Chapter 9: What Valerie Wanted

Valerie wanted to start at a record store on Fenner Street.

It was the size of a hallway, and it smelled like cardboard and old coffee.

She flipped through the bins with the tips of her fingers, and I watched her do it.

"I like this one," she said, holding up a record with a blue cover.

I had it paid for before she'd put it down.

"Sabrina."

"It was twelve dollars."

"I was only saying I liked it."

"I know," I said. "And now you have it."

She looked at the bag, then at me, and her mouth did something complicated.

Outside, we walked along the river.

A stall on the bridge was selling scarves, and she paused at a green one for exactly as long as it takes to breathe in.

I bought it.

She tried to hand me money, and I put my hands behind my back, and she stood there holding a ten-dollar bill and laughing.

"This is a problem," she said. "I think you have a problem."

"I have a rule."

"What's the rule?"

"No pretty person leaves my company disappointed."

"That's not a rule. That's a weakness."

"It's both," I said.

At the end of the bridge, a man was playing a saxophone beside an open case.

Valerie slowed down.

She smiled at him, and the man smiled back and went into the second verse of something slow.

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