The Vinyl Princess by Yvonne Prinz

Author:Yvonne Prinz
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-04-04T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Kit and I lie side by side in my mom’s big bed. An armless sock monkey, the only thing Kit has left of Niles, lies between us. I can smell my mom’s shampoo on the pillow. The house is quiet except for the odd creaks and unexplainable sighs emanating from the old walls. There’s a breeze from the open window billowing the filmy white curtains and in the dark it looks like a ghost climbing in through the window and then immediately climbing out again.

We’re drowsy and close to sleep. The conversation drifts from what we’re making for breakfast in the morning—I try to remember if we have eggs—to Niles (what he used to like to eat for breakfast), to clothes, to Steve Buscemi. Now we’re discussing indie movies. We take turns adding to the list of our favorites: Blood Simple, Ghost World, Mystery Train, Donnie Darko, Pieces of April, This Is England, Welcome to the Dollhouse, Night on Earth. . . .

“Hey, I forgot to tell you. I saw M today.” Kit yawns.

“Joel,” I correct her. I’m wide-awake now.

“Joel, whatever.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I am telling you.”

“Where?”

“Barney’s Burgers on College. He was eating there with some guy.”

“What guy?”

“I dunno, just a guy. He was wearing those seventies aviator sunglasses and he looked kind of big. Not tall, just wide-ish.”

“What was Joel wearing?”

“I don’t know.”

“What were they talking about?”

“I don’t know, Al, I didn’t think to stop and interview them.”

“What were they eating?”

“Burgers? Jesus, Allie, this M guy is making you all weird.”

“Joel,” I correct her.

“I’m going to sleep now. G’night.” She rolls over onto her side, facing the wall, and I hear her breathing deepen. I stare at the ceiling, thinking about Joel, wondering what he’s doing right now. The fact that he hasn’t called has me counting days and trying to figure out what to reasonably expect from him. Is there any chance that he’s doing what I’m doing, or is it just crazy to think that I might figure in his thoughts at all?

I hear a door open and then I see Pierre emerge from the shadows, skulking past the open bedroom door. He stops and looks in at us a moment and then he carries on. I can hear him padding lightly down the stairs and then he’s crunching his food in the darkened kitchen.

On Saturday morning, after we clean up from our breakfast of leftover pizza, scrambled eggs and maple-glazed doughnuts, Kit and I walk to our separate jobs together like an old married couple, parting at the corner of Telegraph and Haste. In the world of retail, Saturdays come at you hard and fast and you’d better be ready. I yank open the metal security gate in front of the doors and knock on the glass till Bob appears to let me in. My keys are at the bottom of my messenger bag and digging them out would take forever.

Bob’s wearing sunglasses and a navy wool beret. The beret is to cover an emerging bald spot and the glasses are to discourage any sort of chatting.

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