Domestic Violets by Matthew Norman Read Free Book Online Page B

short story, “Macy’s.” As he read Curtis’s prose aloud, he sounded like he was auditioning for something, and I didn’t bother following along. Since roll call at the beginning of the class, the other students had been looking at me and whispering about me. They’d heard, of course, that Curtis Violet’s kid was a freshman, and there I was. These kids—earnest English nerds like me—knew that the boy in the story, Henry, was based on me. My dad speaks at great length about his inspiration, and that story, which has been reprinted and anthologized more times than I can even imagine, came from a shopping trip one Christmas when I was a little older than Allie. We got separated in the holiday crowd, and so for about forty-five minutes I wandered the store alone looking at mannequins and touching cashmere sweaters until an old security guard found me. I ate a Tootsie Roll Pop in Customer Service while my dad was paged over the loudspeaker.
    “That’s it,” said the grad student when he was done reading. “That’s what we’re all trying to do when we sit down to write. And until we do . . . we’ve failed. Case closed.”
    After class, some kid with a goatee offered me one of his cigarettes, and I took it without hesitation. It was one of those silly acts of rebellion—a rebellion against a man who probably didn’t care one way or another if I smoked. It tasted only a little worse than this cigarette I’m smoking now.
    Katie exhales toward the sky. “Are you gonna be in trouble for this?” she asks.
    I’m not sure exactly what she’s referring to. I could be in trouble for keeping my boss waiting, for leaving my office for hours on end without telling anyone, for pissing Greg off, for thinking about this beautiful young girl the way I sometimes think about her. Or, I could simply be in trouble for smoking—of which Anna and Allie would definitely not approve.
    “Trouble is my middle name,” I say. This seems to cover all the bases.
    “Clever.”
    “It’s true. It actually is. My dad lost a bet with Norman Mailer.”
    There are five or six other smokers milling around on the roof of our building. Some are from MSW, others are from the other random companies that share the building. Most of these people look like they’re contemplating throwing themselves over the edge.
    “Lehman Brothers went bankrupt, you know,” she says. “Everyone’s been talking about it. That’s our third client to go bankrupt this week.” A police car speeds by on the street below, its siren echoing off the pavement. “There’s gonna be more layoffs. I don’t see how there won’t be.”
    “We’ll be fine,” I say. “People who aren’t needed get laid off. They need us. We’re copywriters. The company’s gotta advertise, right?”
    We smoke for a moment, and Katie seems to believe what I’ve just said, which would make one of us, officially. Advertising and marketing budgets are always the first to go. Anyone who’s been in business more than a few years knows this. But there’s no sense in letting Katie in on this trade secret, so I just take another drag.
    “Do you ever feel like anyone could do our jobs, though?” she asks.
    “Like a chimp with Microsoft Word?”
    “So you have thought about it?”
    “Yeah. But, by now a monkey would have choked Greg to death. I’m sure of it.”
    God, I love the sound of Katie laughing. The other smokers on the roof glance over, men and women alike. She’s one of those girls who glows a little, like when you see an actress in real life.
    “So, guess what,” she says. “I finished your book today.”
    I nearly drop my cigarette. “Really? I just gave it to you two days ago.”
    “Yep. I snuck over to the green space after lunch to finish it. I was up till like two last night reading in bed.”
    I try to keep my composure in the midst of a flash fantasy. The thought of Katie in her night things, lying in bed with my manuscript propped up on her belly, makes