Shamus In The Green Room by Susan Kandel Read Free Book Online

she and Vincent had bought their house in
    Topanga Canyon, which had maybe quadruple the amount
    of storage space I have, Annie still hadn’t cleared out all her old
    stuff. The girl was a packrat. One good thing was, there were
    sure to be some books or toys in one of the boxes. Maybe some-
    thing Alexander would like.
    “Pop, pop, pop,” Alexander sang out. “Toast time!”
    “No! Don’t touch anything!” All I needed was for him to
    get electrocuted. That’d be the last time they let me baby-sit.
    Jammed into the corner of the closet was a picture book
    and a forlorn Barbie with no hair. I snatched up both and ran
    back into the kitchen. Alexander was sitting on the floor with
    the jar of peanut butter in his lap.
    “Good boy,” I said, trading bald Barbie for the peanut but-
    ter. “Did anybody tell you never, ever, to put a knife in the
    toaster? You can get a bad shock. It can make your hair go
    crazy.”
    “Like your hair,” he said, pointing.
    “Why don’t you sit right here at the kitchen table,” I said,
    “and look at this nice book while I finish the sandwich.”
    “My mommy puts bananas in,” he said in a small voice,
    “because bananas are fruit.”
    Oh, god. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’m going to put ba-
    nanas in, too.” I had one black banana sitting on the counter.
    Maybe he wouldn’t notice if I sliced it really thin.
    “Okay!” I said brightly. “All ready. How about some chips?”
    Kids love chips. Everybody loves chips. Instant party.
    “No chips.”
    “Cece will eat the chips. And Mimi. Mimi loves chips.”
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    I sat down next to him and picked up the book.
    “Clifford the Big Red Dog,” I read. Why was he so big and
    red? His mother and father and brothers and sisters were all
    normal. They never explained that. Maybe it was some kind of
    post-Chernobyl thing.
    “I think we can do better than this,” I said. “I’ll be right
    back.”
    “Barbie wants a samwich, too.”
    “Okay.” I sliced off a tiny corner of Alexander’s sandwich
    and arranged it on a saucer, though everyone knows Barbie
    doesn’t touch carbs. I shoved some chips in my mouth. At least
    I had hair.
    I went back into Annie’s closet and waded through the de-
    bris. A purple thermos fell on my head. I shoved a Care Bears
    helmet and assorted knee and elbow pads out of my way. Then
    I saw an old trunk I remembered helping Annie pack full of
    papers and books. I dragged it into the middle of the floor and
    opened it.
    Curious George Goes to the Hospital. A classic, if depressing.
    Bread and Jam for Frances. Always made me hungry. Yearbooks.
    Autograph books. And here—oh, too funny—was Annie’s
    onetime prized possession: her Rafe Simic scrapbook. I’d al-
    most forgotten the thing existed. The cover alone was black-
    mail material. “R AFE + ANNIE.” She’d cut the letters out of
    old magazines and collaged them onto the baby-blue padded
    surface. It was still in good shape. Only the “R,” surrounded
    by cupids and red hearts, was peeling.
    I flipped to the first page. Rafe with shoulder-length hair in
    his first big film, Dead Ahead. He played a follower of the
    Grateful Dead who inadvertently witnesses a gangland-style
    execution. Rafe in wraparound shades and heavy gold jewelry,
    50
    Hollywood’s vision of a sadistic drug lord. Rafe in costume as
    a samurai warrior, wielding a sword. A young Rafe with a gold
    crown on his head. This wasn’t from any movie I remembered.
    Aha. This was real life. I looked down at the caption: “Rafe
    Simic, Prom King, and”—Jesus—“Maren Levander, Prom
    Queen.” Morbid to a fault, I wondered what Maren had
    looked like when she was young and not dead. I peered closely
    and had to laugh.
    Apparently, it ran in the family.
    Annie had decapitated Palos Verdes High’s prom queen
    of 1979, and collaged her own face where Maren’s should
    have been.
    “All done,” Alexander called out.
    “Coming,” I answered, grabbing the scrapbook and