Samuel Bucket’s wife, Beatrice, opened the door and snapped her fingers until I put the books on the table where Samuel sat with his substantial and fluttering beard. Beatrice sat on the edge of their bed and resumed pushing paper through a shredder.
“These books have pressed flowers,” said Mr. Bucket, aghast. “When you called, you said the books had marginalia from a noted author, not flowers.”
I apologized. If I tried to deny that they were in the books, I would look like I was wasting his time.
Beatrice put the flowers through the shredder. A cloying smell filled the room.
“Do you like IKEA meatballs?” Beatrice was remarkably agile in her yoga leotard, scooping the balls out of two pots on the stove. Samuel moved the books as she dumped meatballs into bowls on the table.
“One bowl has meatballs from IKEA. The other bowl of meatballs is mine. Most clients can’t tell the difference.”
She was right. Her eyebrows raised with each sampling. I couldn’t tell the difference and pushed the bowls away, assuming the test had concluded.
“Let’s digest while Samuel finishes with your books.”
I did not expect Beatrice to drag me into bed and give me a leaky sippy cup full of an unpleasant white wine.
“Sorry. My daughter chewed on these cups. Some of them leak.”
Beatrice put me to sleep with a guided meditation. I woke when she pulled the bedding out from under me, and we draped it over the railing on the balcony above a noisy street. Samuel joined us with a small book that he shook over the railing mercilessly. Nothing fluttered to the street.
“If you can’t say something nice about free verse, don’t say anything,” he said. “Here’s a coupon for a beer at the Tavern. We’ll call you when we’ve made a decision.”
Beatrice insisted I wear a pastel coat with a furry collar, identifying me as a client, so there wouldn’t be a fight in the bar. It was big and smelled of cumin.
“My daughter is a big-boned girl. You will meet her if her bus is on time.”
~
A beer was ready on the counter with old guys flanking an empty stool. One old guy asked if I’d like to hear him describe the bar in a passive voice. The bartender seemed eager for the description. I declined politely.
“Watch yourself with the daughter,” he said. “She’s fast.”
He left for the back room and didn’t reappear until it was time for me to return to the apartment. First, finish your beer, he said. If you’re lucky, we’ll deny that you were ever here.
~
When I opened the door, Beth grabbed her coat, yanking me inside against a chiropractic table. The room smelled of meatballs simmering on the stove.
“Where are your parents?”
“They’re not my parents. I work on a security detail.”
She smelled the coat and checked the pockets.
“You stunk up the fabric,” she said. “But it’s kind of sexy. You smell like a mink.”
“I was nervous about the transaction. It wasn’t going well.”
Beth was pretty and proportioned appropriately for the circumstances.
“Before I got into security, I was a working chiropractor. Your left leg is shorter than your right. I can’t work with you limping around. Get on the table.”
She talked as she manipulated.
“I’m saving my virginity for a guy with a straight spine.”
She wrapped a towel around my neck and yanked. As I gasped and moaned, there was a knock at the door for the delivery of an envelope and a package.
“Let’s get in bed, sweety. I’ll read the letter to you.”
She waved the letter, drawing me into bed.
“After careful consideration, we regret that we are unable to buy your books at this time. We read them with great interest, but we have a small staff, and we are flooded with submissions. Please bring more books to us in the future.”
Beth undressed. The package contained six Bibles.
“What’s with the Bibles?”
“The Devil is about to release a Rapture featuring millions of cowboys riding horses. It’s both farcical and ahistorical.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Beth put her hands on her hips.
“This room is rented by the hour. We need to get to know each other if we’re going to live together in a safe house.”
“I think I’d like my books back.”
“The books were moved to the safe house. I can get you some first editions.”
Beth lied about her virginity. When we were done, Samuel and Beatrice stepped into the room and demanded that we dress and leave immediately. An idling van provided cover as flames burst from five floors of windows. We jumped into the van and sped through midtown traffic on a planned route to the suburbs. At a red light, I told them I’d left the Bibles in the apartment. Beth grabbed me.
“I fucked you for nothing!”
She threw me out of the van in front of a failing mall. When I took a moment to look around, I saw a parking lot teeming with horses and the Rapture Cowboys, many gathered around smoky BBQ grills. One of the cowboys came up to me with a plate of beans.
“When does traffic thin out?” he asked.
“Soon. What are you all doing?”
“Some of us are going into the suburbs. My group is going downtown. You can ride with us. We got all the gear you’ll need. Might be sweaty.”
“I don’t ride horses.”
“Shoot, I misjudged you. Well, you can help with the horses when we get back. Let’s get you some barbecue.”
At the sound of bugles, the cowboys mounted their horses, and those in front left the parking lot in a gallop. The friendly cowboy handed me his plate of beans and mounted his horse.
“Don’t let the meat burn.”
~
David Gilbert has published stories and poetry in Bull, Blip, New World Writing, Mississippi Review Online, First Intensity, Caliban, Screens and Tasted Parallels, and other magazines. He has co-edited two collections of stories with Karl Roeseler: Here Lies and 2000andWhat? He is the author of five books: I Shot the Hairdresser, Five Happiness, and the priced-to-read Overland, A Third Bridge, and Central Casting.