O+F

O+F

The Project Gutenberg eBook, O+F, by John Moncure Wetterau
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Title: O+F
Author: John Moncure Wetterau
Release Date: February 9, 2004 [eBook #11005]
Language: English
Character set encoding: US-ASCII
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK O+F***
Copyright (c) 2003 by John Moncure Wetterau

O + F

John Moncure Wetterau

Copyright (c) 2000 by John Moncure Wetterau.
Library of Congress Number: 00-193498 ISBN #: Hardcover
0-7388-5815-3 Softcover 0-9729587-1-1
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons
Attribution-NoDerivs-NonCommercial License. Essentially, anyone is
free to copy, distribute, or perform this copyrighted work for
non-commercial uses only, so long as the work is preserved verbatim
and is attributed to the author. To view a copy of this license, visit
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd-nc/1.0/ or send a letter to:

Creative Commons 559 Nathan Abbott Way Stanford, California
94305, USA.
Published by: Fox Print Books 137 Emery Street Portland, ME 04102
[email protected] 207.775.6860
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either
are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and
any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or
locales is entirely coincidental. This book was printed in the United
States of America.
Acknowledgements:
Cover art by Majo Keleshian. I want to thank Majo, Sylvester Pollet,
and Nancy Wallace for suffering through early versions of the book and
for offering useful suggestions. Thanks to Francois Camoin and the
Vermont College MFA program for giving me a good shove down the
road to fiction. And thanks to Ellen Miller for her consistent
encouragement and support.
for Rosy

1.

Tall. Dark hair. Nose almost straight. Mouth curving around prominent
teeth. Beautiful, Oliver realized as their eyes met perfectly.
"Francesca, sorry I'm late," another woman said, guiding two girls into
the next booth.
"I just got here."
"Hi, Mommy." Francesca's smile turned down, traveled around, and
turned up independently at each corner.
"Hi, Sweetheart. Turn around, now."
One of the girls was looking tentatively at Oliver, holding the top of the
booth with both hands. He waved at her, raised his eyebrows, and bent
to his eggs. Toast. Nothing like toast. He wiped up the remaining yolk.
Where's the husband? Probably one of those jerks in a Land Rover. A
bad golfer. Cheats. Christ. Oliver drank the rest of his coffee and
prepared to leave. As he slid sideways across the green plastic seat, he
again caught the woman's eyes. They were calm and questioning,
brown with deepening centers the color of the inner heart of black
walnut. He stood and nodded in the Japanese manner. No one would

have noticed, unless perhaps for her friend.
He buttoned his coat before pushing open the outer door of the diner.
The air was damp, tinged with car exhaust and diesel. The first flakes
of a northeaster coasted innocently to the ground. Francesca--what a
smile! She reminded him of the young Sinatra in _From Here To
Eternity_, awkward and graceful at the same time. The friend was
heavier and looked unmarried, a career teacher, maybe. Problems on
short leashes yapped around her heels. Oliver shrugged, pulled a watch
cap over his ears, and walked toward the Old Port.
A car pulled over. "Olive Oil!" George Goodbean shouted. "Want a
ride?"
"Taking my life in my hands," Oliver said, getting in.
"It's a good day to die," George said.
"Aren't we romantic."
"Artists live on the edge, Olive Oil. Where the view is." A pickup
passed at high speed, hitting a pothole and splattering mud across the
windshield. "Moron!" George reached for the wiper switch.
The street reappeared. "Ahh," Oliver said, "now there's a view."
"Why is it, the worse the weather, the worse they drive?" George asked.
"Dunno. It isn't even bad yet."
"Assholes," George said.
"Yeah. I bought some black walnut," Oliver said. "I just saw a woman
in Becky's; she had eyes the same color."
"You want I should go back?"
"I'm too short for her," Oliver said.
"You never know. Some of those short people in Hollywood have big
reputations."
"They're stars," Oliver said. "I'm just short."
"What are you doing with the wood?"
"Haven't decided--maybe a table."
"I'm getting into casting. You ought to come over; I'm going to try out
my furnace."
"Casting what?"
"Bronze. Small pieces."
"Hey, whoa, let me out." Oliver pointed at the ferry terminal, and
George stopped.
"Yeah, come on over tomorrow morning, if you're not