There's a (Slight) Chance I Might Be Going to Hell - v4 by Laurie Notaro Page B

some reason.”
    “Tell me about it,” the cashier laughed. “I just moved here, too, and the only people I’ve met are the people who work here. It is a hard place to make friends.”
    “I know! I work at home,” Maye continued. “So my exposure to civilization is rather limited.”
    “What do you do that you get to work at home?” the cashier asked.
    “Oh,” Maye said blithely. “You know. Phone sex, because honestly, desperate men just really want to talk.”
    “Then you should be meeting plenty of people,” the cashier said, laughing.
    Maye laughed, too. “None that I want to invite over for a barbecue. I’m a reporter. Well, I
was
a reporter. I
was
. Now I’m freelance, just writing. This and that, whatever I can get my hands on.”
    “You’re kidding me!” the cashier cried. “I’m a writer, too, and I worked at a newspaper. I was the food critic for the
Aspen Sentinel
! I thought I could get something at the paper here when I moved, but no dice. So I’m a bookstore manager slinging books. Could be worse—I could be a phone-sex worker. I’m Bonnie, by the way.”
    “I’m Maye,” she replied, and held out her hand to shake Bonnie’s. “It’s nice to meet you.”
    “It’s nice to meet anybody,” Bonnie added with a chuckle.
    “It sure is,” Maye said, and signed her credit card receipt.
    “Enjoy the book,” Bonnie said as she handed Maye a bag. “Again.”
    Maye nodded and thought for a moment about asking Bonnie if she’d like to grab a coffee sometime, and suddenly felt like an adolescent boy at prom time. Could she ask Bonnie out on a friend date? Would that seem too forward? Was it pushy, was it needy? Should she just play hard to get instead? Would she have to pay for the coffees? Did Bonnie even really like her, or was Maye reading something into the situation that wasn’t really there? Was there something between them, or was Maye imagining it? And who asks a cashier out after a fifteen-second conversation, anyway? A pervert, Maye’s mother would say, that’s who! She’ll think I’m a weirdo, Maye concluded, plus, what if she said no? What will I do then? Never be able to come back to the bookstore to feed my degenerate book thirst, Maye decided, and smiled at Bonnie instead.
    “Thanks,” she said and waved quickly before heading out the door.
     
     
    With her copy of
Practical Magic
nestled in her purse, Maye rang Crystal’s doorbell and then waited, pulling her coat tight around her. The autumn winds had backed down a little to make room for a quickly approaching winter chill as Spaulding’s trademark green landscape succumbed to rusty-colored branches and fallen leaves everywhere. Outside Crystal’s house, tall, browning weeds had grown up and through every opening in the front walk; the house matched the ragged, spotty lawn and the front door, which looked like it had been kicked more times than a bad habit. Maye noticed a barrage of stickers covering not only the bumper but also the back window on a beat-up old Volkswagen Jetta with rust gobbling up its wheel wells. BACK OFF, I’M A GODDESS, Maye read quietly, mouthing the words. ANKH IF YOU LOVE ISIS. WHO’S DRIVING: YOU OR YOUR ADDICT? She was still shivering from that last one when the door swung open suddenly and a generously shaped woman in her fifties wearing a shiny black-and-purple corset smiled at Maye, her face covered in glittery sparkles. Maye had had no idea what to expect from the book club, but she did know one thing; she didn’t expect to be the only participant not dressed as an eighteenth-century pub wench on her way to a rave. Maye looked down at her own below-the-knee, tan corduroy skirt, her now famous vintage sweater, and her black leather Mary Janes as she took her coat off and felt a little Republican when she saw that the rest of the club was swathed in some sort of flowy gauzy or velvet ensemble, mostly the color of night.
    Some people, Maye thought as she entered the room and was