Read Out of the Easy for Free Online Page B

the table and sat down. “He died in the Sans Souci last night.”
    “Where’d you hear about it? I didn’t hear a thing.”
    “Willie told me, but said she didn’t know any details. I just can’t believe it. Cokie talked to the bandleader, and he said that Mr. Hearne just slumped over and died at the table.”
    Patrick crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.
    “Exactly. Did that man not look fit as a fiddle?”
    “I’ll say he did,” said Patrick. “I would have taken him for a Vandy football player now. Did he end up buying anything yesterday?”
    “Keats and Dickens. And the man had a bankroll something huge, along with a Lord Elgin watch and an expensive fountain pen.”
    “Keats and Dickens, huh?” said Patrick. “That doesn’t sound like a mess of a man.” Patrick turned away from me. “It’s a shame. He seemed like such a nice man.”
    I nodded. “Thanks for covering for me about the college stuff. I would have been embarrassed after he assumed I was at Newcomb.”
    “But it’s true, Jo. You could have your pick. Even Newcomb at Tulane.”
    I looked down at my fingers laced around the warm coffee cup. Patrick had told me I could get scholarship money from any of the local colleges. But I hated the idea of seeing people from high school, being the girl whose mother was a whore and walked around naked in a fur coat. I’d never have a chance to be normal.
    Willie said normal was boring and that I should be grateful that I had a touch of spice. She said no one cared about boring people, and when they died, they were forgotten, like something that slips behind the dresser. Sometimes I wanted to slip behind the dresser. Being normal sounded perfectly wonderful.
    “Mr. Vitrone died,” said Patrick, pointing to the obituaries spread out on the kitchen table. Patrick combed the death notices daily, looking for leads on books or rare volumes that might be for sale. “He had a nice collection of Proust. I think I’ll pay my respects to his wife and see if I can buy them off her.”
    I nodded. “So what were you doing with someone from Doubleday?” I asked.
    “Ran into him at the Faberts’ party. We started heckling each other about who had a more diverse inventory,” said Patrick.
    “Arguing about inventory? Doubleday has a lot more books,” I said.
    “I know.” Patrick laughed. “Liquid confidence, I guess.”
    “Yeah, you smelled like a distillery. And I didn’t appreciate you embarrassing me in front of him.”
    “Well, what are you doing skulking around the store in your nightgown?” said Patrick. “And then you acted so weird, almost scared of us.”
    “I had forgotten my book in the shop and came down to get it. You’re lucky I didn’t have my gun, especially after that comment about my hair.”
    “For a girl who reads the society page as much as you do, I’m surprised you haven’t noticed that all the Uptown brats part their hair on the side now. It would look nice on you, flattering to the shape of your face. C’mon, it’s a new year. Time to reinvent yourself,” said Patrick. “Hey, I saw your mom at six this morning walking arm in arm toward the Roosevelt Hotel with some tall guy. Black suit. Didn’t fit him properly.”
    “Did she see you?” I asked.
    “No,” said Patrick. “The guy looked rough, but kinda familiar. You know who it was?”
    “I have no idea,” I said, staring into my coffee cup.

EIGHT
    January 2nd was always slow in the bookstore. People were too tired to go out or had spent too much money on holiday shopping to think about buying books. Patrick and I amused ourselves with one of our games. We’d give each other a choice of two literary characters, and we had to choose which one we’d marry. We played the game for hours, often howling with laughter when the choices were less than pleasing.
    “Darcy or Gatsby,” said Patrick.
    “Oh, come on. Can’t you do any better than that?” I scoffed. “That’s obvious. Darcy.”
    “I just