Recommended Reading

9. Three Coins in a Fountain

9

Three Coins in a Fountain

I wipe my forehead across the back of my arm as I step off the bottom rung. Corner Books’ sign still needs a good scrub, but it’s fully lit and fixing it was almost as easy as screwing in a light bulb. Between getting Jerome ready for the Comic Arts weekend and fixing up Corner Books, it’s been a hectic week.

“Light it up, Gladys,” I say as my feet hit the sidewalk, and she heads inside to turn the power back on.

A bus stops across the street, and I hear, “Don’t you check your phone? We’ve got to go.”

Wanda checks both ways as she darts across the street. Uncle Andy and Gladys step out of the store as the sign flickers to life.

“Not while I’m on a ladder,” I say. “Is everything ok?”

“The Baroness,” Wanda pants. “She just announced a pop-up signing here in Little Elm. You’ve got to be there.”

The Baroness von Snatched. My favorite author of all time who wrote my absolute favorite book, Pebbles Tossed at a Window . I knew she had a book coming out, a new direction for her career with a saucy romance, but she’s infamous for not being seen often in public for years and never appears out of drag.

“Where?” I ask.

Wanda hesitates before she says, “Don’t freak out. It’s at Campus Books.”

The Baroness von Snatched may be the only person who can make me desperately want to go back to the scene of my humiliation and the store that fired me. But I can’t just walk out of Corner Books on a whim. I’m in the middle of a shift.

“I’m working.”

“Debatable,” Gladys says.

“Tell him he has to go,” Wanda says to Uncle Andy. “You were the one who got him hooked on her.”

It’s true. Uncle Andy gave me Pebbles without knowing it was my preteen heart’s come-to-Jesus moment. Except Jesus was a drag queen who retired from the club scene and became a cozy romance author. Pebbles with its gay heartthrobs in a sweet first-love story gave me all the feels. Still does.

And the Baroness is the icing on my rainbow confetti cake. She’s mystique personified. A legend in the romance world as she’s managed to keep her alter ego completely hidden from the larger world, a feat in the time of everything being documented on social media. With a hiatus and a new direction, it makes sense she’s stepping back into the limelight to promote her newest.

Uncle Andy says, “Don’t think I don’t know. I remember being harassed into joining a Little Elm’s Baroness fan club.”

“You’re a few years late on your dues,” I say.

“I’m sure I am. You saw this on social media, Wanda? I don’t think you had social media on your list of suggestions, Bobby.”

“I was saving it for our next conversation. I didn’t want to scare you right out of the gate.”

Uncle Andy nods. “Smart. If you’re serious about holding events here, you need to go. Consider this research. I want you to report back with everything Campus Books does successfully and how we can do as well or better. That is, assuming Gladys can live without her sparring partner for an afternoon.”

“As if he’s a match,” Gladys says. She looks at Wanda’s shiny, white PVC catsuit, an outfit I know Wanda bought to stream in because it shows off her curves and ups her stream views. I suspect Wanda left midbroadcast.

While this isn’t something Wanda would normally wear around Little Elm, especially in the summer, she’s rocking it and I’m here for it.

Gladys is not. “What the heck are you supposed to be?” she asks. “A tube of family-sized toothpaste?”

Wanda looks shocked before bursting out into laughter. “You described her perfectly,” she says to me. “She doesn’t miss a single shot. Grab your stuff, Bobby. Let’s go.”

I look at Uncle Andy. “You’re sure?”

“Scope out the competition. As your boss, I expect details.” Uncle Andy places his hand on my shoulder.

“I’ll call an Uber,” Wanda says.

Uncle Andy quietly slips some cash out of his pocket into my hand before he releases his grip on my shoulder. “Get yourself a signed book.”

“I can’t buy it there. Not with your money. They’re the competition. You said so yourself.”

“I’m your uncle. And before you point out I’m not, I’m your boss too. Take it. That’s an order.”

I tuck the bills into my pocket.

Wanda ducks into the car that pulls up to the curb. Once I’m in, she pushes the backpack she’s carrying toward me. “I knew you’d want to get your books signed. Cass let me into your room.”

The rest of the trip goes by in silence. I rest the bag on my lap, dropping my phone, Uncle Andy’s money, and my wallet inside. Staring out the window, I bounce my leg.

Wanda places a hand on my knee to stop me. “It will be fine.” She fishes around in her purse for a tube of lipstick and begins to reapply. “You want some?”

“I’m good.”

We exit the car.

I stop, take a deep breath, and ask the question lurking in the back of my mind. “You don’t think he’ll be there. Do you?”

And if Truman is there, then what? Do I pretend he doesn’t exist? Do I say hello and pretend everything is fine, never been better? Do I turn up the charm so he knows the good thing he missed out on? Can I commit to any of these roles in an outfit that is nowhere near Princess Diana’s little black revenge dress?

Wanda takes my hand. “Truman was always a snob about anything that doesn’t drip with literary merit .” She says the last two words in an upper-crusty voice. “What if he is here? Around Little Elm, this campus is Rome. All roads lead here. Unless you move, you’re going to run into him.”

She’s right. I can only avoid Truman for so long. If Little Elm College is Rome, the apex of the empire is the fateful fountain. I’ve avoided coming back for as long as I can. A comeback means I’ve got to come back.

Wanda links her arm through mine as we march down the promenade. I force myself to hold my head high. My first public appearance at Campus Books won’t be without good posture.

“I know you said you wanted to put it behind you and bring back the Summer of Bobby like nothing happened, but we can talk about it, you know. Like really talk about it,” Wanda says.

I can’t even think about having that conversation. I know it’s overdue. I tell Wanda everything. But how do I ask her to lend a sympathetic ear when she asked over and over if the grand gesture for Truman was a good idea? She tried to warn me, and I ignored her. And she still helped me despite her intuition. She must think I’m so naive.

“Things wouldn’t be this way if I had listened to you,” I mutter as we walk up the cobblestones.

Wanda squeezes my hand. “You know I wish I had been wrong. It wasn’t enough that I told you. You had to find out yourself.”

I squeeze her hand back. “You’re a good friend.”

“I know.”

As best friends, we both know we’ll talk about what happened with Tru more, but not right now.

When we reach the fountain, it burbles like the day everything went awry. Its waters are clean and clear with only a few stray coins snug against its tiles.

“One of the maintenance staff must have gathered up all the loose change,” I comment.

“I heard they can make a mess of the motors and spray nozzles.”

“What do you think they do with the money?”

“Maybe repair the fountain. I know other places donate the money. I guess they figure all those wishes are a pay-it-forward kind of deal.” Wanda reaches into her purse. She pulls out two pennies. She hands me one. “Let’s make wishes. You love doing that. You never know what will come true.”

“This fountain hasn’t exactly been lucky for me in the granting department.”

“We’ve been doing it all wrong.” Wanda spins us around. “You need to toss it over your shoulder, like they do in Rome.” She holds her coin for a second then throws it over her right shoulder. We hear a plunk.

I hold the penny back out for Wanda. “A different fountain. Not this one.”

“Keep it,” she says. “You never know when you might need a wish or a bit of good luck.”

I ask, “What did you wish for?”

“If I tell you, is it still going to come true?”

I give it a few seconds’ thought before I answer. “I think the whole confidentiality clause only applies to birthday candles. But best to keep it to yourself in case.”

“Do you think that’s where that penny for your thoughts saying comes from?”

“Probably not.” I slip the coin into my pocket. I’ll save it for when I have something important to wish for.

“In Rome, you’re supposed to throw three coins. One for a safe return. Two to find love. Three to be loved back.”

Maybe if I had been thrown into the fountain once more, things would have worked out differently. As we cross the threshold into Campus Books, I wonder if I made a mistake by not throwing the penny in my pocket over my shoulder, especially if it would have helped with a safe return.