Paul Takes the Form of a Mortal Girl by Andrea Lawlor

Author:Andrea Lawlor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2019-04-22T16:00:00+00:00

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Paul and Zoe finished up a job early, the boxy Commercial Street condo of some closeted Back Bay lawyer. Zoe was heading to the Governor Bradford for ironic afternoon beers with fishermen but Paul begged off. He needed to go to the bookstore, he said; he’d see her back at the house.

Paul biked down the unusually warm, even balmy, two o’clock streets in his paint-dirty bibs. The rain stopped; a few long-weekenders appeared, walking aimlessly down the middle of Commercial Street. Friday to Monday, Paul had learned, were the days he could count on the relief of seeing strangers, some measure of anonymity.

He went to the post office, picked up his mail, marked General Delivery, at the counter. It was as if this was the ’50s, he thought, and he a mysterious drifter. Christopher had sent him a manila envelope containing bills, carefully marked so Paul could see his share; a list of phone messages, including another one from Tony Pinto, oddly enough; and a packet of SASEs requesting Polydoris Perversity. Paul reflected on Christopher’s reliability as he threw the bills and messages away; he only had room in his pockets for the SASEs, and he didn’t have any extra money right now anyway. He’d send Christopher a money order once he got paid, surprise him by rounding up.

Hungry after the day’s work, Paul stopped by Spiritus for a slice. He lounged in a booth while he waited, eating pepper flakes straight just for the rush. He read the handwritten blackboard menu, then scouted the restaurant for a copy of the Banner with which to distract himself while he ate. He caught the eye of a gray-haired construction worker with a neat little ACT UP goatee and a single earring. Paul had pulled his hair back into a ponytail and shoved it in a baseball cap for work, and so maybe it wasn’t surprising that the older gentleman looked, looked away, looked back. Paul took off the cap and shook out his lustrous dark hair like Brooke Shields. He leaned curvaceously into the wall, and smiled at the man.

The older gentleman looked down, paid for his slice, and left. Gotcha, thought Paul. He’d enjoy reporting on this to Zoe and Gerty, who’d be delighted and a little envious. Better not to mention it to Diane. She’d be home late, he remembered; she was working a job two towns away, in Wellfleet. He ate the last bits of sausage off the paper plate and headed back to the bathroom. Inside, he locked the door and concentrated on letting Polly fall away. At first nothing happened, so he closed his eyes and tried to sense his cock, his boy-nipples, just enough fuzz. When he’d changed back, he turned his tee shirt inside out to hide the Virago Painters logo Zoe’d stenciled so they’d seem more professional. He looked in the mirror—not quite right. He rolled his sleeves up and puffed his biceps out, but not too much. Better.

Paul

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