She should have known the second he rang her doorbell and stepped into her hall, should have seen it in his dreamy demeanor, the disconnect in his eyes, his apparent lack of interest in both hygiene and social activity. It couldn’t have been any plainer if she had turned his hand over and found, scribbled across his palm in blue ballpoint: Amy was here. Amy had always had a way of making men lose their minds. Not their hearts necessarily, though sometimes the hearts came part and parcel—it looked as though Arthur, torn up in all senses of the word, had made the full investment. The boys who fell for Amy in high school were geeks and geniuses, quiet boys with wet eyes and acne and a murderous desire to touch the boobs of a girl who knew William Gibson wasn’t Mel’s brother. Mona had long ago diagnosed it as a case of like liking like, of dorks recognizing in Amy their own zeal for the arcane, their passion for a single activity that would never matter as much to anyone else as it did to them.
What do You think about This Must Be The Place: A Novel?
