by Abbi Waxman
Leah shrugged. “Play Lauren instead; she’s pretty good at geography.”
“I’m not,” said Lauren, in a furious whisper. “Last time I got confused and said the longest river in the world was the Mississippi and then spelled it like a five-year-old at the Scholastic Spelling Bee. I even repeated it at the end.”
“You spelled it correctly.”
“Yes, but that’s not the point. I got the question wrong, and I can never go back to that bar.”
Nina conceded. “Leah, you go.”
Howard had recently taken things a notch further in his quest to create a trivia league YouTube channel, and had built a podium. Leah and a guy from Menace approached it.
“Don’t touch the podium,” Howard hissed. “It’s still wet.”
“From what?” asked Leah, stopping immediately.
“From being painted, of course. I added the glitter too soon and it slowed it down.”
“That’s what she said,” said the guy from Menace, and guffawed.
Leah rolled her eyes and clutched her whistle.
Howard looked at his friend, Don, who was live-streaming the contest. “Ready, Don?”
“Ready when you are, Mr. DeMille.” Don was a jokester who enjoyed old movies, poetry slams, and pretending to be a cinematographer.
Howard cleared his throat. “Here we go: Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Southern California Quiz Bowl Qualifier. Tonight, competing for glory and a chance to go forward to the next round, Book ’Em, Danno; Menace to Sobriety; You’re a Quizzard, Harry; and Olivia Neutron Bomb. One team will make it through the night; the other three will be buried in ignominy. Our first contest is Book ’Em versus Menace.” He turned to Leah and grinned. “And what’s your name, little lady?”
Leah raised her eyebrows at him. “My name is Death to Sexism, little man.”
Howard ignored her and turned to the guy from Menace. “And you, sir?”
“I’m Al. You can call me Al.”
Howard faced front and grinned at the phone Don was holding up. “Let the battle commence.” He got serious. “How many stripes are on the United States flag?”
“Thirteen,” snapped out Leah.
“Contestants must use their buzzers first. Sorry, Book ’Em. Menace, do you have an answer?”
“Uh, thirteen?”
“That’s correct. Two points to Menace.”
Nina, Carter, and Lauren howled a protest, but Howard held up his hand. “Heckling won’t help you, Book ’Em. You know the rules.”
Leah looked apologetically over at her team.
“OK, next question: Montevideo is the capital city of which South American country?”
The guy from Menace squeezed his rubber chicken, which squawked.
“Uh . . .”
Howard waited.
“Uh . . .”
“Would you care to make a guess?”
“Hey,” said Leah, “no fair. If he clucked too soon, it’s my turn.”
“All right, your turn.”
“Uruguay.”
“Correct. Two points to Book ’Em. Next question: What is the official language of Greenland?”
A brief pause, then Leah slid up her whistle. “Greenlandic.”
“No way,” said the guy from Menace. “You made that up.” He squeezed his chicken in protest, multiple times.
“Google it, idiot,” said Leah. “Or ask Howard; he has the answers.”
“It’s true. She’s right,” said Howard. “For a bonus point, name the other language spoken in Greenland.”
“Danish,” said Leah.
Howard stared at her. He had fallen in love with Leah the first time she’d competed in one of his tournaments and had totally aced World Religions, followed by Royal History of England, and then Animals of the Serengeti. He loved her for her mind. And her curves.
“Is there anything you don’t know?” he asked, forgetting his microphone was on.
“Yes,” replied Leah. “I don’t know why you aren’t giving me that point.”
The bar erupted in laughter, and Howard frowned. “No lip, contestants. Bonus point withdrawn.”
Leah bit her tongue and tried to smile at Howard, but couldn’t make herself do it.
“Next question: What is the capital city of Canada’s Yukon territory?”
Squawk!
“Whitehorse.” The guy from Menace grinned at Leah. “I’m Canadian.”
She stared at him blankly. “Congratulations.”
Howard cleared his throat. “Last question of this section: Which sea separates the East African coast and the Saudi Arabian peninsula?”
Whistle!
“The Red Sea.” Leah was totally confident on this one and returned to the table in triumph: Book ’Em, six points; Menace, four.
“After a short break for refreshments, we will return with a little category I like to call . . . Books.” Howard grinned around, but no one was really listening. “And remember, folks, it’s two-for-one shots tonight, so get yourselves to the bar and become inebriated.” Don counted down, 3 . . . 2 . . . 1, on his fingers and then indicated he’d stopped filming. Howard dropped his smile and leaped forward to look at the footage.
Nina looked at Howard thoughtfully. “It’s his gift for witty repartee that sets Howard apart as a host.”
“He’s a poet, really,” agreed Leah.
“Let’s do these shots,” said Carter. “There are sober children in Africa who’d kill for these. We can’t waste them.”
So they did.
Nina stood at the podium—not touching it—and faced a different guy from Menace. He was good looking and cocky, and Nina could hardly wait to hand him his hat, metaphorically speaking.
Don had started filming, and Howard was channeling his quiz show host. “OK, folks, time for Books, or Literature as some people like to call it.”
“Stuck-up people,” said the guy from Menace.
“Literate people,” replied Nina.
“No bickering, please. Let’s keep it civilized.” Howard looked reprovingly at them. “‘Call me Ishmael’ is the opening line from . . .”
Nina whistled. “Moby-Dick.”
Howard nodded, but said, “Please wait for the complete question before answering.”
“Sorry.”
He frowned at her. “Who wrote Don Quixote?”
She whistled. “Cervantes.”
“Full name?”
Nina narrowed her eyes at him. Such a dick. “Miguel de Cervantes.”
“In the children’s books about a twenty-five-foot-tall red dog, what is the name of the dog?”
Squawk!
“Clifford!” Handsome was 100 percent confident on this one.
Howard snapped out, “Bonus question: Why did he grow so much?”
The guy suddenly looked sappy. “Because Emily loved him.” He paused. “Her love made Clifford grow so big that the Howards had to leave their home.”
Howard nodded, very serious. “Yes. Yes, it did.”
Nina was vexed. “That’s from the TV show theme song, not the books.”
“Are you sure it isn’t in the books?” Howard tutted at her. “No, you aren’t, so keep your opinions to yourself. Next question: Being and Time is an ontological treatise written by which German philosopher?”
There was a long silence.
“Wait, we went from Clifford the Big Red Dog to that? Does philosophy even count as Literature?” asked Nina. She was feeling a little punchy. She really shouldn’t drink at these things.
Howard shrugged. “Well, a) that’s a very philosophical question, and b) the category is books. Nice try, Book ’Em.” He looked at them both. “No?” They shook their heads. “Anyone from either team?” Silence. “Anyone in the bar?” Deeper silence. Howard sig
hed patronizingly, because of course he had the answer in his hand. “It was Martin Heidegger.”
“Good to know,” said Nina. “Do you think Emily’s love would have done anything for him?”
Howard ignored her. “What are the four houses at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”
Whistle! Squawk!
Nina and the guy from Menace glared at each other. Whistle! Squawk! Whistle! Squawk!
Howard held up his hand. “Rock–Paper–Scissors.”
Nina threw rock. Menace threw paper. Crowing, he yelled: “Hufflepuff! Slytherin! Ravenclaw! Gryffindor!”
“Keep your hair on,” muttered Nina, annoyed at herself for throwing rock. Scissors is always the better choice.
“OK, the scores are Menace, five; Book ’Em, four. Last question: Who wrote The Metamorphosis, first published in 1915?”
Nina confidently blew the whistle. “Kafka.” Howard hesitated. “Franz Kafka,” she said, irritated at him. He hesitated again. “Franz Ferdinand Kafka.” She was totally winging the middle name, but she was willing to bet Howard knew even less about Kafka than she did.
He nodded, then said, “And for a bonus point, name the creepy movie where Jeff Goldblum turns into a fly.”
“The Fly,” shouted the Menace guy.
“That’s correct. The teams stand level at six each.”
There was an uproar. “Wait!” said Nina. “That’s totally unfair! That film isn’t even based on Kafka’s book. The guy turns into a cockroach, not a fly; it’s a movie, not a book; and besides . . .”
“Sorry, my decision is final.” Howard was firm, although he was backing away slightly from Nina’s pointing finger. Then, as Leah and Lauren turned up to join the fray, he took another step back and suddenly sat in the lap of a woman who couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. Drinks were spilled. Shells were split as pistachios skittered across the floor. People leaped to their feet and skidded on the nuts. There was falling. There was cursing. Menace to Sobriety showed up in force, and, twenty seconds later, so did security.
Half a minute later, standing outside the bar, Carter sighed. “Nina, why is it always you that gets us banned?”
She looked at him, still mad. “It wasn’t even a book question!” She shook beer from her sleeve and several pistachios flew out. “It’s the principle! If you don’t stand for something . . .”
“You’ll fall for anything?”
She turned around. Tom was standing there, shrugging on his jacket. “I thought you might need a ride home.” He grinned. “You seemed a little . . . heated.”
“Well,” said Nina, “I’m supposed to be getting a ride with Leah . . .” She looked around. Down the street, she could see Leah and the others disappearing around a corner. “Oh.”
Thirteen
In which we learn a little more about Tom.
Nina sat next to Tom as he drove her home, and, again, she smelled sawdust.
“Are you a carpenter?” she asked, the alcohol making her a little unguarded. “You smell of wood.” She leaned toward him and sniffed theatrically.
He laughed. “Sort of.”
Nina frowned at him. “Well, do you carpent, or not?”
“I don’t think that’s even a verb.”
“It should be. Why isn’t it?” She threw herself back in the seat. “I carpent, you carpent, he or she carpents . . .”
He shot her a glance, then went back to looking at the road. “Do you drink a lot?”
She shook her head. “No. I really shouldn’t drink at all; I’m hopeless at it. I get drunk right away, then hungover two hours later. I don’t do it well.”
He laughed. “So, not a boozer, then, that’s what you’re saying?”
She shook her head. “I usually end up crying.”
“Wow. Then yeah, you should stick to soda.” He flicked on the indicator, and Nina tapped her toes in time to the click.
“Soda makes me fart.” Then she closed her mouth tightly and promised herself she wouldn’t say anything else. Possibly ever.
“Well, plain water it is, then.” He looked sideways at her. “Not that there’s anything wrong with farting.”
She kept her promise and said nothing. Instead, she stared out of the window, noticing the usual things: homeless people waking up after a day of sleeping in order to be alert during the more dangerous night. Hipsters who dressed like the homeless people but with better shoes, crowding around doorways, or waiting for ride-share cars, looking up and down from their phones, reading license plates with more attention than they ever had in their lives before. Bodegas and liquor stores lit up like Christmas, their lights pooling on the damp and sticky sidewalks out front. Then they entered the residential part of Larchmont, where the streetlights were desirably vintage, but few and far between.
They pulled up outside the guesthouse. She’d left the reading light on next to her armchair, and the glow was inviting. Part of her wished she’d stayed home tonight, because now her head hurt and she hadn’t even won the trivia contest. She sighed.
“Nice pad,” said Tom.
“Thanks.” She was fumbling with the door handle, something that normally didn’t give her any trouble. Tom leaned across and opened it for her, pushing the door all the way open.
“Do you need help finding your keys?” He was teasing her.
She looked at him and shook her head. “I think not.” Something occurred to her. “Wait, did you desert your team? Weren’t you up in the next round?”
“Yeah.” Tom shrugged. “Without your team to play against, all the challenge was gone.”
She frowned. “And did your teammates see it that way?”
He nodded. “They don’t take it very seriously.” It had been Lisa who’d pushed him out the door to see if Nina needed a ride home, but he didn’t think he needed to mention that. “Besides, I’m sure QuizDick will reschedule it.”
“OK then.” She told her legs to swing around and get out of the car, but they weren’t having it. She frowned and made them do it—jeez, who was in charge of this bus, anyway? Once out and standing, she swayed a little, and then Tom got out and was right there, holding her arm.
“You really aren’t good at drinking, are you?” he said, smiling.
She looked up at him. “Do you read books?”
He frowned. “Sure. Occasionally.”
“Good books?”
“Well, books I think are good.”
“Have you read Jane Austen?”
“No.”
“Kurt Vonnegut?”
“No.”
“Truman Capote?”
“No.” His face was blank, but she could see he was getting vaguely irritated by this line of questioning.
“Harry Potter?” She was desperate.
“When I was a kid, of course.”
“Do you know which house you’re in?”
“No. I’m not a total nerd.”
She swayed again, and suddenly leaned up into him, turning her face up, so there was really nothing he could do except kiss her.
Which he did. Lightly, but properly.
“Do you want to come in?” she said, once they’d separated.
“Are you sure I’m welcome? I haven’t done the required reading.”
She nodded and stretched up on her toes again, pulling him back down. His arm was tight around her waist, he was kissing her deeply, but then he pulled away and shook his head.
“No. I don’t take advantage of tipsy book snobs. It’s a rule.”
“It is?” Nina was confused. “Who said?”
“Me.” He turned her gently around and pointed her toward the house. “Go on, I’ll make sure you get there in one piece.”
She walked into her house, managing the stairs pretty well, actually, and once inside went to the window and opened
it. He was still in the driveway.
“Hi,” she said.
He grinned up at her. “Hello.”
“Shall I let down my hair?”
He shook his head. “It’s not long enough to reach me, for one thing, and secondly, I never understood why that was a good idea. Why not cut the hair into lengths, braid them into ropes, and create an actual ladder? It wouldn’t be that hard.”
“But it would be less romantic. And a much shorter story.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but it would be pretty hard core of what’s-her-name to create a hair ladder and escape, right?”
“Rapunzel?”
“If you say so.” He turned to leave but paused and looked back up at her, haloed in the reading light. “I’d like to see you again.”
Nina inclined her head regally. “I’m prepared to consider it.”
“Don’t overwhelm me with enthusiasm.”
“OK.”
“Bye, then.” He climbed into the car and pulled away, waving out of the window.
“Bye, then,” said Nina, watching his lights fade away. Then she went inside and closed the window.
“Phil,” she said to the cat, who was back-and-forthing on the floor, waiting to be fed, “I think I met someone.”
“That’s fantastic,” said the cat. “I’m hungry.”
* * *
As Tom drove away, he pulled out his phone and called his older brother, Richard.
“I think I met someone,” he said, as soon as he heard his brother answer.
“Hi, Tom,” replied his brother, wryly. “How are you? It’s nighttime—did you notice?”
“I’m freaking out,” Tom said. “That’s why I’m calling.”
“If you only met someone, why freak out yet? Keep your powder dry for when you’ve slept with her a few times and she reveals herself to be a total lunatic and you have to work out how to get away from her. Then you can freak out.”
Tom said, “Look, you and I are not the same person. I try to find out their mental status before I sleep with them.”
His brother’s voice was sarcastic. “Really? What about Annika?”
“That was an exception. Every rule needs an exception.”
