The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written (34 page)

“
It’s about a little girl,” Johnny said.

Gloria released Marion’s hand. “Whew.”

“
That bad?” Marion mouthed.

“
I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Gloria whispered.

“
I haven’t named my main character yet,” Johnny said. “Do you mind if I name her after you?”

Angel shook her head.

“
Would you like to hear some of my story?” Johnny asked.

Angel shrugged.

I had better have a gripping grabber then.
“In the city of Roanoke lived a gorgeous little girl named Angel.”

Angel’s eyes popped.

Very cool.
“Angel was the smartest girl in Roanoke, but she didn’t know everything.”

“
Where’s he going with this?” Marion whispered.

“
Shh,” Gloria whispered, “I like this wrinkle in the plot.”

“
Angel read thick books all the time,” Johnny said, “and she read till her eyes were as dry as the Sahara Desert. Even her glasses got tired of all that reading and often fell asleep. But Angel was never satisfied. ‘I want to know more,’ she said. She gathered all the smartest people in Roanoke to teach her everything, but even the smartest people in Roanoke couldn’t satisfy Angel’s thirst for knowledge. Computers were too slow and often broke down because of faulty operating systems no one wanted to use.”

“
Huh?’ Marion whispered.

“
He’s famous for tangents,” Gloria whispered.

“
Angel wondered all the time,” Johnny said, “‘How can I know everything if everyone around me is so stupid?’”

Angel didn’t seem to be breathing.

I think I have struck a nerve. This town will never be smart enough for our Angel.
“So Angel took a fantastic journey to find out everything there was to know, and she packed very light. She only took a few sharp pencils, a notebook, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a bottle of water. She didn’t want anyone or anything to slow her down. ‘I will know everything,’ Angel said, ‘if it’s the last thing I do.’”
This is an excellent place to stop, mainly because I don’t know where to go next.
Johnny closed the book on ancient Egypt and laid it on the couch.

“
Johnny?” Angel asked.

She started a question with my name!
“Yes?”

“
What happens next?” Angel asked.

Johnny sniffed the air. “Mmm-mm. That soup smells wonderful. I’ll bet it’s almost ready.”

“
But the soup won’t be ready for half an hour,” Marion whispered.

“
He can’t think of anything else,” Gloria whispered. “We have to do something.”

“
I don’t smell anything,” Angel said.

Neither
do I! Lunch should always be ready when I can’t think of the next chapter.
“I have a very keen sense of smell, my dear. I work at a pizzeria.”

“
Well … tell me the rest of my, I mean, tell me the rest of your story,” Angel said.

“
It’s a long story,” Johnny said. “It might take me a bunch of visits to finish it. I’ll tell you chapter one tomorrow.”

“
That wasn’t the first chapter?” Angel asked.

“
Oh no,” Johnny said. “That was the foreword. It was just to get the reader’s attention, to whet the reader’s appetite.”
And you certainly look hungry. And so am I! Where’s lunch?

“
Why don’t you write it all down so I can read it?” Angel asked.

Johnny tapped his temple. “It’s all up here. I haven’t written any of it down. I have it memorized.”

“
You do?” Angel asked.

It’s easy to memorize nothing!
“I do. I have to tell a story all the way through in my head before I write any of it down.”

Now that’s a lie,
Gloria thought. She tugged Marion’s arm, and they returned to the kitchen.

“
You must not write many books,” Angel said.

“
You’re right,” Johnny said. “But I believe in quality over quantity.”

“
Whatever you say,” Angel said, and she returned with gusto to the puzzle.

Johnny escaped to the kitchen where lunch
wasn’t
waiting.
How long does it take to warm up soup?

“
You had me hooked, too,” Gloria said, stirring the pot. “I wish you hadn’t stopped. What’s going to happen next?”

They were listening, too?
Johnny thought.
This house is far too small.

Marion flipped a sandwich on the griddle. “You could write children’s books, Johnny.”

Johnny flopped into a seat. “Nah. I can’t draw anything but straight lines. I suppose I could write a book about building a city.”

Gloria brought a spoonful of soup to Johnny. “Careful. It’s hot.”

“
I should blow on it, huh?” Johnny asked.

“
Not in my kitchen,” Marion said. “I have enough spatters on the wall as it is.”

Johnny breathed in the vapors, blew gently, and let the savory red broth wet his tongue. “Tomato-ey. Is it ready?”

“
No,” Gloria said. “Another twenty minutes.”

But it’s just tomato soup with a little extra basil!
Johnny thought.
I don’t want you to burn it!

“
Johnny,” Marion said, “I’m interested in knowing where you plan to take Angel on her journey.”

“
I have no idea,” Johnny whispered. “I do know that I hope I never finish the story.”

Yes,
Gloria thought.
This man is my boyfriend.

During lunch, the ladies carefully sipped their soup and daintily ate their grilled cheese sandwiches, their crumbs falling gracefully to their plates, their spoons never too full, their lips never smacking. Johnny watched in awe as they almost synchronized each movement. They reminded him those drinking birds that bobbed their heads up and down with military precision.

This is creepy,
Johnny thought.
And absolutely no fun.

Johnny decided to be neither careful nor dainty. He ripped his sandwich into four parts, cheese oozing out all sides, his crumbs scattering onto the table. Then he dipped his sandwich into the soup, let it soak for a count of ten, and put his face an inch from his bowl before he slurped his sandwich.

“
This is good,” Johnny said, his mouth full, dribbles of soup leaking from his lips to his chin. “Just the right amount of basil, Gloria.”

Gloria smiled, dropped her spoon, and dipped the remainder of her sandwich into her soup, gulping half of it in a bite. Marion shrugged and joined in, smacking her lips loudly.

Angel looked up briefly, shook her head, and continued to eat daintily and carefully, nary a drop spilling from her spoon.

Johnny looked at the red puddles around his bowl. “Either I’m bleeding or the table is bleeding. One of us is bleeding. Someone call nine-one-one.”

Angel sighed. “You’re making a mess, Johnny.”

“
I am kind of greasy.” Johnny finally had an idea for chapter one. “Speaking of grease, Greece is the first place Angel visits in my story.”

“
Right,” Angel said.

“
No, really,” Johnny said.
Should I take her to the Parthenon or the Acropolis? Should I try to explain the Peloponnesian Wars? Can anyone explain those wars? Do I have her witness the first Olympics? No, the men were all naked. I could just have her meet Socrates or Hippocrates … or Aristotle. Yeah.
“Angel wanted to meet Aristotle, one of the smartest men who ever lived.”

“
Isn’t Aristotle dead?” Gloria asked.

Oh yeah. I can’t use time-travel. It has to be real.
“Yes, of course he’s dead, Gloria,” Johnny said, smiling. “Angel had always wanted to meet Aristotle so they could be brilliant together, but she settled for one of Aristotle’s incredibly interesting and informative books instead.”

“
What was his book about?” Angel asked.

Johnny shifted toward Angel. “This is pretty deep information, Angel. Are you sure you’re ready for it?”
And will I remember enough of what Aristotle wrote? I only had one philosophy course, and that was over ten years ago!

Angel patted her lips dry with her napkin. “Ready.”

“
Well, Aristotle …”
The man wrote a lot of stuff. I’ll stick to the famous bits.
“Aristotle said that people wanted to be happy, but in order to be happy, people had to have a reason to be here, um, like a job.”
Okay, so it’s not exact, but it’ll do.

“
So people who don’t have a job aren’t happy?” Angel asked.

“
I’m sure many of them are,” Johnny said.

Gloria stared hard at Marion.

Marion smiled and stared back.

“
But maybe,” Johnny said, “it’s their job not to have a job.”

“
That makes no sense,” Angel said.

Marion smiled at Gloria.

Gloria did not smile back.

“
I told you this was deep.” Johnny looked into Angel’s eyes. “Aristotle said we have to have jobs that we are best at doing. He said we wouldn’t be happy if we did jobs we were only good at doing. If a pizza delivery driver wanted to be a writer and that made him happy, he must be best at being a pizza delivery driver and a writer. An eye, Aristotle said, is for seeing because that is what an eye is best at doing. An ear is for hearing because …”

“
That’s what an ear is best at doing,” Angel said.

“
And lips, then,” Johnny said, turning to look into Gloria’s eyes, “are for kissing because that is what lips are best at doing.”

This is so romantic,
Gloria said.
Boring, but romantic.

This is the dumbest children’s story I’ve ever heard,
Marion thought.
Lips are best for smacking.

“
Aristotle’s point is this,” Johnny said, hoping he’d at least come close to any point Aristotle might have made. “He said human beings are best at reasoning, at thinking things through, so in order for us to be happy …”

“
We have to think a lot,” Angel said.

“
And learning this beautiful fact,” Johnny said, “made Angel very happy because she liked to think a lot. ‘My job must be to think,’ Angel said, ‘because I’m the best thinker I know.’”

The kitchen was quiet.

It’s too quiet in here,
Johnny thought.
That’s all I got, folks. I’m tapped out. The end. End of chapter one. Put in the bookmark, close the book, and turn out the light.

Angel nodded. “Was that the first chapter?”

Johnny nodded.
Just don’t ask for chapter two until next week.

“
It was okay,” Angel said. “May I be excused?”

Gloria nodded, and Angel left the kitchen.

“
Angel?” Gloria called.

Angel returned. “Oh.” She took her bowl, spoon, plate, and cup to the sink. “Sorry.” Then she skipped out of the kitchen.

Johnny looked at Gloria and Marion.
Why are their eyes so wide? What just happened? A little girl forgot to do something then skipped out. Big deal. I forget to wear socks sometimes, but no one can see that I’m not … Wait.
“That was a first, wasn’t it?”

Gloria and Marion nodded.

“
She doesn’t normally forget her dishes,” Johnny said.

Gloria and Marion shook their heads.

“
And she doesn’t skip,” Johnny said.

“
I didn’t know she
could,
” Gloria whispered. “And all because you told her a whack story about a Greek philosopher.”