"What can you do?"
"I've got three-quarters of a degree in environmental studies, one year
of kinesiology, and a half-written one-act play. Oh, and student debt
until the year 3000."
"A play!" he said, slapping his thighs. "You should finish it. I'm a
writer, too, you know."
"I thought you had a clothing shop."
"I did. And a bookshop, and a collectibles shop, and an antique
shop. Not all at the same time, you understand. But now I'm
writing. Going to write a story, then I imagine I'll open another
shop. But I'm more interested in *you*, Mimi, and your play. Why
half-finished?"
She shrugged and combed her hair back with her fingers. Her hair was
brown and thick and curly, down to her shoulders. Alan adored curly
hair. He'd had a clerk at the comics shop with curly hair just like
hers, an earnest and bright young thing who drew her own comics in the
back room on her breaks, using the receiving table as a drawing
board. She'd never made much of a go of it as an artist, but she did end
up publishing a popular annual anthology of underground comics that had
captured the interest of the *New Yorker* the year before. "I just ran
out of inspiration," Mimi said, tugging at her hair.
"Well, there you are. Time to get inspired again. Stop by any time and
we'll talk about it, all right?"
"If I get back to it, you'll be the first to know."
"Tremendous!" he said. "I just know it'll be fantastic. Now, who plays
the guitar?"
"Krishna," Link said. "I noodle a bit, but he's really good."
"He sure is," Alan said. "He was in fine form last night, about three
a.m.!" He chuckled pointedly.
There was an awkward silence. Alan slurped down his second
coffee. "Whoops!" he said. "I believe I need to impose on you for the
use of your facilities?"
"What?" Natalie and Link said simultaneously.
"He wants the toilet," Mimi said. "Up the stairs, second door on the
right. Jiggle the handle after you flush."
The bathroom was crowded with too many towels and too many
toothbrushes. The sink was powdered with blusher and marked with
lipstick and mascara residue. It made Alan feel at home. He liked young
people. Liked their energy, their resentment, and their
enthusiasm. Didn't like their guitar-playing at three a.m.; but he'd
sort that out soon enough.
He washed his hands and carefully rinsed the long curly hairs from the
bar before replacing it in its dish, then returned to the living room.
"Abel," Mimi said, "sorry if the guitar kept you up last night."
"No sweat," Alan said. "It must be hard to find time to practice when
you work nights."
"Exactly," Natalie said. "Exactly right! Krishna always practices when
he comes back from work. He blows off some steam so he can get to
bed. We just all learned to sleep through it."
"Well," Alan said, "to be honest, I'm hoping I won't have to learn to do
that. But I think that maybe I have a solution we can both live with."
"What's that?" Mimi said, jutting her chin forward.
"It's easy, really. I can put up a resilient channel and a baffle along
that wall there, soundproofing. I'll paint it over white and you won't
even notice the difference. Shouldn't take me more than a week. Happy to
do it. Thick walls make good neighbors."
"We don't really have any money to pay for renovations," Mimi said.
Alan waved his hand. "Who said anything about money? I just want to
solve the problem. I'd do it on my side of the wall, but I've just
finished renovating."