Iris Avenue Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: Pamela Grandstaff
on.
“Your brother is like a comic book villain,” Hannah said. “No bars can hold him!”
“Seems like it,” Maggie said.
“Maybe he’s half man, half water vapor. When cornered he evaporates, and then reappears out of a puddle somewhere nearby.”
“Hannah.”
“I’ll have to think of a good comic book name for him. I know I want the word ‘red’ to be in there somewhere.”
“Watch it,” Maggie warned.
Brian and Maggie both had the red, freckled coloring of their mother’s Scottish side of the family, while their brothers Sean and Patrick had the blue eyes and dark hair of their father’s Black Irish side.
“Keep your curls on,” Hannah told her. “Something to do with pirates, maybe.”
When Brian tried to kidnap his son Timmy, the young boy had described his would-be assailant as looking like a pirate, with long red curls, a beard, and an earring.
“Brian the Red,” Hannah said. “Or Slippery Brian, the Red Pirate of Rose Hill.”
“Too long,” Maggie said.
“Redbeard!” Hannah said. “Like Bluebeard only red.”
“Bluebeard killed his wives.”
“Accuracy is the hallmark of a good comic book name.”
“Don’t joke about it,” Maggie said. “It feels wrong.”
“Alright,” Hannah said. “I’ll work on another one, but it won’t be half as good if it’s not accurate.”
Maggie helped her Aunt Alice prepare for the lunch rush, and Hannah rang up customers. Hannah tended to eat more baked goods than she sold so they had to keep an eye on her. Even though Hannah was tiny and skinny she ate like a lumberjack.
“Have you used any of that makeup I bought you?” Alice asked her daughter. “It’s supposed to erase the lines you have around the eyes.”
“No, mother,” Hannah said. “You know I don’t wear makeup.”
“Well,” Alice sighed, “a mother can continue to hope, I guess. I had four boys before I had you, and if I’d known you wouldn’t like girly things I probably wouldn’t have bothered.”
Maggie gasped but Hannah just laughed.
“After I threw that fit at the first pageant you put me in you should have drowned me in the river,” she said.
“I don’t know why you say such awful things,” her mother said. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
Maggie shook her head in disbelief, but Hannah shrugged it off as her mother went back to the kitchen.
“She thinks Claire and I were somehow switched at birth, even though we were born a year apart.”
Claire was their cousin, daughter of Uncle Ian and Aunt Delia Fitzpatrick, and she, Hannah, and Maggie had always been close growing up. Claire was a girly girl, and worked as a hair and makeup artist on movie sets around the world. It only sounded glamorous, according to Claire, who suffered through long months on difficult location shoots babysitting bratty actors and actresses. She came home about once a year, and lived in California when she wasn’t traveling.
“Have you heard from Miss Claire?” Hannah asked Maggie.
“I get e-mails occasionally, but she hasn’t called in awhile.”
“Last I heard she was in Istanbul,” said Hannah. “Where is that, by the way?”
“Turkey.”
Hannah looked unenlightened.
“Next to Greece,” Maggie said, pointing to an imaginary map on the counter. “There’s the Mediterranean, then Greece, Turkey, Syria, Iraq and Iran.”
“That’s scary; why would you film a movie so close to a war zone?”
“Because the story takes place there, I guess.”
“Yeah, but can’t they build a pretend Turkey in California, on one of those lots? Seems like it would save a lot of money.”
“Claire says spending money is what directors are good at, not saving it.”
“She also says everyone in Hollywood sleeps with everyone else,” Hannah said.
“She should know,” Maggie said
“Meow, cousin. I’m telling her you said that.”
A group of customers came in and the lunch rush began.
Ed Harrison sat at his desk in the Rose Hill
“Your brother is like a comic book villain,” Hannah said. “No bars can hold him!”
“Seems like it,” Maggie said.
“Maybe he’s half man, half water vapor. When cornered he evaporates, and then reappears out of a puddle somewhere nearby.”
“Hannah.”
“I’ll have to think of a good comic book name for him. I know I want the word ‘red’ to be in there somewhere.”
“Watch it,” Maggie warned.
Brian and Maggie both had the red, freckled coloring of their mother’s Scottish side of the family, while their brothers Sean and Patrick had the blue eyes and dark hair of their father’s Black Irish side.
“Keep your curls on,” Hannah told her. “Something to do with pirates, maybe.”
When Brian tried to kidnap his son Timmy, the young boy had described his would-be assailant as looking like a pirate, with long red curls, a beard, and an earring.
“Brian the Red,” Hannah said. “Or Slippery Brian, the Red Pirate of Rose Hill.”
“Too long,” Maggie said.
“Redbeard!” Hannah said. “Like Bluebeard only red.”
“Bluebeard killed his wives.”
“Accuracy is the hallmark of a good comic book name.”
“Don’t joke about it,” Maggie said. “It feels wrong.”
“Alright,” Hannah said. “I’ll work on another one, but it won’t be half as good if it’s not accurate.”
Maggie helped her Aunt Alice prepare for the lunch rush, and Hannah rang up customers. Hannah tended to eat more baked goods than she sold so they had to keep an eye on her. Even though Hannah was tiny and skinny she ate like a lumberjack.
“Have you used any of that makeup I bought you?” Alice asked her daughter. “It’s supposed to erase the lines you have around the eyes.”
“No, mother,” Hannah said. “You know I don’t wear makeup.”
“Well,” Alice sighed, “a mother can continue to hope, I guess. I had four boys before I had you, and if I’d known you wouldn’t like girly things I probably wouldn’t have bothered.”
Maggie gasped but Hannah just laughed.
“After I threw that fit at the first pageant you put me in you should have drowned me in the river,” she said.
“I don’t know why you say such awful things,” her mother said. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
Maggie shook her head in disbelief, but Hannah shrugged it off as her mother went back to the kitchen.
“She thinks Claire and I were somehow switched at birth, even though we were born a year apart.”
Claire was their cousin, daughter of Uncle Ian and Aunt Delia Fitzpatrick, and she, Hannah, and Maggie had always been close growing up. Claire was a girly girl, and worked as a hair and makeup artist on movie sets around the world. It only sounded glamorous, according to Claire, who suffered through long months on difficult location shoots babysitting bratty actors and actresses. She came home about once a year, and lived in California when she wasn’t traveling.
“Have you heard from Miss Claire?” Hannah asked Maggie.
“I get e-mails occasionally, but she hasn’t called in awhile.”
“Last I heard she was in Istanbul,” said Hannah. “Where is that, by the way?”
“Turkey.”
Hannah looked unenlightened.
“Next to Greece,” Maggie said, pointing to an imaginary map on the counter. “There’s the Mediterranean, then Greece, Turkey, Syria, Iraq and Iran.”
“That’s scary; why would you film a movie so close to a war zone?”
“Because the story takes place there, I guess.”
“Yeah, but can’t they build a pretend Turkey in California, on one of those lots? Seems like it would save a lot of money.”
“Claire says spending money is what directors are good at, not saving it.”
“She also says everyone in Hollywood sleeps with everyone else,” Hannah said.
“She should know,” Maggie said
“Meow, cousin. I’m telling her you said that.”
A group of customers came in and the lunch rush began.
Ed Harrison sat at his desk in the Rose Hill
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