Serenading Stanley Read Online Free PDF Page A

one of his strong brown hands across his buzz-cut hair, all the while just staring at Stanley’s smile. A look of what can only be described as intrigue spread across his face.
    “Stanley what?” he asked out of the blue, his voice hushed, contemplative.
    Stanley fought the urge to stutter beneath the heat of those stunning green eyes. Oddly enough, he succeeded fairly well. “Stanley Sternbaum.”
    Roger reached out and gave Stanley’s cheek a gentle pat, which was about a thousand times gentler than the one he’d given Arthur and which stunned Stanley all the way down to his toes.
    “You have a wonderful laugh, Stanley Sternbaum. I hope I’ll get to spend some time with it.”
    Stanley didn’t know what to say to that, but he hoped to God his face wasn’t getting as red as it felt like it was getting. Hoping to drain some of the blood out of it, he tore his eyes away from Roger and concentrated all his attention on Arthur. Arthur was pretty straightforward. There was nothing threatening about Arthur. Stanley could handle Arthur. Roger, on the other hand, was an enigma. Enigmas were like beautiful people to Stanley. They made him nervous. Consequently, being beautiful and an enigma, Roger scared him shitless. Stanley wasn’t sure he could handle Roger at all.
    Suddenly, Stanley couldn’t force himself to look at Roger’s face. He didn’t have the strength. Jesus, Stanley thought. What a wuss I am.
    Roger seemed to suddenly remember their patient. He looked down at Arthur and was surprised to see the man looking up at them both with a dreamy smile on his pudgy, stubbly, ash-sprinkled, lipstick-smeared face. Arthur studied Roger for the longest time before turning his full attention to Stanley.
    Arthur didn’t seem to be too put out about finding himself flat on his back on the sixth-floor landing. He simply cleared his throat with a gentle rumble, like a waking volcano, to make sure his voice still worked, and said very politely, “So, young man. Do you want the apartment?”
    Stanley thought about it for approximately two and a half seconds before answering, “Sure. Why not.”
    “Goody!” Arthur and Roger sang out in unison.
     
     
    M OVING in was a fairly simple procedure. Stanley had his clothes, he had his books, and he had his computer. Since it all fit nicely into his little Honda Civic, which his father had bought him just before he died, Stanley only had to make one trip between his mother’s condo and the Belladonna Arms. And that was a blessing indeed. The less he had to confront his mother, the better.
    He had left the woman silently seething in the breakfast nook of her La Jolla condo as she guzzled coffee and sucked at one cigarette after another until the condo reeked to high heaven—and two or three miles of the La Jolla coastline probably reeked along with it. The condo was practically unnavigable due to the purple haze of carcinogens hanging in the air. Before Stanley carted the last box out the door, his mother had already threatened to drop him from her will, set fire to his car, exercise a drug intervention because he must be taking something, and have him committed to an asylum for the criminally stupid if he didn’t change his mind right now about moving out. She had even tried tears, which weren’t hard to conjure with all the smoke in the air, but Stanley remained stoic. Besides, he’d seen those crocodile tears before. She dragged them out about twice a year. Their efficacy had long been reduced to an eye roll and a “Jesus, Mom, the Oscars are over .”
    Stanley supposed his mother was suffering the initial pangs of a horrendous case of empty nest syndrome. Even so, it was about time her little chickie flew the coop. Stanley was twenty-two years old for Christ’s sake. This move away from home was long overdue. Now his mother could use his old room to store her booze and Marlboros. It would free up cupboard space for other staples, such as more booze and more