Beyond Repair by Charlotte Stein Page A

she went with something
light and noncommittal.
    “I wouldn’t have them if I didn’t,” she said, and he seemed
to fall silent then. She could still see him at the end of the third row,
looking and looking with eyes as wonder-filled as his voice, but the comments
came to an abrupt stop. They came to so abrupt a stop that it worried her a
little. Had he guessed why she liked stuff like that? Was he going to ask? And
even worse…
    Had he seen her secret shame?
    She didn’t think he was in the right place, but it had been
so long since she watched anything of his she couldn’t be sure. She just had to
follow him in some vain hope of heading him off at the pass—a feat that got
more futile as time went on. Just as she was sure she’d reached him he would
disappear around another corner, until she started to feel lost in her own
library. She rounded an L-shaped section, expecting to see him on the other
side, but he wasn’t there anymore.
    Somehow she’d created an impossible labyrinth, with walls
that slid suddenly sideways and corridors that took you to nowhere. Next thing
she knew there’d be staircases on the ceiling, and Holden floating upside down
above her head.
    She had to ask.
    “Hey, where are you?”
    “Over here, by the random movie section,” he said, and
relief flooded through her. He hadn’t worked it out yet. He wasn’t even close,
in fact. After a second he added more, in so bemused a tone she could have
kissed him. She could have kept him like that forever, in a permanent state of
blissful ignorance. “None of these are in order.”
    “I don’t need any kind of order,” she said, and for one
glorious moment he seemed satisfied with that. She saw him through the gaps
between boxes, finding this movie and that movie like unearthing buried
treasure, just having fun with the idea of everything being a big jumble.
    But eventually he was compelled to mention the problem.
    “How do you ever find anything, though?” he asked, and she
had to think fast.
    Unfortunately, thinking fast was not her strong suit.
    “Oh…well…they kind of are. All the Star Treks are
together, all the sitcoms are together, all the horror is together and so on.”
    “Yeah but there’s no alphabetical.”
    She saw him glancing up and up, as though searching for the
elusive ABCs.
    She hated to disappoint him. She hated it so much.
    “I don’t like alphabetical,” she said, but knew that
wouldn’t be the end of the matter. He had hold of the end of the string now,
and was pulling and pulling on it. And when it finally came free, there was
laughter in his voice. He sounded so amused, which was somehow much worse than
contempt.
    “Wait…are these in order of actor?”
    “Um…see the thing about that is—”
    “They are in order of actor. You’ve got ten movies
here starring James Spader.” He laughed, oh God he laughed. “You like James
Spader, huh? Got a little crush on him?”
    “That could possibly be the case.”
    “Have a thing for smart redheads, maybe?”
    “Well I do sort—”
    “Guess that explains why you’re not into me.”
    She thought she’d misheard, for a second. His tone was not
the tone she was used to, all bright with amusement and affection. It was a
touch darker, as if he’d just tasted something bitter. And the actual
words…surely he couldn’t mean what she thought he meant? But before she could
even ask about it or make it better, he’d already moved on to some other
flummoxing, unfathomable point.
    “Oh my God, Alan Rickman? That…is a really hard standard to
meet. I can’t even do a British accent, as you probably know if you’ve seen my
completely excruciating attempt at a period drama.” She held her breath,
knowing what was coming. He’d moved a little farther to the left now, so
couldn’t really fail to see it—though she somehow hoped he wouldn’t. She hoped
she hoped she hoped and all in vain. “Christ you have seen it. And
you’ve also seen the one with