THE FIRST EDITION

a story by Tucker Marten

Henry held Jerry's hand in his as the two climbed the stairs to Madeline's apartment. "I want to look at that rare first edition," Henry said. "Madeline has it locked in her apartment. You like Madeline, don't you?"

"She's not bad for her age," his companion replied."

"Well, you're still young enough for me, dear," Henry said in soft mock tones and laughed. He rang the doorbell.

"Henry, come in!" Madeline, a short, overdressed woman, called out. "Oh, I didn't see you, Jerry. Won't you come in also." She held the door open. "I didn't expect you, Henry. You haven't been around the bookstore lately."

"I've been busy. I heard you've got that first edition of Dickens' Pickwick Papers. I want to take a look at it."

"I have it, but I already promised it to someone. It'll have to take some clever excuses to keep it from him. Oh, I'll think of something. Sit down, sit down." She took the pages of the afternoon newspaper which had been lying on the sofa and crumpled them into little balls. "I'll make some cold lemonade."

"Well, make it just as sweet as yourself.”

"You're an old lying flatterer," Madeline said before she disappeared into the kitchen."

"How old is Madeline?"

"About fifty, I guess. I've never asked her."

Jerry stretched his arms. "That's pretty old to me. For a woman, that is." "Listen, you young student," Henry chided, " you're not going to stay twentyfive forever."

"No, but for a few more years anyway."

Henry laughed. "You're improving."

"Not a bad place she has here." Jerry had a habit of slurring his words. “Those are pretty pictures on the wall. Think I'll take a look at them.”

"All right. I'll be back in a minute." Henry walked to the study. "I'm going to look at Madeline's collection."

Jerry examined one painting: it was a pastoral scene with a shepherd making undying love to his shepherdess. Just the kind of amourous thing you'd expect of a fifty-year-old woman, he thought. He glanced round the apartment, noticed the finely chiselled sofa legs, the expensive baroque lamp, the Chippendale table. A little bookstore couldn't keep up this sort of thing; Henry must be helping. He chuckled to himself when he remembered Henry's repeated excuses of business and bargains in order to come here.

"Here come the refreshments." Madeline was walking into the room with a tray of lemonade. "Oh, where's Henry?"

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