The Bookish Life of Nina Hill - Abbi Waxman Page 0,3

it.”

Nina shook her head.

“Please.”

Nina sighed. “You have to give me a category.”

“Marine life.”

“Too easy. A hundred-pound octopus can squeeze through a hole the size of a cherry tomato.”

“Kurt Vonnegut.”

“He opened one of the first Saab dealerships in America.”

“Jupiter.”

“Has the shortest day of all the planets. Can I stop now?”

“Does it hurt your head? Do you see auras around things?”

“No, but your expectant expression is low key stressing me out.”

Liz cackled and walked away. “You have no idea how amusing that party trick is,” she added over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to dress nice tomorrow. Mephistopheles is coming in.”

“OK.” Nina frowned after her, then tried to remember how long Jupiter’s day actually was. She couldn’t help it; it was . . . 9 hours and 55 minutes. Thank God for that. Not being able to remember something was, for Nina, torture. It was like an itch on the roof of your mouth, or when you get a bug bite between your toes. You have to go after it, even though it’s almost too much sensation to deal with. Liz thought all the clubs and activities Nina did were a way to be social, but she was totally wrong. Left undistracted, her brain tended to fly off the rails and drive her insane with endless meandering rivers of thought, or constant badgering questions she needed to look up answers to. The trivia, the reading, the book club . . . they were simply weapons of self-defense.

Two

In which we learn a few things that irritate Nina.

Nina walked home in the golden light of her evening neighborhood, the magical hour beloved of lighting directors and single people dreaming their plans for the night. Around her, people walked their dogs after work, talking on their phones, oblivious to the slanting sun glinting on windows and door knockers, the colors of the pastel sky as gauzy as any red-carpet lineup. Nina often reflected that LA was not a pretty city, architecturally speaking, but the sky made it beautiful several times a day. As with all things Hollywood, the lighting guy is God.

For example, at this time of day the sun made a great deal of her dark red hair. Had Nina known how pretty it looked, she would have taken a photo of herself, but sadly, she was thinking about pickles—sliced, whole, or relish, discuss—and missed the opportunity. In general, she wasn’t the kind of woman who turned casual heads; her looks were an acquired taste, and her resting expression suggested you weren’t going to be given much chance to acquire it. She was small and slender and gave the overall impression of a baby deer, until she spoke and you realized you’d been looking at a fox all along. As her good friend Leah once said, she wasn’t mean; she was painfully accurate.

Nina rented the guesthouse of one of the larger houses on Windsor Boulevard. It was a charming little place, completely separate from the main house, with its own entrance. Absolutely perfect for Nina. The owners were friends of Nina’s mother, and when Nina finished college had miraculously just finished renovating their guesthouse. They generously offered to rent it to Nina, who couldn’t have been happier to accept.

Her cat, Phil, was sitting on the gate waiting for her. Phil was a tabby of the brown and cream variety, with a black tip to his tail and white feet. He jumped down as the gate opened and preceded her up the stairs, the tip of his tail forming a jaunty accent like the marker flag on a toddler’s bicycle. Nina noticed he’d left a large but very dead worm on the doormat. He stood next to it casually, like, oh yeah, I’d almost forgotten, I brought you a worm. Nothing special, just a deadly worm I captured with my own paws and brought back for you. Thought you might fancy a little smackerel of something after work, you know. (He was apparently channeling Pooh Bear.)

Nina bent down and stroked his head. “Thanks, Phil. This is an incredible worm.” Phil rubbed against her legs, totally stoked with himself. Other cats might stay in all day, lounging around and licking their butts, but he was out and about Getting the Job Done. “I’m going to save it for later, though, if that’s all right with you.” Phil shrugged.

Nina opened the door and walked in, kicking off her shoes and surreptitiously placing the worm on the kitchen counter to be thrown away when the cat wasn’t looking. She