Romancing the Dark in the City of Light by Ann Jacobus Read Free Book Online Page B

penance.”
    “No. Not that.”
    “Oh.”
    They walk at a snail’s pace past dozens of narrow collapsible stalls and blankets spread on the sidewalk. It’s a mini-souk full of used clothes, shoes, cell phone covers, posters, and cheap red, blue, yellow, and white plastic bowls, tubs, and pails. Whiffs of grilled meat and ripe garbage float in the drizzly air.
    Something is different about Moony today. His movements are stiffer. He looks sort of beat up. Maybe he’s in pain. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t sleep last night. Jeez.
    “You know, we could do this another day,” she says carefully. “What with the sucky weather and all.” The altercation left her feeling a little wrung out. Moony may feel the same. They could just sit in a caf é and talk.
    “I’m fine.” He frowns, clearly annoyed, then mutters, “Thanks to modern pharmacology.”
    “Okay, okay, just checking. What’s on the shopping list?”
    He pulls his phone from his jeans pocket and thumbs through a couple of screens. Small white French delivery vans and compact Renault hatchbacks zoom by as they wait to cross the road. The south end of the huge flea market area starts on the other side.
    “Clothing, accessories,” he reads. “Rifles.”
    “Rifles?” she asks. Maybe they are easy to get at Les Puces.
    “Old ornamental ones. Probably too expensive.”
    “Oh. But we can check.”
    “Antique plate or bowl. One piece to wave around so audience thinks it’s all old. Period clothing. 1910. Ladies’ hats maybe.”
    “Isn’t the costume designer in charge of that?” she asks. Graffiti that looks just like American graffiti covers the buildings, the walls, and the overpass above them.
    “Yeah, but said I’d look.” The light changes. They step into the street. A guy on a big French scooter rounds the corner and narrowly misses Summer. Moony grabs her arm.
    “Truth or dare,” Summer says, taking a chance.
    “Truth. I avoid dares.” He smiles.
    “Ever been in love?”
    “Madly.”
    She waits. “Aren’t you going to give me a little more?”
    “Frame questions better.”
    “Okay, with whom were you madly in love and when and what happened?”
    “Nurse Sophie. In hospital. Met her my eleventh birthday.” He grins. “Saw me naked.”
    “Ha!” Nurse Sophie probably helped give him a reason to recover. Good for her. Summer’s also relieved that he’s not madly in love with petite Jackie-who-fondled-him-at-his-locker.
    “You have a distinctive way of talking, you know.”
    Moony nods. “Used to be harder. To talk. Habit. Your turn.”
    “No, it’s cool. Efficient,” she says. They enter a covered walkway that goes past dozens of bright antique stores full of crystal chandeliers and massive wood and gilt furniture. “Um. Truth.”
    “Same question.”
    She hesitates, but knows she can trust him with the story. Wants to trust him with it. “It was more of an infatuation, hardly love, and I was unceremoniously dumped … and humiliated.”
    Moony regards her with surprise.
    “Remember? I was bigger.” She fills her cheeks with air to show him. “Last June—boarding school number four, for misfits—I had a crush on the debate team cocaptain. Not much to look at, but a very witty guy. Probably sociopathic.”
    “Here we go,” says Moony.
    This area is open air but covered from the light rain. A stall straight ahead displays stacks of soft piles of mostly white old French quilts, sheets, table linens, and dish towels. A rosy-cheeked woman is folding.
    “And?” prompts Moony.
    She’s glad he’s still listening. “One evening we, um, hooked up”—she glances at Moony—“then I was scared and avoided him for a couple of days. He dumped me kind of … publicly.” She’s never told anyone the full story and won’t get into all the details now. It’s more complicated. The dickhead posted a horribly unflattering fat photo of her, eyes half-closed, clutching a vodka bottle, with the caption at the top, DRINKING