Читать книгу Iris Has Free Time - Iris Smyles - Страница 8

The Maxim Man’s superhero costume stretched over his whole face and body, so I couldn’t actually see him, though I was able to make out the contour of his nose and cast of his eyes. He held out his hand. I raised mine to say, “I’ll pass,” but he grabbed it firmly and wouldn’t let go. “Okay, okay,” I sighed and, like a good sport, planted my elbow on the table.

There, dressed like a 1939 career-gal and struggling arm-to-arm with a superhero, I reviewed the details of my disastrous interview, consoling myself that at least no one I knew had witnessed it. Forget it, Iris! I told myself, blinking back tears and gazing up into the shady hollows behind The Maxim Man’s lycra-covered eyes. I was looking directly into them, wondering what I was going to do with my life, now that it had officially started, when it hit me: The Maxim Man was Donald.

Donald, the boy I had loved all through college. Donald—my Beatrice!—about whom I’d written so many of my free-verse poems. Donald, whom I still always hoped I’d run into somewhere—he’d see me first, across the room; I’d be drinking a martini and chatting with a handsome man in my thrall....

By the time the back of my wrist hit the table, I was all but convinced that I was arm-wrestling the then love-of-my-life Donald and that those were his all-seeing eyes staring out at me from behind the mask. And what disturbed me most about this revelation was that I couldn’t decide for whom the situation was more humiliating. I cringed thinking Donald had just witnessed my interview, but then, if he had, he’d done so covered in red and blue lycra. Of course, he at least had a job, which was more than I could say. Though it wasn’t quite the job in publishing he’d bragged about last I saw him.

He let go of my hand and offered a theatrical salute.

I looked up, smiled, and staggered away.

It was all so confusing. Only five months earlier, I was being congratulated—“It is my great pleasure to present the Class of 2000!” I’d stood up to a round of applause.

I floated among the crowd of applicants, their conversations merging into a boisterous hum. I looked around, visited a few more booths, and filled the free laminated folder I got from Scholastic with pencil erasers and tiny Kit Kats. Heavy with “gifts,” I decided to head home.