Amy Inspired - Bethany Pierce [17]
Despite the cheerful sunlight outside, the shop was dim, lowhanging Tiffany lamps casting cones of light on bowed, working heads. The bar could seat fifteen at a time. Jimmy had kept all the beer dispensers for decorative purposes, replacing the Corona and Bud Light labels with stickers for coffee liqueur flavors. The floors were finished with large black and white checkered tiles on which red and flower-print carpets lay here and there. Paintings from student artists decorated the walls, and the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans hung dense in the air.
I ordered a black coffee and took a table in the far corner. I had promised myself I would plow through the last of the composition essays, but when I opened my folder I found Lonnie Weis’s story on top. I couldn’t resist.
Rinaldi was an ambassador of the human race sent to negotiate peace with the enemy force of Zorgath. Roseanne was a daughter of a Zorgath lord and loved Rinaldi in return. Fortunately, the consummation of their love was made possible by her humanoid form.
I was so busy trying to absorb the story despite the awkward syntax and the atrocious metaphors that I was halfway through Lonnie’s story before it hit me. Turning back to page three, I reread the description of Roseanne:
She was tall, taller than most women but not so tall as to be unattractive but rather she was elegant. She had a cascading flame of red curly hair that billowed on her back. Her eyes were like two discs of blue, cloudless sky. And oh! the shape of her face, her round head, so perfect. Rinaldi ached to touch her.
Taller than most. Red curls. Blue eyes. He was describing me.
“Hey.”
Zoë stood at my table, wiping her wet hands on her work apron.
“I have ten seconds.” She took a chair and propped her feet up on mine, her black-and-white-checkered Keds studded with dirtsmudged Hello Kitty stickers.
“It’s busy here today,” I remarked.
“It always is once the cold sets in.” She rubbed her eyes vigorously. Her nail polish had worn down to irregular blurbs of hot pink.
“What’ve you been doing?”
“Grading.”
“What else,” she muttered, picking up Lonnie’s story and leafing through the pages. “I talked to Eli this morning.”
I waited. “And?”
“Do we have extra bedsheets? Towels?” Her voice trailed off and her brow furrowed as she read. “Amy, what is this?”
“A student’s story.”
I tried to take the story back from her, but she grabbed my wrist and held my arm over her head, turning in her chair to prevent me from reaching further.
Aloud she read, “ ‘Besotted, he gazed longingly into the starry night sky, his loins on fire with love.’ ” She laughed. “I haven’t seen the word loins since Sunday school. This is genius.”
“Zoë,” I warned. “Come on, he’s just a beginner.”
“Oh, no. This is good.”
I snatched the manuscript back. “You shouldn’t laugh.”
“I don’t know how you read that stuff.”
“What’s this about Eli?” I asked, hoping to reroute the conversation.
“He just wanted to know if we had stuff to make up a bed. He had to throw all his sheets and pillows out.”
“We have extras. We’ll just make up the futon—if he doesn’t mind.”
“After what he’s been through, I’m sure he’d be happy to sleep on the kitchen floor.”
I perched my pen over Lonnie’s manuscript, an indication that I needed to work.
“I should let you get back to the lover’s loins.” Her manager walked in the room. She stood quickly, wiping my already clean table with a wet rag. “I told her I’d work a double shift today so I need you to be at the apartment when Eli gets there.”
“He’s coming tonight?”
“He’s coming now. He said he’d be here in an hour.”
I glared at her. “Zoë, the apartment is a disaster—we don’t have anything for him to eat, our laundry is