The Gospel According to Larry Read Free Page B

it’s safe to say I was the only person in that department sitting in the lotus position.
    â€œHello, Joshie. How’s it going?” Marlene the Beauty Doctor has been working here for more than twenty years. With her shiny helmet of dyed black hair and dark eyebrows penciled in for the ones she lost years ago, she was Mom’s favorite salesperson.
    â€œIt’s slow, so you can sit. If I get a client, you know the drill.”
    I saluted, then leaned back to hang with Mom.
My mother bailed on her wealthy parents’ expectations as soon as she hit college. Instead of following in their Wall Street footsteps, she hitchhiked cross-country, worked tirelessly for civil rights, and made some bad choices in men. One thing from her Grosse Pointe background she couldn’t walk away from, however, was her fondness for upscale moisturizers and creams. She used to spend hours trying to look like she wore no makeup at all. She experimented with pencils and powders like a mad scientist but always looked the same to me. I can remember perching on this stool as a preschooler watching Marlene hand Mom tube after tube of lipstick. Mom would ask me which color I preferred, consider my answer, then buy whichever one she wanted anyway.
    I waited till Marlene rang someone up at the other end of the counter before I started talking.
    â€œOkay, Mom, in a nutshell—Beth is cleaning Todd’s basement, Peter is dragging me to another lasagna dinner at Katherine’s, and I’m nowhere closer to changing the world.”
    A woman with a leopard-print hat eyed me as she walked by.
    â€œI just feel like I’m waiting for my life to begin, that I’ve wasted seventeen years. Then
what? Four years at Princeton? How does that help move civilization forward?”
    â€œYou want to see our deep-pore cleaning mask?” Marlene inquired.
    I nodded. Whenever Marlene’s boss circled by, I pretended I was a paying customer.
    â€œYou ask me, you make it too hard on yourself. Stop worrying about civilization. Worry about staying out of trouble, making nice friends,” Marlene said.
    She rubbed the mask onto my face in small circles.
    â€œI have nice friends,” I answered. “Well, one nice friend.”
    â€œOne nice friend is all you need.” Marlene watched her boss get on the escalator, then wiped off my mask with a tissue.
    â€œHere.” She gathered up tiny bottles of free samples, put them in a small bag with handles, and gave it to me. “You come back anytime.”
    I could see Marlene eyeing a potential customer hovering over the nail polish. I saluted again and left.
    In the shoe department, I tried on four pairs of sneakers, three pairs of loafers, and five pairs of boots before the salesperson deserted me. I circled by the makeup counter on my way out.

    â€œMom?” I asked.
    A fiftyish woman in fishnets turned around, then went back to what she was doing.
    â€œMom, you’ll help me, right? With the whole change-the-world thing?”
    Then I did what I always did when I needed an answer from my mother. I listened for the very next word someone said. A businessman talking on his cell phone provided her response.
    â€œYes!” he said into the phone. “Of course I will.”
    My grin spread ear to ear.
    When I said, “Thanks, Mom,” the woman in fishnets turned around again. I tipped my woolen hat her way and headed out of the store.

Peter’s girlfriend Katherine had a Humpty Dumpty fetish. She collected anything poor Mr. Dumpty had affixed himself to—salt and pepper shakers, cookie jars, puzzles, mailboxes, light switches, vases, bookends—you get the idea. Last Christmas, she gave Peter a Humpty Dumpty tie with clumsy Humpty tumbling down the front of it. 9
    Katherine was forty pounds overweight, always smiling like the poster woman for Fat, Dumb, and Happy jeans. 10 She laughed nervously after everything we said and was putting in so