Ambient Read Free

she whispered to me, taking my
arm. "My feet kill me in these fuckin' heels."
    I said nothing. I smiled; her eyes sparkled like shattered glass,
and in them I saw what she chose not yet to say. She twisted her
hips, seeking comfort from her outfit. The suit rode higher in.
Avalon, I knew, had come to appreciate Mister Dryden's affections-such as they were-less and less, but she had not known
him for so long as I had, and so was not as well attuned to his
quirks, which had, after all, become quirkier during the preceding year.
    "New suit, Shameless?" she asked me. I wore a two-piece in corporate blue with faint pinstripes, not unlike Mister Dryden's.
While he preferred a certain elan in the garb of Avalon, he cared
little for what I wore so long as it was protective, and fit.

    "Bought it last week," I said. It took me four weeks to receive
it from the time I placed the order; were I not working for Dryco
it would have taken ten months, and then more likely I would
have received delivery on whatever had been available, no matter
the size, color, or material-not always because of shortage, but
generally for reason of discare. It was best to take what was given
if you wanted anything at all, or so it was always said.
    "You look good enough to beat," she said, winking. As she
stood near, brushing me, I felt my skin warm as if I were slowly
being cooked. "Cost much?"
    "Fifteen dollars," I said.
    "You never get blood on your suits, do you?" She rubbed the
lapels between her thumb and forefinger. Her knee slid against
mine, with purposeful caress.
    I shook my head, attempting to think. Logic left my mind when
she drew close; her touch left my thoughts agibber.
    "The amateur's mark," I said.
    "I'd like to get blood on his suit."
    "Think he's nearly done?"
    "Can't be," she said. "Clerk's still alive."
    But he was done, and motioned for us to move. We reached
the center desk; the store manager bounced over as if expecting
to be fed a treat.
    "Did we have everything you needed, sir?"
    "No," said Mister Dryden.
    "Would you care to special any titles?"
    "Timeshort," he said, slapping his hand loudly against the
counter, as if to demonstrate his existence to the skeptical. "I
shop, I see to be itemed with my wants. I'll do other if you absent
my wants."
    "Sir-"

    Avalon and I waited, yawning, while they went at it tong-andnail. We knew he would continue to shop there: it was the place
of the manager to be abused by an owner; the place of an owner
to abuse. Like the sunrise, you came to expect it. The clerk's
arms trembled beneath his load.
    "-idiot," concluded Mister Dryden. I could not help but notice how his neck darkened as he spoke; his anger was such that
I felt that were he to have continued his screed the blood, rising,
would have filled and burst his head asunder, spraying forth a
foamy wave.
    "House charge or Amex, sir?"
    "House."
    "Fine. Clerk!" The store manager clapped his hands. Mister
Dryden had accumulated an enormous stack of books; thirty dollars worth, I estimated. The clerk lifted them onto the counter.
    "Look out-" said the manager's assistant, too late. One book
fell onto the floor; the clerk held onto the rest of the stack. The
book that fell was a leathered edition of Last Exit to Brooklyn. A
gift, I suspected, though for whom I wasn't sure; his son, whose
birthday was two days off, wasn't much for linear print.
    "Durak.!" the store manager shouted; the assistant slapped the
clerk several times, as if attempting to wake him.
    "Let's exam," said Mister Dryden, seemingly calm once
again-it was terribly hard to easily discern his fury, until it alit.
I handed him the book; he peered at it closely, as if deciphering
subtle code. He vizzed out the window for a moment, raising eye
to unjust Heaven and Godness therein. He glared at the store
manager; pushed the book into the manager's chest, a heartblow.
    "Scratched," said Mister Dryden. I hoped he wouldn't take
this too far but