Free Come Destroy Me by Vin Packer Page B

me.”
    “It was my honor.”
    “Well, thanks.”
    Charlie put the few dollars back in his wallet and jammed his wallet down next to the letter. If he ever wrote a letter to himself again, he hoped he croaked.
    “Perhaps you would like to drop by one night this week,” Miss Jill Latham said, and Charlie felt warm blood rush up through him. He said, “I sure would. I would appreciate that.”
    “If you are not too busy with your studies.”
    “Oh, no, ma’am.”
    “I wouldn’t like to take you from your studies.”
    “Oh, no,” he said, “no. I like to talk to people. I don’t often have the chance to talk to intelligent people.”
    “We can talk for a long time.” “I’d like that.”
    “What evening is convenient for you?” she said. She reached up and fluffed her hair back and leaned against the books, not looking at him. Charlie wondered why he could not smell the lilacs.
    “Gee, tomorrow?” Why hadn’t he said tonight? What made him think he’d live, waiting for tomorrow?
    “Fine.”
    Say tonight, fool.
    “Tomorrow will be fine,” Jill Latham said again.
    Lord, he could wait. He wasn’t completely off his rocker. He smiled and said, “Good,” and then he stood there, not knowing what to say. He said, “Swell.”
    She walked over behind the counter, leaving him there, and Charlie put the book under his arm. He glanced over at her and she was standing there with her head bowed, as though she were completely unaware of his presence now. Golly, she was the most mysterious woman he had ever known.
    He said, “Well, so long then.”
    “Au revoir,”
she said, looking up at him. She tittered and then bit her lip. It was strange, her expression then. She looked bewildered and embarrassed. Charlie stared back at her for a moment and then walked to the door.
    He turned and looked at her and she was looking at the opposite wall of books, rubbing her cheek slowly, thoughtfully. He called again, “So long,” and he did not wait for an answer.
    The door shut behind him and the heat came at him in the streets. He walked fast and whistled and he was smiling. He was thinking, well, she is! She is the most mysterious woman I know.
    That’s because you never knew any. Never!
    Aw, for the love of Pete. Get off my back.

Chapter Nine
    Woman, single, wanted for inventory work. Temp. Red Clover Bookshop.
    — Advertisement in the Azrael Gazette, July 25, 1953
    “L OOK,” CHARLIE SAID , “who said I was listening?”
    He stood with his arms akimbo, his face flushed, his lips a hard line as Russel Lofton confronted him in the entranceway to the living room. Lofton was dressed immaculately in a cocoa-colored linen suit, a slim yellow cotton tie, white shirt, and brown and white shoes with natty brown striped socks. His hair was slicked back neatly, and as he looked at Charlie, his mouth smiled in that patronizingly courteous way.
    He said, “We don’t mind if you listen, Chucker. Evie and I aren’t talking over anything secretly or anything like that. It just isn’t nice to linger outside in the hall as though you were spying.”
    “Spying? Pfff — spying.” Charlie smirked and brushed his hair back from his forehead with his hand. He heard Evie say:
    “Don’t pretend that’s not what you were doing either!”
    Charlie could not see Evie. She was sitting inside the living room in the red stuffed chair behind the door. It was the second night in a row that Lofton had come for dinner, the second night in a row he and Evie had cooped themselves up in the living room talking while Charlie’s mother got dinner in the kitchen. It made Charlie sick to his stomach, for the love of Pete. He had nicknamed Lofton in his mind. Old Daddy Lofton. Phooey.
    “I’ve got better things to do with my time,” Charlie said.
    “I’m sure you have,” Lofton answered.
    “I have!” Charlie was indignant and angry. Now Old Daddy Lofton was telling him what he could do and what he could not do in his own house.
    “And