.
“Let me give it a try. I'll show you respectful.” She coughed into a closed fist and spoke in the feathery voice of a duchess in a 19 th century period piece.
“Upon recusing myself from daily labor, I found my soul stressed and in need of respite from the internecine gossip that pervades the quotidian life of an insulated, collegiate community. In high spirits, I left Manhattan for the quaint, truncated skyline of Brooklyn on a rather ordinary social call to the roommate of my freshman year. She cuts an impressive countercultural figure and, upon ascending the steps of her stoop, I naturally found myself apprehensive in manner and my bearing unnerved. One never feels quite 'cool' enough upon entering such a manor, no matter how congenial the host may be.
“Feeling underdressed next to her stylish red and black checkered shorts and gossamer tights, I humbly suggested that we might perchance enjoy a girl's night in. Sensing my discomfort, she assuaged my fears, assuring me the boys at the local establishments had nothing going for them besides over-sized egos accessorized with questionable hygiene and daft facial hair. Fortified by her sympathies—and a pre-outing bottle of wine—my misgivings receded, and we gaily proceeded to 'The Den,' the most pretentious libatory I have ever had the misfortune of gracing.
“My self-esteem tempered by an additional shot and Lisa's accurate description of the faux-leonine clientele, I enjoyed myself, unable though I was to shake my sympathy for the teddy bear mounted on the wall. If your barista was the same man I remember... was he wearing a striped t-shirt and suspenders, with an absurd French beret?” I nodded. “Yes, this fellow knew Lisa through a mutual acquaintance. He generously purchased for me several glasses of wine, which he insisted quite boisterously were from a geographic and temporal location most excellent, and which he'd had the good fortune to visit on his tour of France the previous summer.”
She was getting into her story, lifting her nose and hand in unison during her most cultured affectations. “Lisa excused herself to quarrel with her significant other via cellular phone. The hour was late, and I began to experience the gradual transition from intoxicated to wrecked, as Barista ensured my cup runneth over. Then, and I do believe this is the point where our two stories do converge, a fool wandered over and slapped my new companion on the back, dislodging from his hand his drinking vessel.
“At this point my memory breaks down, although if I recall correctly this court jester was barely capable of formulating a coherent sentence. Barista and the fool engaged in a heated disagreement, and I do believe the latter shoved the former into the bar, whereupon you were either forcibly ejected or departed voluntarily. I do not, however, remember leaving with the fool, though I must have. I recall walking—no car—back to someone's apartment, and I awoke dreading to find myself curled up next to Barista,” she finished, with an exaggerated shake of her head.
“So it would seem we were two drunk people
She clapped her hands, laughing. “That was good, except for when you broke character. I don't know if I would call your description respectable—it was more like an epic, and I imagine it comes from a childhood spent reading too much fantasy.”
“You pierce my soul,” I said. It sounded flat to my ears, I bit my lip, waiting for her inevitable cringe, but it failed to materialize.
“Let me give it a try. I'll show you respectful.” She coughed into a closed fist and spoke in the feathery voice of a duchess in a 19 th century period piece.
“Upon recusing myself from daily labor, I found my soul stressed and in need of respite from the internecine gossip that pervades the quotidian life of an insulated, collegiate community. In high spirits, I left Manhattan for the quaint, truncated skyline of Brooklyn on a rather ordinary social call to the roommate of my freshman year. She cuts an impressive countercultural figure and, upon ascending the steps of her stoop, I naturally found myself apprehensive in manner and my bearing unnerved. One never feels quite 'cool' enough upon entering such a manor, no matter how congenial the host may be.
“Feeling underdressed next to her stylish red and black checkered shorts and gossamer tights, I humbly suggested that we might perchance enjoy a girl's night in. Sensing my discomfort, she assuaged my fears, assuring me the boys at the local establishments had nothing going for them besides over-sized egos accessorized with questionable hygiene and daft facial hair. Fortified by her sympathies—and a pre-outing bottle of wine—my misgivings receded, and we gaily proceeded to 'The Den,' the most pretentious libatory I have ever had the misfortune of gracing.
“My self-esteem tempered by an additional shot and Lisa's accurate description of the faux-leonine clientele, I enjoyed myself, unable though I was to shake my sympathy for the teddy bear mounted on the wall. If your barista was the same man I remember... was he wearing a striped t-shirt and suspenders, with an absurd French beret?” I nodded. “Yes, this fellow knew Lisa through a mutual acquaintance. He generously purchased for me several glasses of wine, which he insisted quite boisterously were from a geographic and temporal location most excellent, and which he'd had the good fortune to visit on his tour of France the previous summer.”
She was getting into her story, lifting her nose and hand in unison during her most cultured affectations. “Lisa excused herself to quarrel with her significant other via cellular phone. The hour was late, and I began to experience the gradual transition from intoxicated to wrecked, as Barista ensured my cup runneth over. Then, and I do believe this is the point where our two stories do converge, a fool wandered over and slapped my new companion on the back, dislodging from his hand his drinking vessel.
“At this point my memory breaks down, although if I recall correctly this court jester was barely capable of formulating a coherent sentence. Barista and the fool engaged in a heated disagreement, and I do believe the latter shoved the former into the bar, whereupon you were either forcibly ejected or departed voluntarily. I do not, however, remember leaving with the fool, though I must have. I recall walking—no car—back to someone's apartment, and I awoke dreading to find myself curled up next to Barista,” she finished, with an exaggerated shake of her head.
“So it would seem we were two drunk people
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