The Prettiest Feathers Read Online Free Page B

were right.
    I left the subway at Houston and walked to Emily and Others. I wanted to approach the place on foot, get a feel for the neighborhood, and to avoid the unofficial parking attendant I had encountered on my first visit.
    Emily and Others is in a demilitarized zone that’s surrounded by Puerto Ricans, blacks, elderly Jews, and poor, white Irish. I walked the length of the street resisting the urge to cover my nose and mouth with a handkerchief against the stench of waste, and all the dust that hadn’t yet settled from last night’s wars.
    I made the brass bell ring, then walked to the New Directions shelf and found a copy of Rimbaud’s
Drunken Boat
, the Varèse translation.
    “Emily isn’t here,” Sarah said from behind me. “She’s at lunch with the others.”
    Today she wore a navy skirt with a white blouse that was open at her throat. There was color in her face and definite humor in her voice.
    “That brings us directly to why I’m here,” I said.
    “Which? Emily, lunch, or the others?”
    “You,” I said, and smiled my most engaging smile.
    “I think we better start over.”
    “Wouldn’t you rather have lunch? We could start over with a Caesar salad and some iced tea.”
    “I can’t,” she said, looking genuinely disappointed. “There’s a girl who usually covers for me, but she isn’t here today. Harry, the owner, doesn’t like the place to be closed.”
    “What about after work? We could go for coffee.”
    She hesitated.
    “My name may be Wolf,” I said, “but I’m not one.”
    Sarah smiled. “There’s a little place down the block. I get off at five.”
    “Five is fine,” I said. “But I’d like to choose the place, if you don’t mind. I’m very particular about my coffee.”
    Again she hesitated, then finally shrugged. “I always thought coffee was coffee, but sure.”
    I bought the Rimbaud and left.
    Five hours later Sarah was waiting for me outside the bookstore when I pulled to the curb. The ebony guardian of the bricks was in place, hiding behind hooded eyes. I detest complications, and that particular piece of human debris had made himself one.
    “Where are we going?” Sarah asked as she got into my car.
    “Uptown,” I said. “There’s a place I like called Fast Eddie’s.”
    “Never heard of it.”
    Fast Eddie’s may not be well known, but Eddie takes pride in his coffee and dessert menu. The name is derived from Eddie’s having seen
The Hustler
too many times.
    After settling down at the table Eddie had saved for us in a quiet corner, I recommended that Sarah try my favorite blend—half Colombian supreme, half French roast—with a piece of Eddie’s cheesecake.
    “But I haven’t had dinner,” she said.
    “Who ever said we have to eat our food in a certain order?” I asked. “Rules are made to be broken.”
    She laughed. I looked at her hairline, forehead, eyebrows, the bridge of her nose, her eyes, her mouth—so that her face would become a picture in my mind, one I could conjure up at any time. And, of course, there was the uncorrupted scent of her soap. Finally, I had her to hold for as long as I wished.
    “Who are you really?” she asked.
    “I grew up on the coast of Maine, preacher’s kid. Went to college in the Boston area, made a few decent business deals in the seventies, a few better ones in the gluttonous eighties, and now I can afford to indulge my passion for literature, music, and excellent coffee. What about you?”
    Sarah frowned. “I wouldn’t know where to start. I went to college for a while, but it was kind of a waste.”
    She was struggling. I didn’t want that, but it did give me an opportunity to accomplish one of the purposes of the trip. I reached out and covered her hand with mine.
    “We can share biographies another time,” I said. “Try the coffee.”
    I didn’t let the moment drag on, become awkward. It’s always enough for me to touch a woman’s hand for just an instant. I learn what I need to know, and