Читать книгу Miss Lamp - Christopher Ewart - Страница 5

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Miss Lamp.

Miss Lamp shines.

A half-smile from Miss Lamp lights her hotel room like a yellow party dress. She left her sky-blue knee-high skirt at home, home where she strums songs on Saturdays, songs about chameleons, raccoons or not eating dill pickles. The stoop hits thirty degrees on a good June morning. She sings with shiny lips on a good June morning. Peach lip balm.

That skirt gets hot enough to melt. But it just shines bluer.

She lies in her hotel bed in the evening, sun still up, wiggling her toes free of the sheets. Dribbling a sip of juice on her flannel Mountie pyjamas, she caresses her neck and says, ‘I miss my water pillow.’ After reading the ‘Major Major Major Major’ chapter from Catch-22 aloud, she thinks about insurance.

Her travel bag sits snugly beside the door of Room 32. Miss Lamp travels light. She flies a lot when that dental-insurance company retains her counsel, so she’s well-read in dentistry. Her attaché case contains the latest news on the practice of malpractice, plastic-composite teeth, the benefits of freezing gum tissue before drilling and transcripts about her gentle, ailing mother, Abby.

Miss Lamp’s belly grumbles in Room 32, barely halfway across town from her gentle, ailing crybaby of a mother.

‘One more mission,’ sighs Miss Lamp. ‘At least the peaches are in season.’