Read A Song in the Daylight for Free Online

part of their appearance.” He spoke of it like he was reading poetry, like it was his life’s philosophy, while Larissa wanted to button her coat so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of her frumpy sweats. He spoke of hair the way Ezra spoke about the metaphysical reality of the soul!
    “It’s always clean,” he continued, “it’s styled, moussed, gelled. Women think about hair. No one just gets out of the shower in their empty house and towel dries.”
    “What did you say?” She squinted. Empty house? “Not even you ?” His hair was sticking out every which way till Sunday. He took off his helmet to show her his kinky helmet head, thin brown-blond hair frizzing in all directions.
    “Except for me,” he replied cheerfully. “But women think more about their hair than about anything else, would you agree?”
    “I don’t agree.”
    “No? You don’t think about what to put in it, how to curl it, thin it, thicken it, style it, shape it? How to put it up, how to braid it?” He pointed to an older woman pushing her cart past them through the thick cold. “Take a look,” he said. “She’s wearing a sheepskin rug for a coat, and her husband’s loafers, but her hair is blown dry and immaculate and shining! No makeup, but the hair is perfect. Like the Werewolf, baby.”
    Werewolf! Larissa stared at him, wondering at what point to take offense and at what point to laugh. His eyes were merry. He clearly thought he was being clever. “I don’t mean it as a criticism,” he assured her. “I mean it as a compliment. Hair rules the world.”
    Okay, she’ll play on this cold Monday. Why not?
    “Hair and shoes,” she said.
    “Yes!” he heartily agreed. “Everything in the middle, you can pretty much not waste your time or money on.”
    It was true. Did anyone care that she spent twenty-seven bucks on Chanel mascara instead of six bucks on Maybelline?
    She didn’t say anything, just squinted in the sunlight. He put the helmet back on his head. In the few seconds of silence between them, Larissa’s mind traveled from hair to boots, from mascara to jeans and in between belts and necklaces saw the other thing that both men and women noticed. Probably third after hair and shoes.
    The swell between the breasts. Cleavage.
    “I’ll tell you a little secret,” he said. “Men never notice shoes.”
    “Some men.”
    “Not straight men.”
    She laughed. “So not shoes but hair?”
    “Yes,” he said. “Hair we notice.”
    And breasts. She hoped the sunlight would keep him out of the expression in her eyes. But he said nothing—in that pointed way people say nothing when they’re thinking about things that can’t be said.
    “Jewelry?” She was fishing for other things in the water.
    “If it’s sparkly, come-hither jewelry, yes.”
    Come-hither jewelry! Now she said nothing in that pointed way people say nothing when they’re thinking about things that can’t be said.
    He inclined his head toward her; Larissa inclined her body away and pushed her cart forward. “Well, have a great day.”
    “You sure you don’t need help?” Stepping away from his bike, he put his hand on her shopping cart. Was he allowed to do that? Wasn’t that like putting your hands on someone’s pregnant belly? Against some sort of Super Stupid food shopping etiquette? “I’ll help you put your 12-pack of Diet Coke into your car. You far?”
    “No, no.” No, no was to the help, not the far. He wasn’t listening, already pushing, as she walked next to him, slow. Before she found the unlock button on her key ring, a thought flashed: is he safe? What if he’s one of those…I don’t know. Didn’t she hear about them? Men who abducted girls from parking lots?
    And did what with them?
    Plus he wasn’t a man.
    Plus she wasn’t a girl.
    He looked exotic, his brown eyes slanted, his cheekbones Oriental. He looked sweet and scruffy. Who would abduct her from a parking lot? And, more important, why?
    And even more important, how did