Read Online Treasure Island!!! by Sara Levine - Free Book Online
Authors: Sara Levine
Tags: Fiction
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reasons.”
“Lars is all right,” I said after a pause. “He’s got no prosthetics and there’s nothing
deadly
attractive about him. I always wish he’d pluck those nose hairs.”
Bev exhaled and looked like a glass that somebody had picked up and drained. I wanted to ask her more, but knew my cue to go. We hugged; she was a spiritual mother, only thinner and better smelling than I ever expected a spiritual mother to be. But as I walked home, her remarks about
Treasure Island
hung like a dark cloud over my mind. I have never cared at all for Long John Silver; to me he is like the annoying uncle at a family party to whom one talks for a few minutes and then, if one has any sense, claps one’s eye on Aunt Boothie in the middle distance and squeezes past. Could Bev really think
Treasure Island
was about
him
? It was because I liked Bev so much that I wanted us to agree. Also because I was paying her a hunk of money for the healings.
I lay on the sofa and gloomed.
What if I was paying the wrong person to heal me? Surely it was wrong to let a person enamored with Long John Silver realign my energy fields when Jim Hawkins was the one who carried the mother-lode. The day wore on and in my mind’s dispassionate eye I saw myself on the massage table, wrestling Beverly Flowers for control of my soul. For weeks I had gloated about the power of her touch, the dignity of her bearing, the feminine fit of her suede shirt—and now I thought, I am a fool, a fool, to sail unwittingly into such a dangerous cove. If Beverly Flowers bent my spirit out of whack, how would I even know it? I can’t check my energy fields any more than I can check the fuse box in Lars’s apartment.
“Don’t worry,” Lars said when the lights went out. “Though that’s the third time this month.”
“Did you pay the bill?”
“Of course I paid the bill. It’s just the fuse.”
Darkness fell like a shroud on the apartment. If Beverly Flowers and my visions were incompatible, what would I do? “He was a boy, and like you, very interested in pirates.” I had never said I was interested in pirates! Pirates were beside the point! Mere accessories!
The lights snapped on again.
“All right, I’m going to bed,” said Lars.
“You just got the lights back on.”
“I have to work tomorrow.”
That night I tossed and turned so much that Lars sat up and asked what was the matter with me, but before I could refine the point he said I had to talk to someone who had read the thing. That’s what he called the book: “the thing,” as if it were not a masterpiece but a B-grade monster crawling out of a swamp. Then he took the best wool blanket and slept on the couch.
CHAPTER 11
L isten,” Rena said in the coffee shop. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”
As she tore her napkin into long thin strips, I began to worry she would make some complaint. Of course, I too had felt dissatisfactions about our friendship, ones I could trace back to the dorm when she used to borrow my hairdryer without asking, but at the moment I had no desire—none at all—to analyze our relationship. The very prospect filled me with dread. What if she dragged my character into it? A crust of grilled cheese stuck in my throat.
“I’d better just blurt it out,” Rena said. “Nancy called and asked if I would work at The Pet Library, and I said yes. I’ve been working there for a few weeks.”
I put down my sandwich and laughed. “I thought you were going to tell me something horrible! I mean, for me.”
“I’m still freelancing, of course, but the Library gives me a steady paycheck.”
“Not much of a paycheck. But good for you.”
“You don’t mind?”
I swept her little strips of napkin into a tidy pile. “Why would I?”
“I didn’t know if you were still hoping to patch things up over there, or—”
“I’m through with that job. I wouldn’t work there if Nancy paid me. You know what I mean.”
“Well, that’s what I
“Lars is all right,” I said after a pause. “He’s got no prosthetics and there’s nothing
deadly
attractive about him. I always wish he’d pluck those nose hairs.”
Bev exhaled and looked like a glass that somebody had picked up and drained. I wanted to ask her more, but knew my cue to go. We hugged; she was a spiritual mother, only thinner and better smelling than I ever expected a spiritual mother to be. But as I walked home, her remarks about
Treasure Island
hung like a dark cloud over my mind. I have never cared at all for Long John Silver; to me he is like the annoying uncle at a family party to whom one talks for a few minutes and then, if one has any sense, claps one’s eye on Aunt Boothie in the middle distance and squeezes past. Could Bev really think
Treasure Island
was about
him
? It was because I liked Bev so much that I wanted us to agree. Also because I was paying her a hunk of money for the healings.
I lay on the sofa and gloomed.
What if I was paying the wrong person to heal me? Surely it was wrong to let a person enamored with Long John Silver realign my energy fields when Jim Hawkins was the one who carried the mother-lode. The day wore on and in my mind’s dispassionate eye I saw myself on the massage table, wrestling Beverly Flowers for control of my soul. For weeks I had gloated about the power of her touch, the dignity of her bearing, the feminine fit of her suede shirt—and now I thought, I am a fool, a fool, to sail unwittingly into such a dangerous cove. If Beverly Flowers bent my spirit out of whack, how would I even know it? I can’t check my energy fields any more than I can check the fuse box in Lars’s apartment.
“Don’t worry,” Lars said when the lights went out. “Though that’s the third time this month.”
“Did you pay the bill?”
“Of course I paid the bill. It’s just the fuse.”
Darkness fell like a shroud on the apartment. If Beverly Flowers and my visions were incompatible, what would I do? “He was a boy, and like you, very interested in pirates.” I had never said I was interested in pirates! Pirates were beside the point! Mere accessories!
The lights snapped on again.
“All right, I’m going to bed,” said Lars.
“You just got the lights back on.”
“I have to work tomorrow.”
That night I tossed and turned so much that Lars sat up and asked what was the matter with me, but before I could refine the point he said I had to talk to someone who had read the thing. That’s what he called the book: “the thing,” as if it were not a masterpiece but a B-grade monster crawling out of a swamp. Then he took the best wool blanket and slept on the couch.
CHAPTER 11
L isten,” Rena said in the coffee shop. “There’s something I wanted to tell you.”
As she tore her napkin into long thin strips, I began to worry she would make some complaint. Of course, I too had felt dissatisfactions about our friendship, ones I could trace back to the dorm when she used to borrow my hairdryer without asking, but at the moment I had no desire—none at all—to analyze our relationship. The very prospect filled me with dread. What if she dragged my character into it? A crust of grilled cheese stuck in my throat.
“I’d better just blurt it out,” Rena said. “Nancy called and asked if I would work at The Pet Library, and I said yes. I’ve been working there for a few weeks.”
I put down my sandwich and laughed. “I thought you were going to tell me something horrible! I mean, for me.”
“I’m still freelancing, of course, but the Library gives me a steady paycheck.”
“Not much of a paycheck. But good for you.”
“You don’t mind?”
I swept her little strips of napkin into a tidy pile. “Why would I?”
“I didn’t know if you were still hoping to patch things up over there, or—”
“I’m through with that job. I wouldn’t work there if Nancy paid me. You know what I mean.”
“Well, that’s what I
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