MORTAL COILS Read Online Free Page A
Author: Unknown
shirts; the women in designer
jeans, sweaters, and sixteen pounds of gold jewelry.
The
place would be packed by eleven thirty, and Eliot and Fiona would be running to
get everything clean for the real crowds at noon.
Ringo’s
may have been a conglomeration of unlikely styles and questionable taste, but
situated on the most picturesque country artery between San
2.
One artifact found intact at the Oakwood Apartments site was a Complete Works
of William Shakespeare, published in the eighteenth century (ref catalog:
49931-D). It is intriguing as every mythological reference had been stricken
with an indelible marker. For example, passages mentioning Hecate, and the
entire scene with the three witches, had been redacted from Macbeth. Gods of
the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 11: The Post Family Mythology, 8th
ed. (Zypheron Press Ltd.).
Francisco
and the heart of California’s wine country; its location was perfect to siphon
money from tourists.
Eliot
walked straight into Fiona as if she weren’t there.
She
turned and saw why. His eyes had been glued to Linda, who waited tables today.
Linda had that effect on guys.
Fiona
grabbed Eliot by the shoulders and pointed him toward the swinging kitchen
door. “Better get busy before Mike comes looking,” she murmured.
He
blinked. “Right.”
“Keep
your head above water.” This was a not-so-veiled reference to his height, his
poor swimming ability, and the gigantic sink where he’d be spending the next
four hours.
Eliot
glowered, then brightened as he thought of his own insult: “Keep it clean.”
This
was a reference to the messy reality of Fiona’s job: busing tables at Ringo’s
meant getting up close and personal with spattered marinara sauce, spilled
olive oil, cornmeal crumbs . . . all of which got in her dress and her hair no
matter how careful she was. And although she showered every night, the scents
lingered.
Eliot
pushed through the kitchen door, and Fiona grabbed the busing cart by the wall,
maneuvering it back toward the party room.
She
observed Linda as she chatted with the customers about the road and the
weather. Customers always laughed at Linda’s jokes, and when she suggested the
pasta special, they usually ordered it. Maybe it was her looks. She could have
been a model with her perfect makeup, spiky blond hair, and the way her skirt,
pink shirt, and long, curved nails seemed to color coordinate.
Linda
even deflected Mike’s come-ons, somehow smiling all the time as he stood too
close and stared at her. She always had an excuse not to go out with him, yet
he never got angry with her.
She
spotted Fiona, gave her a nod and a smile, which instantly faded.
Just
like Mike, Linda managed to appear friendly to Fiona without ever really being
friendly.
Fiona
waved awkwardly and looked away. She straightened her dress, although no matter
what she did, it still looked wrinkled. She wished she had the nerve to tell
Cee she hated the clothes she made them, but that would have broken the old
woman’s heart.
She
snuck another glance at Linda, laughing with her customers. They left her great
tips. It wasn’t just her looks. Linda knew how to talk to people. Fiona would
have given anything to be as confident. Every time she had to talk to
strangers, her heart pounded so hard she could barely hear her own mouse voice
as it tried to squeak out something clever. She couldn’t look someone in the
eyes to save her life, and she spent most of the day staring at her feet.
If
shyness were a disease, Fiona would have been rushed to intensive care and put
on a social respirator.
She
sighed and halted at the party room doors.
Something
was wrong; they were shut.
The
party room was always left open during the day so customers could see the large
table that sat two dozen, the wet bar and the television, and be tempted to
book it for sports events or birthday parties.
jeans, sweaters, and sixteen pounds of gold jewelry.
The
place would be packed by eleven thirty, and Eliot and Fiona would be running to
get everything clean for the real crowds at noon.
Ringo’s
may have been a conglomeration of unlikely styles and questionable taste, but
situated on the most picturesque country artery between San
2.
One artifact found intact at the Oakwood Apartments site was a Complete Works
of William Shakespeare, published in the eighteenth century (ref catalog:
49931-D). It is intriguing as every mythological reference had been stricken
with an indelible marker. For example, passages mentioning Hecate, and the
entire scene with the three witches, had been redacted from Macbeth. Gods of
the First and Twenty-first Century, Volume 11: The Post Family Mythology, 8th
ed. (Zypheron Press Ltd.).
Francisco
and the heart of California’s wine country; its location was perfect to siphon
money from tourists.
Eliot
walked straight into Fiona as if she weren’t there.
She
turned and saw why. His eyes had been glued to Linda, who waited tables today.
Linda had that effect on guys.
Fiona
grabbed Eliot by the shoulders and pointed him toward the swinging kitchen
door. “Better get busy before Mike comes looking,” she murmured.
He
blinked. “Right.”
“Keep
your head above water.” This was a not-so-veiled reference to his height, his
poor swimming ability, and the gigantic sink where he’d be spending the next
four hours.
Eliot
glowered, then brightened as he thought of his own insult: “Keep it clean.”
This
was a reference to the messy reality of Fiona’s job: busing tables at Ringo’s
meant getting up close and personal with spattered marinara sauce, spilled
olive oil, cornmeal crumbs . . . all of which got in her dress and her hair no
matter how careful she was. And although she showered every night, the scents
lingered.
Eliot
pushed through the kitchen door, and Fiona grabbed the busing cart by the wall,
maneuvering it back toward the party room.
She
observed Linda as she chatted with the customers about the road and the
weather. Customers always laughed at Linda’s jokes, and when she suggested the
pasta special, they usually ordered it. Maybe it was her looks. She could have
been a model with her perfect makeup, spiky blond hair, and the way her skirt,
pink shirt, and long, curved nails seemed to color coordinate.
Linda
even deflected Mike’s come-ons, somehow smiling all the time as he stood too
close and stared at her. She always had an excuse not to go out with him, yet
he never got angry with her.
She
spotted Fiona, gave her a nod and a smile, which instantly faded.
Just
like Mike, Linda managed to appear friendly to Fiona without ever really being
friendly.
Fiona
waved awkwardly and looked away. She straightened her dress, although no matter
what she did, it still looked wrinkled. She wished she had the nerve to tell
Cee she hated the clothes she made them, but that would have broken the old
woman’s heart.
She
snuck another glance at Linda, laughing with her customers. They left her great
tips. It wasn’t just her looks. Linda knew how to talk to people. Fiona would
have given anything to be as confident. Every time she had to talk to
strangers, her heart pounded so hard she could barely hear her own mouse voice
as it tried to squeak out something clever. She couldn’t look someone in the
eyes to save her life, and she spent most of the day staring at her feet.
If
shyness were a disease, Fiona would have been rushed to intensive care and put
on a social respirator.
She
sighed and halted at the party room doors.
Something
was wrong; they were shut.
The
party room was always left open during the day so customers could see the large
table that sat two dozen, the wet bar and the television, and be tempted to
book it for sports events or birthday parties.
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