My Name Is Venus Black(41)

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Piper asks. She is walking forward again.



“Have you seen one?” I ask. This is the kind of sarcastic answer she’s always giving me.

She smiles. “Nope. But you must have before. How old are you again?”

“I’m nineteen,” I tell her.

“Oh,” she says. “So you have to have had a boyfriend.”

“Oh, a few,” I lie. “But each one is a secret. You have to do something special to get me to tell you.”

“Like what?”

“Let me think about it.”

We cross Broadway and turn toward the Sound.

“Annette!” a male voice calls from behind us. But I still don’t automatically respond to that name. Then I hear again, “Annette,” right behind us. I turn. It’s Danny from the coffee shop, on a bike.

“Hey,” he says, grinning as he sidles up to us. “I’ve been looking for you.”

I keep walking, but faster. I take Piper’s hand. “I have not been looking for you.”

He gets off his bike and walks it to keep pace with us. “Who’s your little friend?”

“None of your business.”

“Piper!” Piper volunteers. She’s working hard to keep up with our new pace, trying to look across me at this guy.

“So, Piper, Annette. Where are you headed in such a hurry?”

I slow the pace a bit, for Piper’s sake.

“We’re on a walk,” says Piper. “Haven’t you ever just gone on a walk before?”

“Oh, a walk. Of course I have. And it’s a beautiful evening for a walk.”

“What’s your name?” asks Piper.

“Danny,” he says. “And what a pretty lady you are.”

“Watch out, Piper,” I say. “You know how your uncle Mike taught you not to talk to strangers? He was thinking of this guy.”

“How about an ice cream? Let me buy you each a cone.”



“Yes!” says Piper.

“No thanks!” I say.

Piper ignores me. “The answer is yes!”

“The answer is no,” I tell him. “Besides, it’s too cold for ice cream.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute but keeps pace. “Can I just ask you one last thing and then I’ll leave you alone?”

I jerk to a stop.

“Yes. Ask us one last thing,” says Piper. She is smiling up at him with her single front tooth.

“Do you like chocolate ice cream or strawberry?”

“Chocolate!” says Piper.

I shake my head. I’m trying hard not to smile. “Strawberry.”

In a booth at Dairy Queen, I learn that Danny is twenty-four, older than I thought. And, given his occupation, the last person in the world I would date, if I knew how to date: Halfway through with our cones he tells me he’s in narcotics.

“What are narcotics?” Piper asks.

“Drugs,” he says.

“But drugs are bad!” she practically yells. “You shouldn’t take drugs.”

“No, silly. I help catch the guys who are selling bad drugs.”

“You mean you’re a cop,” I state. I can’t believe it. What are the odds? Plus, he doesn’t seem like a cop. I expected him to work in construction or something.

“You say ‘cop’ like it’s something terrible. You don’t like police?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. Police are great.”

Piper’s big green eyes grow large. “You’re the police?” You’d think he said he was the president.

“Yes, but a special kind.”

“Like you arrest people and put them in jail?”

“Sometimes,” he tells her. “But only really bad people.”

That’s me, I think. A really bad person. “You’re dripping ice cream on your shirt, Piper.”



She looks down at her Mickey Mouse T-shirt. Mickey’s left ear has been hit. She lifts up her shirt and puts that part in her mouth to lick it off. “Use a napkin, sweetie,” I say, a little embarrassed.

A moment later, Piper is dabbing at her shirt with the napkin when she quietly announces, “I went to a police place once.”

I’m surprised. “Like on a field trip?” I offer.

“No,” she says. She looks back and forth at us. “I don’t want to say.”

Danny and I exchange a glance. “That’s okay,” I tell her. “No problem.

“I just met Piper a few months ago,” I explain to Danny. “I rent a room from her uncle Mike.”

“Well, lucky you, Piper!” says Danny with enthusiasm. “I’m jealous.”

“Jealous of what?”

I redden. “Oh, nothing, kiddo,” he says, smiling at me.

I don’t want a boyfriend. I am not interested in men. I am especially not interested in a man who is a cop. After five more minutes of chitchat and cone-licking, I wrap things up as quickly as possible. I stand. Tell him thanks. Tell him I need to get Piper home; it’s a school night.

“Will I see you again?” he asks.

“I have no idea,” I say, tossing the rest of my soggy cone into the trash. “You know where I work.”