The Marriage of Sticks by Jonathan Carroll Read Free Book Online

came from Lord Esher’s estate.”
    “Rolfe.” He read the name reverently. “I remember from the Symons biography, he was supposed to have always written with a huge fountain pen.”
    “That’s right.”
    Exasperated and smiling for the first time, he shook his head. “Miranda, how do you find these things? How did you find Frederick Rolfe’s fountain pen?”
    “Because I love what I’m doing. Hunting for things, having them in my hand for a while. I love selling them to people like you who care.”
    “But you never keep anything for yourself?”
    “Never. You have to decide whether you’re going to collect or sell. Collecting would exhaust me. I’d never be happy with what I owned. I would always want more. This way, I can enjoy things for a while and then sell them to the right people.”
    “Like Dagmar?”
    “Like Dagmar, and you. Do you want this?”
    “Of course I want it!”
    I waited a good half hour after he left before I made the call. Jaco had the disconcerting habit of returning in a rage to demand a better price for something he had just bought. In the beginning I’d been cowed by his fury, but not anymore.
    “Hello?” Her voice was soft and elegant, as sexy a woman’s voice as I knew.
    “Dagmar? It’s Miranda. Jaco was just here. He bought the pen.”
    “Of course he did, darling. It’s exactly what he would want. That’s why I bought it. It’s a fabulous piece.”
    “But why sell it to him? Didn’t you want it for your collection?”
    “Yes, but he would love it more. Baron Corvo is one of his few heroes.”
    “I don’t understand. You finally left him after all those years of unhappiness, but you’re still giving him things?”
    “Not giving, selling. Loving Jaco was like sitting on a cold stone: you give it all your heat but it gives none back. You end up with a chill in your behind. I couldn’t take it anymore. But leaving doesn’t erase most of my adult life. I still love him for a few things and always will. Not that I necessarily want to. Sometimes you can’t control who you love.”
    “But you’re happy you left?”
    “Blissfully. The only time I look back is to check to make sure I locked the door. Tell me how Jaco reacted when he saw the pen.” I could almost hear her smile through the telephone.
    “He flipped. He was in heaven.”
    “No doubt. Hadrian the Seventh is his favorite book. No wonder—the story of a miserable, undeserving person who’s chosen to be pope. Jaco identifies totally.”
    “I’ll bring you a check tonight.”
    “No hurry. Today I’m beyond madness anyway. The caterer called and said he won’t be able to make the yogurt trilogy for dessert, which essentially ruins the dinner. But we have to be strong.”
    “Yogurt trilogy?”
    “Don’t be cynical, Miranda. One taste and you’d be a believer. Plus our apartment smells like a wet washcloth, and I have to go have my hair done. Sometimes it would be nice being a man. For them, a haircut is nine dollars. For a woman it’s a religious experience. So I have to go, sweetie. If I live through today, I’ll be immortal. Be here at seven. I’ve invited three Scud missiles for dinner and told each you’re the catch of the century.”
    “That’s tough to live up to.”
    “But you are!”
    Few people came into my store to browse. For the most part, the clientele knew exactly what they wanted. I lived a good deal of the time on the road, tracking down their specific and often expensive desires. You could page me on my wristwatch or call me on the smallest portable telephone I could find. I was happy when I could spend even a few weeks at a time in the store straightening things up, paying bills, reading catalogs and faxes. Yet I was also happy in airports, hotel rooms, restaurants that served regional dishes I had never heard of. There was no man in my life. I was free to come and go as I pleased.
    In college I had majored in sociology, but realized junior year how unsatisfying