Agnes Among the Gargoyles Read Online Free Page A
Author: Patrick Flynn
me."
   Hannah knows her daughter too well. "You know, Agnes, you'll never catch a man that way."
   "I'm not looking to catch one. Besides, once he thought I was pregnant, he never called me again. So I guess he wasn't worth catching, was he?"
   "He seemed very nice on the news. Maybe he's got German Measles, so he's staying away. Give him a call. Clear up the misunderstanding."
   "I'm not interested in Mike Masters."
   "I didn't call to talk about him, anyway," says Hannah. "I called to tell you that I'm proud of you."
   "Oh, don't be. I should have minded my own business. Now everything is all screwed up."
   "Nonsense," says Hannah. "You should be positively gleeful. Ronald Wegeman owes you his life! Granted, he's not my cup of tea. I'm sure he sleeps through all those operas he goes to. He's always reminded me of a pharmacist, for some reason. He's got that bad complexion they all get from staying in the back room with the pills. He's not too bright, I'm sure. But Agnesâhe could hand you a million dollars out of his pocket change if he wanted to."
   Hannah Travertine has never quite thrown off her dreamy adolescence, much of which was spent in movie theaters. She retains a great fondness for that staple of American cinema so beloved of screenwriters groping for a climax: the flamboyant, romantic gestureâthe bequeathing of a fortune to a total stranger, the marriage proposal chalked on Mount Rushmore, the pregnancy announced on the 11 o'clock news.
   Agnes makes a preemptive strike. "Ma, don't talk to any reporters, okay?"
   "I already have."
   Agnes's heart sinks. "What did you tell them?"
   "I just answered a few questions."
   "I know the format, Ma. What did you talk about?"
   "About you, of course. And it went quite well."
   Agnes cradles the telephone on her shoulder. She rubs her eyes with weariness and frustration. "Ma, don't discuss me with anybody. It's a violation."
   "Oh, here we go again," says Hannah.
   "Well, it is."
   "Agnes, this could be the best thing that ever happened to you. You never know where it might lead."
   "To where, Ma? To my own comedy/variety series? Don't talk to any more news guys. They don't care about you. You're just fodder."
   "They went to a lot of trouble to find me," says Hannah, who is overawed by any vaguely official presence. "It would have been rude not to talk to them. And I am proud of you."
   The conversation dies away.
   The reporters wait outside Agnes's apartment all night long. Agnes is too wired to sleep. At three in the morning, she catches the mayor on CNN:
   "She has what more New Yorkers should have, namely, a working knowledge of Oriental combat techniques. Actually, in terms of violent crime, New York has a bad rap...."
   At daybreak Agnes encounters her mother on WEGE. Agnes kicks the remote control across the room and forces herself to watch.
   "...Fearless? I should say not! When she was small the craziest things used to frighten her." Hannah is at ease before the camera. "We had a set of illustrated Dickens, and Agnes was terrified of the pictures on the covers, especially the one for Martin Chuzzlewit. How she hated those books! I finally had to throw them away...."
   Agnes calls her friend Barbara Foucault.
   The phone rings about twenty times. When Barbara answers, her voice is comically clipped.
   "Yes?".
   "I know you were asleep. It's six in the morning. I need a favor."
   "Anything at all," says Barbara. "Who are you?"
   "This is serious. I need a place to stay for a few days."
   Barbara groans and coughs. Agnes can hear the igniting of a lighter.
   "What did you do, kill someone?" Barbara
   Hannah knows her daughter too well. "You know, Agnes, you'll never catch a man that way."
   "I'm not looking to catch one. Besides, once he thought I was pregnant, he never called me again. So I guess he wasn't worth catching, was he?"
   "He seemed very nice on the news. Maybe he's got German Measles, so he's staying away. Give him a call. Clear up the misunderstanding."
   "I'm not interested in Mike Masters."
   "I didn't call to talk about him, anyway," says Hannah. "I called to tell you that I'm proud of you."
   "Oh, don't be. I should have minded my own business. Now everything is all screwed up."
   "Nonsense," says Hannah. "You should be positively gleeful. Ronald Wegeman owes you his life! Granted, he's not my cup of tea. I'm sure he sleeps through all those operas he goes to. He's always reminded me of a pharmacist, for some reason. He's got that bad complexion they all get from staying in the back room with the pills. He's not too bright, I'm sure. But Agnesâhe could hand you a million dollars out of his pocket change if he wanted to."
   Hannah Travertine has never quite thrown off her dreamy adolescence, much of which was spent in movie theaters. She retains a great fondness for that staple of American cinema so beloved of screenwriters groping for a climax: the flamboyant, romantic gestureâthe bequeathing of a fortune to a total stranger, the marriage proposal chalked on Mount Rushmore, the pregnancy announced on the 11 o'clock news.
   Agnes makes a preemptive strike. "Ma, don't talk to any reporters, okay?"
   "I already have."
   Agnes's heart sinks. "What did you tell them?"
   "I just answered a few questions."
   "I know the format, Ma. What did you talk about?"
   "About you, of course. And it went quite well."
   Agnes cradles the telephone on her shoulder. She rubs her eyes with weariness and frustration. "Ma, don't discuss me with anybody. It's a violation."
   "Oh, here we go again," says Hannah.
   "Well, it is."
   "Agnes, this could be the best thing that ever happened to you. You never know where it might lead."
   "To where, Ma? To my own comedy/variety series? Don't talk to any more news guys. They don't care about you. You're just fodder."
   "They went to a lot of trouble to find me," says Hannah, who is overawed by any vaguely official presence. "It would have been rude not to talk to them. And I am proud of you."
   The conversation dies away.
   The reporters wait outside Agnes's apartment all night long. Agnes is too wired to sleep. At three in the morning, she catches the mayor on CNN:
   "She has what more New Yorkers should have, namely, a working knowledge of Oriental combat techniques. Actually, in terms of violent crime, New York has a bad rap...."
   At daybreak Agnes encounters her mother on WEGE. Agnes kicks the remote control across the room and forces herself to watch.
   "...Fearless? I should say not! When she was small the craziest things used to frighten her." Hannah is at ease before the camera. "We had a set of illustrated Dickens, and Agnes was terrified of the pictures on the covers, especially the one for Martin Chuzzlewit. How she hated those books! I finally had to throw them away...."
   Agnes calls her friend Barbara Foucault.
   The phone rings about twenty times. When Barbara answers, her voice is comically clipped.
   "Yes?".
   "I know you were asleep. It's six in the morning. I need a favor."
   "Anything at all," says Barbara. "Who are you?"
   "This is serious. I need a place to stay for a few days."
   Barbara groans and coughs. Agnes can hear the igniting of a lighter.
   "What did you do, kill someone?" Barbara
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