The Bookish Life of Nina Hill - Abbi Waxman Page 0,8

pull out her planner and pencil box. She would decide what to eat and how she was going to exercise. She would make a shopping list. She would feel like her life was controlled and organized and heading in the right direction. It was the most satisfying part of her day.

Today she had a book club meeting, after which her plan was to come home and read until bedtime. She laid out some extra-fluffy pajama pants and socks in preparation. She made a note to get popcorn. She made a note to get mini marshmallows to go in her cocoa. And then she made a note to get cocoa. And milk. And then she looked on eBay for an interesting vintage cocoa mug, but then she noticed the time and closed everything and rushed off to work.

On the way to work, Nina felt pretty chirpy, and put in her earbuds and pretended she was in a movie, smiling at all the people who passed her and saying hello to the dogs. She had this fantasy a lot, that her life was like The Truman Show, that audiences all over the world were enjoying her playlist and hairstyle as much as she was. She would angle her face to the sun to help the lighting guy, or look over her shoulder to give the camera back there something to do. In public Nina was a quiet, reserved person; in private she was an all-singing, all-dancing cavalcade of light and motion. Unless she was a quivering ball of anxiety, because that was also a frequently selected option. She was very good at hiding it, but anxiety was like her anti-superpower, the one that came out unbidden in a crisis. The Hulk gets angry; Nina got anxious. Nina had a lot of sympathy for Bruce Banner, particularly the version played by Mark Ruffalo, and at least she had Xanax. He only had Thor.

Nina reached Larchmont Boulevard, with its artisanal hat and cheese shops (two different shops; that would be a weird combination, especially in warm weather), and turned into her favorite café to grab a gluten-free low-fat bran muffin. Just kidding, it was a chocolate croissant.

“Hi, Nina,” said Vanessa, a friend of hers who worked there. “What’s new?”

“Surprisingly little,” Nina said. “I’ll have a chocolate croissant.”

“The breakfast of champions.”

“French champions.”

“Champignons?”

Nina said, “I think that means mushrooms.” She sounded more confident than she was.

Vanessa shrugged. “Look, I’ve only had two cups of coffee. I’m barely alive.”

Nina took her croissant without a bag and ate it as she crossed the street. Multitasking and eco-sensitive all at once. Not even 9 A.M. and already ahead for the day.

Liz looked up as she walked in. “Ooh, did you get one of those for me?”

Nina turned and went back across the street.

A minute later she had returned. “Yes, I did, funnily enough.”

“That’s so nice of you. How was the trivia thing?”

“We lost.”

Liz stared at her. “What? You never lose.”

Nina kicked a bookcase. “Well, we did last night. It came down to a tiebreaker and the topic was horse racing and we lost. Did you know all racehorses have their birthday on January first? No? Neither did I.”

Liz frowned at her. “Don’t kick the bookcase. I’m sorry your fund of general knowledge stops short of the sport of kings, but damage the fittings and it’s coming out of your wages.” She turned to walk away, clicking her tongue, but then suddenly turned back. “And don’t forget to make a pile of books in case of Mephistopheles.” She walked on, then stopped again. “Oh, and I forgot in the shock of your losing, you missed a call.”

Nina swept the buttery crumbs from her sweater, glad none of them had lingered long enough to leave a stain (which always made her think of The Simpsons: “Remember . . . if the paper turns clear, it’s your window to weight gain”), and frowned at her. “A call? A customer?”

Liz shrugged and bit into her croissant, adding crumbs to her own shirt. “I don’t know. A man. He asked for Nina Hill, which is you, and when I asked if he wanted to leave a message, he said he would call back.” The phone rang. “Maybe that’s him.”

But it wasn’t; it was someone else entirely, and Nina had already forgotten about the call when the man who’d placed it walked into the bookstore a couple of hours later.

He stood out immediately, because he was wearing a suit of a cut and kind not