beauty."
Henry held it out, looking stricken.
"Anastasia," she said, "I saw the price on this book. It was thirty-five dollars!"
"Well," Anastasia said, thinking it over, "she wanted you to have it. Like my father said, she's a terrific person. And she can afford it. But boy, she sure is a terrible bookstore owner, though.
"Oh, no!" she added, remembering something. "Oh, rats! I forgot to do the interview again!"
But Henry wasn't listening. She was turning the pages of the book slowly. She found the Masai woman, stared at her silently as they walked, and then turned back to the inscription again. "I sure am glad," she said finally, "that she wrote my real name: Henrietta."
Anastasia Krupnik
My Chosen Career
It really is not all that difficult being a bookstore owner. If someone calls up and asks you to recommend a book, it is really pretty easy to convince them to buy something, like maybe a book by a moderately successful poet, * just by speaking pleasantly to them about it. Of course, if they come into the store, you have to look them in the eye at the same time.
One of the problems with being a bookstore owner, if you are a terrifically nice person, is that you are tempted to give stuff away.
If you sell a book by a moderately successful poet * for $12.95, and on the same day give away a book that costs $35, you will be a terrible failure as a bookstore owner even though you would still be a terrifically nice person.
You could solve this by selling the $35 book and giving away the $12.95 book. That way, you would still be a terrifically nice person, and you could also be a moderately successful bookstore owner.
10
"I've never been in Dorchester before," Anastasia said to Henry as they sat side by side on the rattling subway. "Imagine that. All my life I've lived in Boston but I've never been in that part of Boston before."
"Well, shoot, that's no surprise," Henry said. "All my life
I've
lived in Boston and I've never been to the suburbs where you live, either."
"Maybe you could come to my house sometime. You'd like my family."
"What're they like? I know your dad is famous and all. But what're your parents really like?"
"Well, my dad has a really neat beard. It's the same color as my hair. And he tells terrible jokes, and he watches sports on TV. When he's working on a book of poetry he shuts himself up in the study and groans about how he should have chosen another career."
"That's so cool," said Henry. "In school, I always like when we study poems. And now that we learned about walking and talking and stuff, I bet I'll do really good when we have to recite. Shoot, maybe I'll do gestures, like Miss Cranberry Bog."
They both collapsed in giggles, and an elderly lady sitting nearby stared at them. No men were staring at Henry, but that was because she had her hat on. If she took her hat off, Anastasia knew, she would change to beautiful in about the same way that Clark Kent changed to Superman.
Then
men would stare at her.
"And my mom's an artist," Anastasia went on. "She works at home, so she can take care of my little brother at the same time. She illustrates books."
"My mom's a waitress. That's the hardest job in the whole world. You should see how her feet swell up. She has to soak them when she comes home. Boy, I'm never going to be a waitress."
"Well, of course not, Henry. You're going to be a model."
"Yeah." Suddenly Henry sat up very straight and removed her hat. Two men sitting together on the opposite side of the train stopped talking, nudged each other, and stared.
"Just testing," Henry remarked in a whisper to Anastasia, and grinned. She put her hat back on and slouched down again.
"What does your dad do?" Anastasia asked.
"Policeman."
"No kidding! Does he have a
gun?
"
"Whaddaya mean does he have a gun? Of
course
he has a gun. You think he wants to be the only cop in Boston with no gun?"
"Did he ever shoot anyone?" Anastasia asked in awe.
Henry shook her head. "Nope. Never once.
Henry held it out, looking stricken.
"Anastasia," she said, "I saw the price on this book. It was thirty-five dollars!"
"Well," Anastasia said, thinking it over, "she wanted you to have it. Like my father said, she's a terrific person. And she can afford it. But boy, she sure is a terrible bookstore owner, though.
"Oh, no!" she added, remembering something. "Oh, rats! I forgot to do the interview again!"
But Henry wasn't listening. She was turning the pages of the book slowly. She found the Masai woman, stared at her silently as they walked, and then turned back to the inscription again. "I sure am glad," she said finally, "that she wrote my real name: Henrietta."
Anastasia Krupnik
My Chosen Career
It really is not all that difficult being a bookstore owner. If someone calls up and asks you to recommend a book, it is really pretty easy to convince them to buy something, like maybe a book by a moderately successful poet, * just by speaking pleasantly to them about it. Of course, if they come into the store, you have to look them in the eye at the same time.
One of the problems with being a bookstore owner, if you are a terrifically nice person, is that you are tempted to give stuff away.
If you sell a book by a moderately successful poet * for $12.95, and on the same day give away a book that costs $35, you will be a terrible failure as a bookstore owner even though you would still be a terrifically nice person.
You could solve this by selling the $35 book and giving away the $12.95 book. That way, you would still be a terrifically nice person, and you could also be a moderately successful bookstore owner.
10
"I've never been in Dorchester before," Anastasia said to Henry as they sat side by side on the rattling subway. "Imagine that. All my life I've lived in Boston but I've never been in that part of Boston before."
"Well, shoot, that's no surprise," Henry said. "All my life
I've
lived in Boston and I've never been to the suburbs where you live, either."
"Maybe you could come to my house sometime. You'd like my family."
"What're they like? I know your dad is famous and all. But what're your parents really like?"
"Well, my dad has a really neat beard. It's the same color as my hair. And he tells terrible jokes, and he watches sports on TV. When he's working on a book of poetry he shuts himself up in the study and groans about how he should have chosen another career."
"That's so cool," said Henry. "In school, I always like when we study poems. And now that we learned about walking and talking and stuff, I bet I'll do really good when we have to recite. Shoot, maybe I'll do gestures, like Miss Cranberry Bog."
They both collapsed in giggles, and an elderly lady sitting nearby stared at them. No men were staring at Henry, but that was because she had her hat on. If she took her hat off, Anastasia knew, she would change to beautiful in about the same way that Clark Kent changed to Superman.
Then
men would stare at her.
"And my mom's an artist," Anastasia went on. "She works at home, so she can take care of my little brother at the same time. She illustrates books."
"My mom's a waitress. That's the hardest job in the whole world. You should see how her feet swell up. She has to soak them when she comes home. Boy, I'm never going to be a waitress."
"Well, of course not, Henry. You're going to be a model."
"Yeah." Suddenly Henry sat up very straight and removed her hat. Two men sitting together on the opposite side of the train stopped talking, nudged each other, and stared.
"Just testing," Henry remarked in a whisper to Anastasia, and grinned. She put her hat back on and slouched down again.
"What does your dad do?" Anastasia asked.
"Policeman."
"No kidding! Does he have a
gun?
"
"Whaddaya mean does he have a gun? Of
course
he has a gun. You think he wants to be the only cop in Boston with no gun?"
"Did he ever shoot anyone?" Anastasia asked in awe.
Henry shook her head. "Nope. Never once.
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