Bendy by Adrienne Kress

Author:Adrienne Kress [Kress, Adrienne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scholastic Inc.
Published: 2021-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

I didn’t hear from the detective for over three weeks after that. At first I was a little disappointed, but I’ll be honest, I kind of forgot about it after a while. The papers covered the craziness at the art gallery the next day, and I kept a copy as a souvenir of the experience, but I did have my own life to live and my own goals to achieve. I needed a proper job, my savings from my small Signal Corps paycheck were almost up. It’s funny, now that I think about it, that the ad for the job at the bookstore was in that same paper. I hadn’t ever really thought of working with books, but it sounded a lot better than some of the more labor-intensive jobs out there, and I was an excellent salesman after the years working in my father’s shop.

It was easy enough to expand on the truth in my letter, and add a few colorful fibs to my résumé. What did a New Yorker know of New Jersey anyway? How would they be able to follow up with shops that might not technically exist? Besides, I was well read, thanks to the library on the base, and was able to sprinkle my cover letter with quotes and references to several of the classics. Just enough intellectual hokum that the snobs would be pleased. I dropped it all off in person, not wanting to waste a stamp, and left my address if they wanted to follow up.

It’s funny to think how frustrated I was when I got the job. I knew I was going to, and I was grateful for the cash, but it didn’t feel like a step in the right direction, and I knew every step I took mattered. It felt like I was moving sideways, not forward, at the time. I was obviously very wrong in that, as you know. And it’s good to remember that the way forward doesn’t always appear to us in a straight line. But it did mean that when the detective got in contact a week later, I was pretty relieved. I felt like I was back on the right track.

The message was an invitation to dinner. Not an official inscribed invitation for the dinner itself, but Detective Sinclair writing to me in his almost impossible-to-read handwriting a time and a place and the word “dinner” written after it. I appreciated the advance notice of what event I was attending, but to be honest wondered if he felt I hadn’t dressed properly for the occasion at the art gallery. It stung a bit, and while my ego wasn’t hurt (I never took that sort of thing personally) it did tell me that the detective was not someone I had any interest in becoming friends with in the future. What a snob in his overlarge coat and scuffed-up fedora. I felt the urge to tell him that the fedora was actually a woman’s hat, invented for the great Sarah Bernhardt many years ago.

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