Frog Kisses by Linda Joffe Hull

Author:Linda Joffe Hull [Hull, Linda Joffe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Literary Wanderlust LLC
Published: 2015-04-28T00:00:00+00:00

Sunny

Less than a half-hour later, I eased the Audi into Atlas’s dank underground parking lot and ventured into his Hollywood Gothic building. I climbed onto the old elevator, pulled shut the rickety metal gate, and closed my eyes. As the lift shuddered up to the tenth floor, a familiar panic settled in. What if the “Big One” was destined for the

moment I traveled through the center of the 1930s stucco tower on my way up to Atlas’s perch? Would I be squashed like a bug, or would the good craftsmanship of a bygone era doom me to a lonely, arduous death in a steel cage beneath a mound of Art Deco rubble?

The elevator stopped without incident on the tenth floor.

“No wonder the shrink thinks you’re crazy.” Atlas’s voice filled the

hallway as I peeled back the gate. He stood in the doorway of his apartment with a steaming mug of chamomile tea. “You’re safe from The Big One. At least for today.”

“Lower your voice.” I scanned the hallway for open doors. As the token celebrity occupant in a once-desirable building, the starstruck neighbors tracked Atlas’s every move. In a week, some tabloid cover would feature a blurry photo of me, haggard and wild-eyed, with a spliced-in snapshot of Atlas looking anguished. The caption would read: Atlas St. Clair’s secret torment. Twin sister on the edge.

“When are you going to move out of this creepy place, anyway?” I peered into his one-room apartment. Other than a picture window that overlooked the neon haze of Hollywood, the place was a shabby shadow of its glorious past. “One good jolt would send shards of glass crashing down everywhere and kill you.”

“One good jolt might bring you to your senses.” He grinned and pointed to a wall of packing boxes lining the wall opposite his couch-bed. “Your wish is my command.”

“You’re moving?”

“Sit and drink your tea.” He handed me the mug and led me to a chartreuse armchair. “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t finalized. I’m moving in with Drake.”

“Congratulations.” I willed away a pang of jealousy. Atlas was about to live my dream. “What a coincidence. I may be moving too; into the funny farm.”

“Perhaps we can figure out a way to keep you from being

institutionalized.” He walked over to his dining table, grabbed a roll of packing tape, and handed it to me.

“The shrink thinks I need at least three days per week.”

“I’m sure she does.” His impish grin did nothing to calm my fears. “Lucky for you, I’m offering ‘lost our lease’ rates on my counseling services.” He pointed to a pile of empty boxes next to his sound system. “You can work off my fees.”

“Where do I start?”

“The CDs. I’ll pack the books.” Atlas looked around and shook his head. “I hate to leave the furniture but Drake doesn’t want it.”

Atlas’s Goodwill-issue armchair, futon bed and mismatched dining room set once graced Bernie’s post-divorce apartment. He donated the lot to

Atlas when he realized that the women, as opposed to That Woman, liked a bachelor to have an appropriate pad.

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