coffee.â
âShit.â She tilts away. âWhy didnât you tell me?â
âI just did.â
âSooner, dope, sooner.â
âOh, look,â Clark says thickly through a mouthful of waffle and syrup. âKatherine got her hair cut. Looks awful, doesnât it?â
âI guess Halloween came early this year.â
âWhoâs that sheâs with?â
âIâll bet heâs from Lowell. She always goes out with guys from Lowell.â
âI hear she had mono last fall.â
âReally? Somebody told me it was herpes.â
âGoodness,â I say genially. âYou boys certainly have your ears to the ground, donât you?â
âShe told everybody it was anemia.â Chuckling, Clark opens a box of Cocoa Puffs and pours it into his bowl. âHey, Miranda. Didnât you just get a haircut too?â He sprinkles three packets of sugar into his cereal and adds milk.
âMe?â My maladroit self-barbering tends to result in odd little spikes and asymmetrical lines. People are constantly asking me where I get my hair done; most often I tell them that my haircutter is an East Village acupuncturist-cum-graffiti artist named Popo who also repairs Vespas on the side. Though I embellish the story more and more outlandishly in the expectation that someday someone will actually challenge me about it, no one has, but Iâm cherishing high hopes based upon Popoâs recent appointment as Secretary of State. âA haircut? No.â I shake my head. âI got them all cut.â
Clark laughs uproariously, pounding the tabletop and making the dishes rattle. âGod, youâre a scream, Miranda,â he gasps.
âPrettier than the painting, donât you think?â Out of the corner of my eye I spot Dean coming into the dining hall. He shows the checker his ID card and goes into the kitchen.
Clark wipes his eyes with his napkin. âWhat painting?â
Roald returns with his grapefruit half and a cup of coffee. âHereâs your coffee, Miranda. Cream, no sugar, right?â
âRight. Thanks.â I stand up. âAnybody want anything?â I turn and go off without waiting for a reply.
In the kitchen Dean ponders the pastry tray. Heâs wearing Levis and his bright-red windbreaker. His hair is damp and slicked close to his head in dark waves that will lighten to blondish brown as they dry.
âI recommend the crullers.â
He turns. âOh, hi,â he says in his low, somehow silken voice. âBut I think Iâd rather have one of those chocolate twists.â
âI hear theyâre fabulous too.â
âOh, really?â He hesitates, and then takes one and puts it on his tray. âOkay.â
âGood choice. Oh, by the way.â
âHmm?â Heâs looking at the pastries again.
âI tried calling you last night.â
âI know. Kevin left a message.â He puts the chocolate twist back and takes a bran muffin.
I find myself noticing a large jagged patch of cheek where he didnât shave. âSo did you have a nice dinner?â
âYeah, nothing special. Went to Charlieâs.â
âTalked Advo over cheeseburgers?â
âThe usual.â He glances nervously over his shoulder. âWell, I guess Iâd better beââ
âYes.â I turn to look at the cereals. âEnjoy that bran muffin. Itâs good for you.â
âHey.â
I swivel around by forty-five degrees. âYeah?â
âI tried calling you back, but you werenât home.â
âOh?â
âIs tonight still okay?â
âTonight?â I arch an eyebrow. âOh, thatâs right. We were going out for a drink, werenât we? The HaâPenny, did we say?â
âYeah.â
âOkay.â
âWhen?â
âI get off work at ten. How about ten-thirty or so?â
âCool. See you