Free Meet Me in the Moon Room by Ray Vukcevich Page B

know I’m too heavy.
    The hostess in her bright white blouse and black skirt tells us to have a nice day as we make our way around the potted plants and into the street. The driver is holding the back door of his cab open for us.
    On the way to her place, Selena leans her head against the glass of the back window and gazes out at the bright city rushing by. I watch her hand resting palm up on her knee. I would probably fall on my face if I were to lean forward and touch my lips to her fingers.
    We don’t speak.
    The cab driver takes her money then helps me to her door and supports me, my left arm around his shoulder, while I lean in close to Selena. She’s got her back to the door, and her eyes shine in the moonlight. I ignore the driver’s stubbly face at my shoulder like a second head and kiss her.
    The rest of my bones disappear, and I slip down her body, slip out of the driver’s grip, like an eel socked between the eyes. The driver catches me by my belt in the back.
    I hang bent double, unable to see her face.
    “Well, I guess I’d better be going,” I say.
    The driver walks back toward the cab, carrying me like a suitcase. His boots crunch the gravel of her driveway. Crickets sing, and a warm honeysuckle breeze strokes my face. Between my limp and dangling legs, I can see Selena standing on her stoop, a halo of moonlight in her hair. She raises a hand to wave.
    “I had a wonderful time,” she calls, filling me with delicious joy.
    “I’ll call you!” I shout.
    I’ll send her roses. I’ll write her a poem. My secret is not so much in knowing what women want; men can never know that. My secret is knowing what they’ll settle for. Even so, there is danger.

Pink Smoke

    M aggie liked to steal things. Only a few days into their relationship, she stole a candy bar and slipped it into Joe’s shirt pocket as they left the mini-mart. He found it before they got to the car, and he wanted to give it back.
    “You better not,” she told him.
    He didn’t listen.
    The guy in the mini-mart looked mean and dangerous, and Joe was suddenly sure he had a gun under the counter.
    “You’re saying you want a refund?” the guy asked. “I can’t give you a refund. How do I know what you did with that candy bar?”
    “No, I don’t want a refund,” Joe said. “I just want to give it back to you.”
    “You want to give me your candy bar? How do I know you didn’t use a needle to inject poison into that candy bar? You go ahead and get out of here now.”
    “Look,” Joe said, “I didn’t pay for this candy bar, so I can’t take it.”
    “What do you mean you didn’t pay for it?” the guy said. “You mean you stole it?”
    “No.”
    “I think maybe you better freeze right there while I call the cops.”
    Joe ran out of the mini-mart. Maggie was behind the wheel of his car. He didn’t know how she had gotten it started. He jumped into the shotgun seat, and she threw the car into gear and they sped away.
    “Hey, nice going,” she said a little later. “You pulled it off.”
    “What are you talking about?” He was still having some trouble getting his breathing under control.
    She grinned at him and looked down at his hand. He followed her gaze and saw that he still clutched the candy bar. It was a crushed mess now, but stolen nonetheless. Loot.
    “How did you get the car started?” he asked.
    “I used the key,” she said.
    He looked, and yes, there was the key in the ignition. He leaned up on one hip and pushed his hand into the front pocket of his jeans, and no, his keys weren’t there.
    She had picked his pocket.

    Maggie had been a magician’s assistant in another life. She was never very definite as to when that other life had been, or where. A long time ago. Somewhere back east. She’d learned a lot of tricks. She could take the watch right off your wrist justlikethat and leave you none the wiser. She liked to pull things out of Joe’s ears in public—coins, cheeses, once a bunch of