Almost Like Being in Love by Steve Kluger Read Free Book Online Page A

Especially when he confessed that he was God’s disciple of truth, sent down to earth to find twelve apostles who’d be willing to follow him. 'Into what? Sharon Tate’s living room?(

    2. Robbie . We were both 26. It was “Some Enchanted Evening” all over again. On our eight-month anniversary, he bought me the original cast recording of Kwamina and took me to a gang bang—without telling me that I was the one getting banged. Men are such assholes.

    3. Michael . Five years ago. He was a tenor. We spent our first date listening to Götterdämmerung on the radio while we read along from the score (for six hours!). He was obsessed with Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians, so I—with only $247, a T-bill, and a heart made out of oatmeal—promised it to him for Christmas.
    How was I supposed to know it came in eighteen volumes?! Three months later, he was sitting on a bench in Ocean Park reading “O”
    when a tall brunet with Armani teeth and a Calvin Klein body sat down next to him. Turned out he was an oboe player. Nobody ever heard from either one of them again.

    And as long as I’m being brutally candid, I only wound up teaching American History because I followed a cute ass into the country-and-western section at Barnes & Noble and found out it was attached to an adorably self-conscious Poli-Sci professor who, in retrospect, was probably more anxious to stick a needle in his eye than have coffee with me. Three cappuccinos later, I could already envision myself stretched out on an Eames couch with my head in his lap while we both graded papers—so I applied for a job in the history department at USC. And by the time he’d introduced me to his boy toy—a gym bunny with a Ph.D.
    (natch)—I already had five classes and a parking space with my name on it. (Not that I ever blamed him for robbing Broadway of its brightest light. My musical comedy ambitions had been short-circuited three years earlier at the still-woundable age of 20, when I auditioned for a campus production of On a Clear Day at the Stop Gap Theatre and discovered quite by accident that my singing voice causes cancer.( Once again I’d chosen to sleep through Obvious Clues 101: the formal handshake instead of a kiss 'he’s bashful(, his unflagging use of the plural possessive
    '“our” dog clearly meant the one his parents had bought him when he was six—Spot or Shucks or Barnacle Bill), and the three hickeys barely hidden by his Versace collar (toner cartridge fell on his neck). Also overlooked was the fact that nothing makes my skin crawl like countryand- western music—unless it’s Götterdämmerung.

    Okay. One more root canal. But that’s it. Otherwise, people might start thinking I’m a little screwy.

    American History 206
    Professor Puckett
    April 14, 1998

    Impressions of the Revolution
    by Chuck Navarro

    Let’s face it—up until 1750, we were a pain in the ass. But we still asked England to let us colonize a New Land, get some government, and borrow their ships. For what? In the 130 years since Plymouth Rock, we only had three specialties. (a) learning how to eat maize without dropping it all over the floor, (b) setting weird bonfires in Salem, and (c) dying of exposure. Sorry, but I’d have taxated us too.

    Example : The ’62 Mets, who didn’t even deserve their uniforms until they got a life and a pennant in ’69. Also Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn playing pirates, the same way we were playing around with being a country when we weren’t one yet.

    Travis, what the fuck does Tom Sawyer have to do with the Bill of Rights? If I wanted to take English, I would of.

    —Chuck

    Impressions of the Revolution
    by Gary Petrie

    King George knew he had his hands full. Dicking around about taxation and representation and stamps and embargoes is what you do when you’re looking for a reason to paste somebody in the mouth, and it was probably his way of getting the fucking thing over with quick so he could go back to polishing