Out of the Easy by Ruta Sepetys Read Free Book Online

don’t see why women love him so much. He’s so uptight. Gatsby’s got style.”
    “He’s not uptight. He’s shy!” I insisted.
    “Look, here’s one,” Patrick said, motioning with his eyes to the window.
    Droplets of rain began to fall on the sidewalk. An attractive girl with neatly styled auburn hair and a monogrammed sweater stood outside the shop, looking at the books in the window display.
    “Romance,” said Patrick.
    I shook my head. “Thrillers.”
    The bell jingled, and the girl entered the shop.
    “Happy New Year,” said Patrick.
    “Why, thank you. Happy New Year,” she said. She spoke sprightly with an articulate cadence.
    “Can we help you find something?” I asked.
    “Yes, a book for my father.” She opened her purse and rummaged through. “I’m sure I put the slip of paper just here.” She began emptying the contents of her purse onto the counter. “Oh, how embarrassing.”
    “Well, I’m sure we can find something you’d like,” said Patrick, setting the bait. “Perhaps a romance, like Gone with the Wind ?”
    She made a face. “No, thank you. Not really my cup of tea. I have nothing against Gone with the Wind, mind you. In fact, the author attended my college, and it would be quite sacrilege if I didn’t just love her.”
    “Margaret Mitchell?” I said. “Where do you go to college?”
    “I’m in my first year at Smith. Oh! Here it is.” She opened a small scrap of paper. “Fabulous New Orleans.”
    “By Lyle Saxon.” Patrick nodded. “Let me get it for you. The Louisiana shelf is right in front here.”
    Smith. Northampton, Massachusetts. I had read about it in the library. It was one of the Seven Sisters colleges and, along with Vassar and Radcliffe, was considered one of the most prestigious for women in the country. And, unlike Louisiana, Massachusetts had no segregation.
    The girl looked around the bookshop and took a deep breath. “That smell, I just love it, don’t you?”
    “Yes,” I agreed.
    “And how lucky you are to work here. I could live in a place like this.”
    “Actually, I do,” I said.
    “You do? Where?” she asked.
    “In an apartment above.”
    “You have your own apartment?” The girl looked at me with a mixture of astonishment and intrigue. “Forgive me. I’ve been incredibly rude.” She thrust her hand out to Patrick. “Charlotte Gates.”
    Patrick grinned at her stiff, official introduction. “Patrick Marlowe.”
    “Marlowe. Yes, of course. The shop is yours.”
    The girl wore cultured pearls underneath her round white collar. She was sophisticated, yet had a dash of boldness generally absent among the debutantes of New Orleans.
    “Charlotte Gates,” she said, extending her hand to me.
    I paused. “Josephine Moraine,” I replied.
    Patrick coughed. I shot him a look.
    “Josephine, what a lovely name. I’ve always loved the name Josephine, ever since I read Little Women, I absolutely adored Josephine March. Oh, but don’t cut off your beautiful brown hair like Jo March did. Yours is so lovely. I wish my hair looked attractive parted on the side like that. It’s all the rage, you know.”
    “Jo, I mean Josephine, has always worn her hair parted on the side,” said Patrick, suppressing a smile.
    Charlotte nodded at Patrick. “Some people are just born with style. Josephine is obviously one of them.”
    This woman with an Uptown pedigree from an elite college had just paid me a genuine compliment. I opened my mouth, then closed it. I didn’t know what to say or how to react. Fortunately, Charlotte Gates continued to ramble.
    “I’m majoring in English, and I still can’t get enough of reading. To work in a shop like this would be heaven.”
    “Oh, sure, it’s heaven,” said Patrick.
    Charlotte grinned. “Josephine, men just don’t understand, do they?”
    “Not at all,” I agreed. “For example, Patrick asked if I would rather marry Gatsby or Mr. Darcy.”
    “No, he didn’t! Who in the world would choose Gatsby