Round Rock - Michelle Huneven [37]
“I was sixteen once. And my mother sure didn’t like me very much.” Lewis forced a stupid little laugh. “She still doesn’t.”
“But she’s your mother,” said Billie. “She’s crazy for you, I’m sure.”
Lewis thought of his mother’s scaling hands, her thin, querulous voice, the pull of her incessant melancholy. “No, not really.”
Billie glanced behind her, as if wondering how long she’d have to wait here.
“There must be more books we haven’t read,” said Lewis.
“No doubt.” She sounded bored.
There was a thumping on the porch. “I know,” Lewis said. “Faust. Have you read Faust?”
But Billie had turned to greet Red Ray. Pink in the face, he apologized for being late and tossed the mail onto the desk. Billie caught his hand. “You’re freezing!” she said. “And what, my friend, has come clearer to you since we last met?”
Red gently and firmly withdrew his hand and stuck it in the pocket of his brown leather jacket. “Only the futility of saving money so long as I do business with you.”
Billie turned to Lewis. “He hates it when I tell him he has to spend money. But I’m always right.”
“If I spent money every time you said to, I’d be on the street selling pencils.”
Lewis, stung that his Faust question had been ignored, picked up the mail and started sorting it.
Red said, “The PVC’s in my truck.”
Billie said, “I’ve got couplings.”
When Lewis glanced up, the door was closing behind them.
“Hey!” Billie swung halfway back inside with a high-voltage smile. “To answer your question—no. I never read Faust. But I fucked a Goethe scholar once. Does that count?” The door flew shut.
Sure, thought Lewis. Sexual relations are a very important motivator.
When Red returned at dusk, the office was in pristine condition. No unfiled paper, not a speck of dust. A fire blazed in the hearth. Lewis was on the couch reading the Reader’s Digest condensed version of Pride and Prejudice he’d found in the storeroom.
Red lowered himself into a chair. “Hey,” he said. “Looks terrific in here!”
“Thanks, Redsy.” Lewis put down his book and gave his scalp a long, vigorous scratch. “Okay, then,” he said. “I’ll take the stupid job. But only for six months, and then it’s back to school.”
AFTER five hours of overtime, everything in Libby’s office had begun to shiver. Papers in her out basket fluttered. The computer screen vibrated. Down the hall, an AA meeting was producing intermittent bursts of laughter and clapping. It was nine-thirty. She’d missed dinner and band practice, not that she minded missing the practice. Al Keene’s girlfriend was in town, anyway. Not that Libby was jealous; if anything, she felt strangely protective of this woman. Libby knew what it was like to learn your man has been sleeping with someone else, though she would spare the girlfriend any grim revelations. Libby had no aspirations to be Al’s official other. The girlfriend could have his Kmart western wear, cheap cologne, and trashy pillow talk. The only thing Libby liked about Al Keene was his generic willingness; he fell into bed with an impersonal enthusiasm she found undemanding, rollicking, a balm to her loneliness.
When a column of numbers on her screen began to wriggle and defect, Libby called it a night. She left just as the AA meeting was dispersing. Thirsty, she joined a short line at the drinking fountain. A guy behind her said, “If you’d rather have coffee, there’s some in the kitchenette.”
She did not feel entitled to the group’s refreshment. “Oh, I’m not …” Well, how do you say, politely, “I’m not an alcoholic”? “I … uh … work here.”
“Not a drunk, huh?” He hooted. “That’s okay. You can still have a cup of coffee and a cookie. Come on.” He touched her arm. His curly black hair needed a cut, his beard a trim. His name, he said, was Lewis. After a fourteen-hour work day, Libby couldn’t resist such overt friendliness. She followed him through