Jim and the Flims by Rudy Rucker Read Free Book Online

I took some comfort from these ordinary things.
    The parlor was an airy place with soft steel guitar music playing. They had fully forty flavors of gelato, made with fresh cream and fruit every day. An unfamiliar clerk stood behind the counter—a tan, medium-sized woman with a goofy smile and brunette hair in a messy, recently made ponytail. She was in the process of tying on her apron. Though her eyes were worldly-wise, she looked to be about thirty. Perfect for me.
    â€œI’m here because of you,” she said, looking right into my eyes, which felt way spacier than anything I was ready for. Sensing my unease, the woman giggled. “I began this employment one minute ago, following a two minute interview.”
    â€œYou were right to sign on,” I said, hoping to steer the conversation back towards normal. “I’m a regular here. Jim Oster.”
    â€œWeena Wesson,” said the woman, miming a curtsy. “I’m tickled to be back.”
    â€œBack from where?” I had to ask.
    â€œLet’s not delve into that as yet.” She wrinkled her nose in a smile—or maybe she was sniffing at me across the counter.
    It had already crossed my mind that this Weena might be the unseen woman who’d run out from that tunnel under the green Victorian. But—had that scene been real? It didn’t fit with any other part of my life. Better to focus on the now. On the ice cream.
    â€œI’m here for a medium cup,” I said. “With a scoop of pineapple and scoop of coconut.”
    â€œThis treat will reconfigure your existence,” said Weena assuredly.
    â€œ Sell it, Weena,” interjected Mercedes the manager lady. “You go, girl.” She thought Weena was cute too.
    â€œAnd you’re familiar with this man?” said Weena to Mercedes. “He’s an upright citizen?” She had an odd, old-fashioned way of talking.
    â€œYou’re wild,” Mercedes told Weena with a laugh. She liked kidding around.
    â€œFor sure I need to be reconfigured,” I remarked. “I’m in a deep rut. Deeper than the Grand Canyon.” Gathering my courage, I decided to test Weena. “Just now I thought I saw a ghost house with a magic door and an Egyptian coffin and a big, creepy sea lion. Some woman I didn’t see came through the door.”
    Weena twinkled at me, but didn’t say anything. Moving with awkward grace, she dug out two exceedingly large scoops of ice cream. And then, with a quick gesture, she scattered sprinkles onto the scoops—twinkling, colorful specks. I didn’t quite see where she got the sprinkles from.
    Normally I’m a purist when it comes to ice cream—that is, I don’t like chunks of candy junking it up, and I don’t like glop on top.
    â€œAn amplified ice for Jim Oster,” said Weena, handing my serving across the counter. She smiling so sweetly that I wasn’t going to bitch about the sprinkles. And never mind that her eyes were calculating and hard.
    I paid Mercedes, then ate my gelato rapidly and greedily at one of the sidewalk tables outside the store. The memories of the magic door and the blue sea lion were already fading.
    The surf punks had just brought a sea lion home and dyed it for a goof. And Skeeves was living in their basement with his stolen gold sarcophagus. With a bunch of plastic. The sea lion was probably back in the ocean by now. Why get all bent out of shape? Why keep imagining I’d find a way back to Val?
    The ice cream was great, and the sprinkles weren’t bad either. They were very high quality, faceted like miniscule gems, and carrying the intense flavor accents of essential oils. I identified cinnamon, spearmint, clove, eucalyptus, violet, and bergamot. For a moment I almost thought the sprinkles were slowly crawling across my ice cream—but surely that was slippage from the melting. A remarkable treat.
    I was filled with well-being, in tune with the