The Worst Romance Novel Ever Written

by H. M. Mann

  Geez, Johnny thought, read the descriptions on the stands, Carl. Who cares if it’s a Blackberry, blueberry, or strawberry? Just buy the stupid thing! It’s just a phone. It’s not as if you’re buying a freaking car or a house!

  When Carl and Dan finally went to the sales counter, Johnny blew out a stale breath. I could have slaughtered the cow, harvested the wheat, baked the bread, cooked the beef, made my own sandwich, and eaten an entire healthy meal at Subway by now.

  Then Johnny sensed danger. He stared at Dan, and Dan wasn’t moving. Dan stood dumbly behind the counter staring at a computer screen. Other Dan-like workers were doing the same thing. Johnny knew that stare. It meant that the computers were “down.” It meant they were waiting for the computers to “come back up.” It meant they were saying, “Gosh, golly gee, we’re just standing here looking flummoxed and flusterated while we wait for these here computers to come back on line, so you customers just stand there looking foolish and stamp your hooves in the queue while we wait and act like we know what we’re doing but we’re basically helpless automatons because we worship these computers that sometimes work when we want them to …”

  “Not yet,” Dan said.

  Johnny drifted closer to see if, indeed, this was the problem. Carl tried repeatedly to scan his credit card in the card reader in front of him, and Dan kept shaking his head.

  “Um, sir,” Dan said, “the system won’t take anyone’s credit card at this time. The holidays, you know.”

  Oh sure, blame the holidays, Johnny thought. You’re simply not ready for the bleeding holidays. Right-oh, just blame your stupid computer network!

  “If you pay cash, however,” Dan said to Carl, “I think we can swing it.”

  Oh, this is such a scam, Johnny thought. Act like the credit card readers are fouled up so you can save the three percent Visa charges you.

  But Carl doesn’t have any cash. Carl doesn’t carry cash. Carl never carries cash. Carl hasn’t carried cash since Ronald Reagan was only making movies. Carl is as angry as any high-tops- and black-socks-wearing old guy can be right now, saying, “Oh, for Pete’s sake!” and “For the love of Mike!”

  Johnny immediately wondered who Pete and Mike were, but more importantly, he wondered if Pete or Mike could hear old Carl. Maybe Carl is part of a New Age religion for single-syllable deities who don’t use their full, given names.

  “You mean to tell me,” Carl said, “that I spent all this time not buying a phone?”

  Johnny had a new respect for Carl. The man has read my mind. Hail Pete and Mike!

  “We’ll try it one more time,” Dan said. “Let me scan it this time.”

  Carl stepped back from the counter. “I slid it in and brought it out correctly.”

  “No,” Dan said, “I’ll scan it through my reader on this side.”

  Oh, so your reader might work, Johnny thought. Why didn’t you tell Carl that in the first place? I can’t believe you embarrassed the old guy like that, Dan. How freaking unprofessional. Pete and Mike are going to smite you.

  Carl handed his card to Dan, and Dan zipped it through. “That seemed to do the trick.” Dan smiled. Then Dan frowned. “Nope. Didn’t take. Um, there’s an ATM just down the street.”

  “What?” Carl asked.

  What? Johnny thought. And now Carl is saying my thoughts before I can think them. Who says the old and smartly dressed don’t have mental powers!

  Carl threw up his hands. “Gimme my card back.”

  Dan held the card out, and Carl snatched it from him.

  “I don’t mind waiting for you to get back from the ATM, sir,” Dan said.

  “I do,” Carl said.

  “I can save all your information right here,” Dan said. “So when you come back—”

  “My information is in that computer,” Carl interrupted, “but you can’t get that computer to put my information to any use.”

  “It’s the holidays, sir,” Dan said. “Our system always slows to a crawl during the holidays. If you come back after the holidays—”

  “I need this phone so I can survive the holidays!” Carl interrupted.

  “Well, the system will be much faster by mid-January—”

  “And by then I’ll have a contract with a different wireless company!” Carl yelled. “Why would I ever come back?”

  “Because we have the best network, sir,” Dan said.

  Carl looked at the customers around him. “And the worst computer system. Nice combination.”

  Johnny wanted to applaud Carl, shake his hand, and take him out to lunch at Subway, but Carl stormed out looking suddenly like General George S. Patton in those high-tops.

  Dan looked up at the monitor. “Johnny?”

  Johnny stepped forward. “I have cash,” Johnny said. “I don’t even own a credit card, never have, never will. I cannot even spell A-T-M.”

  Dan blinked and took several halting breaths. “Um, how may I help you?”

  Johnny put both hands on the counter. “I just want a phone, Dan, a communication device. I don’t need to take pictures, listen to music, surf the Internet, send text messages, play games, watch videos, or have a blue wart-like appendage on my ear that looks like a prop from Star Trek. I don’t even need voice mail. I just want a phone, Dan, a real American phone made in Asia. Do you have any of those, Dan?”

  Dan’s eyes shot up and stayed there. “We used to have something like that.”

  I don’t believe this. “Used to?”

  Dan’s eyes found Johnny. “We used to carry the LG Migo. It was for children. It could receive incoming calls, but it could only dial out four pre-programmed numbers.” Dan shook his head. “But it was lime green.”

  It would have matched the Vega! “Why’d you stop selling such an excellent and functional phone, Dan?”

  “It was lime green,” Dan smirked.

  Johnny didn’t join Dan in his smirk.

  “But seriously, even seven-year-olds want more than just a phone, sir,” Dan said.

  “But seriously, Dan, that was all I needed,” Johnny said. “Does anyone sell something like the Amigo?”

  “The LG Migo.”

  Whatever, amigo.

  “I think AT&T carries the Firefly.”

  And I passed an AT&T store on my way here. I used to like catching fireflies, so it must be fate. I will go to AT&T. “What time is it, Dan?”

  “A little after eleven,” Dan said.

  Johnny smiled. “Dan, I have just spent an hour and a half not buying a phone. Is that some sort of record for you?”

  Dan didn’t respond.

  “That’s two customers in a row not satisfied by you, Dan. I’ll bet, however, that’s not a record for you, Dan.”

  Dan blinked.

  “By the way, Dan,” Johnny said, backing away from the counter, “that excuse about the holidays slowing down your computers is freaking lame and you know it. Your whole computer network is antiquated, outdated, and crap.”

  A small crowd inched toward Johnny.

  I have an audience. They can hear me now. Cool. And now for the coup d’ grace. “And that’s why you’re raising your rates so you can replace this constipated system with an equally constipated system in the future. It’s the holidays, my arse, you queue-spewing, Asian-phone selling behemoth. Happy holidays, Dan.”

  Johnny spent another hour or so at the AT&T store, but because he didn’t have to pee, he enjoyed the wait. He purchased a blue Firefly, signed up for two years, and programmed the only four numbers he knew or needed while the Vega warmed up.

  Gloria, however, was not impressed by either his story or his excellent, thrifty purchase. “That is a child’s phone, Johnny.”

  “But it’s all I need,” Johnny said. “I only have to call your cell, Hector, Quick-E Mart, and Marion, right? It’s perfect.”

  “It’s childish.”

  “It’s cute.”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  Johnny rolled his eyes. Angel had been teachin
g him how. “Whenever I’m with you, I won’t need to use it, right?”

  “That’s not the point,” Gloria said.

  Johnny was perplexed. “I will need to use it when I’m with you?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Johnny didn’t, but he pressed on. “I won’t even turn it on when I’m with you, I promise.”

  Johnny next showed Angel his phone. “Isn’t it cool?”

  “Where’s the camera?” Angel asked.

  “It doesn’t have one,” Johnny said.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t need one,” Johnny said. “It’s just a phone.”

  “Can it text?” Angel asked.

  “No. It’s just a phone.”

  She hit several buttons. “Where’s the Internet?”

  “Angel, as I’ve been saying, it’s just a phone. If I hit this button here, I can—”

  Angel slapped the phone into Johnny’s hand. “It’s … nice.”

  A sarcastic adult I can handle, Johnny thought, but a sarcastic five-year-old is a bit much.

  And Angel was a bit much every time they visited the Hollins Branch Library, one of the largest libraries in the Roanoke Valley. While Gloria and Marion did some Christmas shopping at the mall or simply rested at home, Johnny tried to keep up with the smartest five-year-old on planet Earth.

  The first time they had entered the library, Johnny had raced toward the archaeology section, arrived, turned, and— Where’s Angel?

  He had scoured the library for Angel, cruising every row, stack, and rack, worrying and sweating, until he had found her surfing the Internet in a computer lab. At first, he had been happy. Angel was doing something almost normal. Kids around her were playing games, listening to music, looking at funny pictures and videos, updating their MySpace pages, and generally clicking, giggling, and wasting time.

  But not Angel.

  Angel had been researching pyramid construction, reading screens, and seeming to memorize diagrams.

  “Um, Angel,” Johnny had whispered, “can’t you do this at home?”

  “Our Internet connection is too slow, Johnny,” Angel had said. “This computer is far more efficient.”

  Every visit was like this. Angel surfed, read, and studied the computer screen for four hours while Johnny read magazines, attempted not to write anything of literary value on his laptop, and played with the hand dryers in the bathrooms.

  And Angel did all her “work,” as she called it, without having to get a drink or go pee.

  The child is not human, Johnny thought. Aliens dropped her off to research us.

  A little before noon one Saturday, Angel announced, “Time to go, Johnny.”

  Johnny had found a vacant computer near Angel and had gone to work shooting arrows into a two-dimensional stick figure’s head and body before the stick figure killed him. The enemy stick figure had won every time.

  “It’s time to leave?” Johnny asked. “So soon?”

  Angel rolled her eyes. “I printed out some web pages today. You have to pay for them at the main desk.”

  “How much?” Johnny asked.

  “Only ten cents apiece.”

  “I think I can afford that.”

  More eye rolling.

  I’m still getting to her! Johnny thought.

  At the main desk, Johnny said, “I’m here to pay for a few copies. Still on pyramid construction, I believe.”

  Angel nodded.

  The librarian heaved a thick stack of pages onto the counter. “Ninety-four pages. That’ll be nine-forty.”

  Johnny stared at Angel. “Only a few?”

  Angel shrugged. “There was a lot of neat stuff.”

  Johnny tried not to grumble as he paid, but he had only brought fifteen dollars of his tip money. He handed the librarian ten crumpled ones, she gave him a squinty smile, which Johnny translated to “Gee, thanks for the yeasty, dirty money,” and she gave him his change.

  “Are we going home now?” Angel asked.

  “Want to get a snack?” Johnny asked.

  “Not before lunch,” Angel said.

  Angel is the mother I never had. “C’mon, Angel, live a little.”

  Johnny drove to a McDonalds drive-thru and ordered a large fry and two super-sized Cokes.

  “Apple dippers are better for you,” Angel said, but she munched on a fry just the same.

  Johnny didn’t know a thing about apple dippers, though he figured they had nothing to do with the Big and Little Dippers. He did know that getting old-fashioned Idaho spuds soaked in hot grease and coated with two days’ worth of salt was just what his stomach needed.

  He reached for some fries as he drove, but Angel pulled them back. “Not while you’re driving. It’s not safe.”

  By the time they reached Marion’s house, Angel had eaten all but one of the fries and had sucked her Coke dry.

  “Here,” she said, handing him the bag. “I saved you some.”

  Johnny looked at the lonely, cold fry. “Are you sure you don’t want this one?”

  “I’m full,” Angel said, and she burped. “Oh, excuse me.”

  Johnny looked at her empty cup. “You can leave the cup in the car.”

  Angel looked around her. “Where?”

  “Just throw it in the back with the other ones.”

  Angel giggled and tossed the cup into the back. “Thank you for taking me to the library.”

  “It was my pleasure.” But I have a bad feeling about what all that Coke is going to do to you later.

  Johnny should have been more worried about what Gloria was going to do to him for allowing Angel to drink all that Coke.

  Little Angel was high on sugar.

  “She’s bouncing off the walls,” Gloria whispered. “Listen.”

  Johnny distinctly heard drums echoing through the kitchen. “You get her a drum set?”

  “No.” Gloria shook her head. “Those are her feet, Johnny. Why didn’t you just get her milk? That’s what a child needs.”

  To make a body strong. “I didn’t know it would affect her this way.” He listened to Angel’s feet pounding the floor above them. “Is she dancing?”

  “She’s doing jumping jacks,” Gloria said.

  I’d like to think she’s dancing, Johnny thought. Real children dance for no reason at all. So that means caffeine makes gifted children dance? What a concept.

  “C’mon, Johnny, you have to know what thirty-two ounces of straight sugar will do to a child,” Gloria said. “And she’s giving me a headache.”

  “I’ll go try to settle her down,” Johnny said, and he stood.

  “Not with one of your stories,” Marion said.

  “Yes,” Johnny said, “with one of my stories.”

  Angel was, indeed, doing jumping jacks that occasionally changed to interpretive dance of the Alvin Ailey variety. When she noticed Johnny watching, she quickly jumped onto her bed and looked out the window. “I was just …”

  Being a kid high on Coca-Cola and trans fat. It’s cool, kiddo. Really. I’ve been there. I know what you’re going through. Just ride it out and it will pass. “Would you like to hear another chapter of Angel’s story?”

  Angel nodded, her face slack, her eyes blank.

  I know that look, Johnny thought. Angel is coming down off her sugar, grease, and caffeine high. I had better make this chapter good.

  “Angel next went to … the sands of Saudi Arabia to read 1,001 Arabian Nights,” Johnny said. “Her most favorite story of all was about Ali Baba and the forty thieves.”

  Angel settled her head on her pillow. “It’s just a story?”

  Johnny wedged his butt into Angel’s little easy chair. “Ah, but we often learn great truths from stories, and Angel wanted to learn great truths. The story of Ali Baba would teach Angel a very valuable lesson about life and how to live it.”

  “Oh,” Angel said. “What kind of name is Ali Baba?”

  “It’s a Middle Eastern name. Ali Baba was from Damascus, S
yria.”

  “Ali Baba …” Angel whispered. “I like it.”

  Johnny tried to get comfortable, but his booty was stuck fast in the little chair. He rose as best as he could, lifting the chair off the ground and duck-walking closer to Angel. “Ali Baba had a brother named Cassim, and the two were very poor.”

  Angel closed her eyes. “How poor were they?” She giggled.

  I take that back, Johnny thought. The child is still high on sugar, grease, and caffeine. “They were so poor they added water to their ketchup so often that it eventually turned pink.”

  Angel giggled.

  I love this Angel! We will eat Mickey D’s often! “They were so poor they washed and reused paper plates.”

  Another giggle, but it wasn’t as giggly.

  Johnny decided to continue his story. “One day Ali Baba was cutting wood and saw a vicious, bloodthirsty band of forty thieves, so Ali Baba and his camel hid behind some rocks. The thieves then whispered the magic words, ‘Open, simsim,’ and an entire mountain opened up before Ali Baba’s eyes. The thieves loaded their stolen treasures into the mountain, said, ‘Close, simsim,’ and the mountain closed.”

  “Really?” Angel propped herself up on her elbows. “That’s not true.”

  “It’s just a story, Angel,” Johnny said, “but it will have valuable lessons for Angel. Trust me.”

  Angel slumped back to her pillow and closed her eyes. “When?”

  Johnny talked faster than before. “Once the forty thieves were gone, Ali Baba stood in front of the mountain. ‘Open, simsim,’ he said, and the mountain opened before his eyes.”

  “So Ali Baba is a thief, too,” Angel said.

  “But Ali Baba was poor, and he only stole enough treasure so he would never be poor again.”

  Angel sat straight up. “I know this story. Ali Baba is a duck, right?”