Read Online The Moment of Everything by Shelly King - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shelly King
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“I’m not going to sleep with you because you gave me a bike.”
“It’s a nice bike,” he said.
“Even so.”
I couldn’t tell if the thought had never occurred to him and he was humoring me, or if he was just flat-out busted. Either way, he was enjoying himself. And what worried me more was that I was, too.
I watched him walk down Calderon Avenue through the circles of light from the streetlamps. Two houses away, he turned and waved, knowing I would still be watching him.
* * *
“What the hell is this?”
I looked up from the bottom shelf of the Dragonfly’s Romance section to see Jason standing over me with a box of books. He hadn’t expected to find me here. He especially hadn’t expected to see me next to empty shelves with a bottle of Windex and a handful of paper towels.
“This section’s a disaster,” I said, continuing to wipe down a shelf.
“This section was fine the way it was,” Jason said, glaring at me as if I’d suggested we turn the place into a Walmart. He’d complained loudly the day before as I posted signs in the store window announcing, VISIT US ONLINE AT W WW.DRAGONFLYUSEDBOOKS.COM .
“It was a rat’s nest the way it was. Relax.” I thought it best not to mention that Hugo had given me a key. Knowing I had free access to his domain would probably send Jason into catatonic shock. But then again, maybe that wasn’t so bad. “I talked to Hugo about it. He said I could do what I liked.”
I knew Jason cared only about the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section, and it showed. It was a mosaic of perfectly ordered book spines. The mass-market paperbacks were housed separately from the trade paperbacks, which were merged with the hardbacks. British editions sat in their own section—apparently a Sci-Fi/Fantasy book sold better if it was the same version that Douglas Adams had had on his shelf. But Romance was stuffed in the back corner of the store, where the books looked as if they’d been shot out of a cannon to lie where they fell. I knew the Romance section ranked nowhere on Jason’s very short list of important things, and that this outrage of his was just dick-wagging. I was on his turf, even if it was the part of his lawn he hadn’t watered in weeks.
“Hugo said you could do this?” he asked. “Hugo?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Remember him? Balding? Beard? Pays you?”
His eyes became slits. Veins poked out of his neck. He made Khan in Star Trek II look like the Dalai Lama.
“Hugo!” He turned away from me and disappeared around the corner. “She’s changing shit!”
I jumped up after him. “Jason, it’s okay. Hugo’s cool with it.”
“Bullshit!” He pushed his way past a couple of browsing customers. “Hugo!”
A man examining a biography of Churchill pointed to the men’s room. “I just saw him go in there.”
Jason pushed the restroom door and stood there, holding the door open. The Churchill reader did a double take and then headed toward the door of the Dragonfly, leaving the book behind. I halted my pursuit of Jason, but not before I caught a glimpse of Hugo’s feet under the first of two stalls.
“Hugo, do you know what she’s done?”
“Jason,” I heard Hugo say, his voice bouncing off the tiles. “I’m imagining my Place of Peace, where the grass is green and soft and birds sing and all the bathrooms have padlocks.”
“What’s next? Flowered wallpaper? Doilies? You gotta be honest with me, man. This place is going to start smelling lemony fresh, isn’t it?”
“Negative energy, Jason. We’ve talked about this.”
“She’s got Windex. Books are supposed to be dusty. They smell good when they’re dusty.”
“Hugo!” I kept myself at a safe distance, about halfway down the aisle from the open door. “I tried to explain to him!”
Something rubbed against my leg and I was hit with a stench that could curl steel. I looked down to see Grendel, the Dragonfly’s cat, walking by me. He was long-haired and black, with a bite
“It’s a nice bike,” he said.
“Even so.”
I couldn’t tell if the thought had never occurred to him and he was humoring me, or if he was just flat-out busted. Either way, he was enjoying himself. And what worried me more was that I was, too.
I watched him walk down Calderon Avenue through the circles of light from the streetlamps. Two houses away, he turned and waved, knowing I would still be watching him.
* * *
“What the hell is this?”
I looked up from the bottom shelf of the Dragonfly’s Romance section to see Jason standing over me with a box of books. He hadn’t expected to find me here. He especially hadn’t expected to see me next to empty shelves with a bottle of Windex and a handful of paper towels.
“This section’s a disaster,” I said, continuing to wipe down a shelf.
“This section was fine the way it was,” Jason said, glaring at me as if I’d suggested we turn the place into a Walmart. He’d complained loudly the day before as I posted signs in the store window announcing, VISIT US ONLINE AT W WW.DRAGONFLYUSEDBOOKS.COM .
“It was a rat’s nest the way it was. Relax.” I thought it best not to mention that Hugo had given me a key. Knowing I had free access to his domain would probably send Jason into catatonic shock. But then again, maybe that wasn’t so bad. “I talked to Hugo about it. He said I could do what I liked.”
I knew Jason cared only about the Sci-Fi/Fantasy section, and it showed. It was a mosaic of perfectly ordered book spines. The mass-market paperbacks were housed separately from the trade paperbacks, which were merged with the hardbacks. British editions sat in their own section—apparently a Sci-Fi/Fantasy book sold better if it was the same version that Douglas Adams had had on his shelf. But Romance was stuffed in the back corner of the store, where the books looked as if they’d been shot out of a cannon to lie where they fell. I knew the Romance section ranked nowhere on Jason’s very short list of important things, and that this outrage of his was just dick-wagging. I was on his turf, even if it was the part of his lawn he hadn’t watered in weeks.
“Hugo said you could do this?” he asked. “Hugo?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Remember him? Balding? Beard? Pays you?”
His eyes became slits. Veins poked out of his neck. He made Khan in Star Trek II look like the Dalai Lama.
“Hugo!” He turned away from me and disappeared around the corner. “She’s changing shit!”
I jumped up after him. “Jason, it’s okay. Hugo’s cool with it.”
“Bullshit!” He pushed his way past a couple of browsing customers. “Hugo!”
A man examining a biography of Churchill pointed to the men’s room. “I just saw him go in there.”
Jason pushed the restroom door and stood there, holding the door open. The Churchill reader did a double take and then headed toward the door of the Dragonfly, leaving the book behind. I halted my pursuit of Jason, but not before I caught a glimpse of Hugo’s feet under the first of two stalls.
“Hugo, do you know what she’s done?”
“Jason,” I heard Hugo say, his voice bouncing off the tiles. “I’m imagining my Place of Peace, where the grass is green and soft and birds sing and all the bathrooms have padlocks.”
“What’s next? Flowered wallpaper? Doilies? You gotta be honest with me, man. This place is going to start smelling lemony fresh, isn’t it?”
“Negative energy, Jason. We’ve talked about this.”
“She’s got Windex. Books are supposed to be dusty. They smell good when they’re dusty.”
“Hugo!” I kept myself at a safe distance, about halfway down the aisle from the open door. “I tried to explain to him!”
Something rubbed against my leg and I was hit with a stench that could curl steel. I looked down to see Grendel, the Dragonfly’s cat, walking by me. He was long-haired and black, with a bite
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