The Fresco by Sheri S. Tepper Page B

snuggling up in all that unexpected luxury while reading a good book was attractive, so she asked if he knew of a bookstore within walking distance of her hotel.
    He took her directly to a sizeable place only a few blocks from the hotel, a store that seemed to take up all the south side of a short block. The name was in gold across the front windows: The Literary Lobby. When Benita got out, she told the driver she’d walk from there. There were newspaper vending machines along the sidewalk, and she walked down the line, reading the headlines:
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    MIDDLE EAST ERUPTS IN NEW CONFLICT
OVER 200 DEAD IN RIOTS
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    DRUG SHOOTOUT TAKES LIVES OF BYSTANDERS
TODDLERS, TWO SISTERS KILLED IN DRIVE-BY
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    TOBACCO COMPANIES SUED BY FOREIGN COUNTRIES
EXPORTS IMMORAL, SAY CHINESE
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    DROUGHT AND CIVIL WAR A LETHAL COMBINATION
STARVATION THREATENS MILLIONS
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    TEXAS WOMAN BEARS NINE CHILDREN
FERTILITY DRUGS BLAMED FOR LITTERING
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    It was all the same depressing stuff. She turned to consider the window display instead. Down in the corner a neatly lettered card caught and held her eyes: “Sales help wanted.” People passed behind her, back and forth on the sidewalk, but her gaze was fixed on that card.
    The door of the store opened and closed, but she didn’t notice until a voice at her shoulder said, “You’re looking at that notice as though it were a snake with a diamond ring in its mouth.”
    He had quizzical eyes, untidy graying hair and a strong jaw with a huge ink smear along one side.
    â€œSnake with a what?” she asked.
    â€œYou know. As though you’re wondering, is it a rattlesnake or only a gopher snake? Is it a real diamond or only cubic zirconium? Shall I grab it by the tail and shake the stone loose, or shall I let well enough alone?”
    â€œI was thinking of grabbing it by the tail,” she said, surprising herself. “I have around fifteen years experience working in a bookstore.”
    â€œWell, come in!” He bowed toward the door, stretched out a lanky arm to push it open, and beckoned her to follow him down the aisle, turn left, right and left again into an office at the back corner of the building, with both east-and south-facing windows that gave him excellent views of two triangular parking lots and the boulevard that cut across diagonally behind them. He dropped into the chair behind the desk and burrowed in a pile of papers, drawing out two or three sheets before he found what he was looking for.
    â€œApplication,” he said, putting it before her. “Pen,” putting that before her as well. “Complete, while I wander around out there, then I’ll be back.”
    What was she doing? She stared at his retreating back with that same feeling of inexorable reality she’d had ever since Saturday, except for that brief empty time last night, when she’d put the entire matter in other people’s hands and they’d finally quit asking questions. Well, it would be good practice to apply for a job. Marsh and Goose had never given her a reason to look for a new job, though the salary wasn’t great and the benefits were iffy. Working there always had been pleasant.
    Had been. Operative words. Somewhere along the line, during the last couple of days, without quite knowing it, she had reached a decision.
    â€œName,” she muttered to herself, reading it from the form. Benita Alvarez. Age. Not quite forty, but so close as made no difference. Residence. Currently staying in a hotel, former residence… former residence? Well, why not? Former residence, Albuquerque, New Mexico. Work experience. Sixteen, no, seventeen years…no, say the first two didn’t count. Lord, she’d started when Angelica was one, so it had been sixteen years when Angelica graduated high school, and that had been a year ago last June. Counting full time only, fifteen and a half years, clerk, bookkeeper, assistant manager, the Written Word.