Turning the Page

by Olivia Gaines

  Kate was furious. In her wrath, she attempted to push a stack of books off a table, but only succeed in bruising her arm. “Great! Just flippin’ great! She’s your business partner, my ass!”

  Hester and Janie watched in amusement. Janie’s mouth was twisted to the side when she whispered to Hester using her third person self-muting button, “Janie is not nosey, but we take it that Ethan recently broke up with the angry black lady?”

  Not missing a beat, Hester responded in the same muted fashion, referring to her role in her son’s life in third person as well, “Yes, and Momma was truly happy about it.”

  Janie held out her hand for a down low fist bump. Hester met her halfway, bumping fists in an unseen solidarity.

  Ethan walked over to join them. “I’m glad to see you two have met,” he said as he watched Kate leave the store.

  “Oh!” Janie said suddenly. She wore a bright purple sling hobo bag which appeared to wrap around her small frame. A matching purple string tied together her blond ponytail that fell down her back between her shoulder blades. “I brought you something,” she told him with pride.

  From the bag she pulled out a black tee shirt, handing it to him with a large grin. Her smile got even larger as he unfurled the cotton to hold it up to read it. Ethan was careful to hold it at an angle away from his mother’s eyes just in case it was along the same lines as the tee shirts Janie seemed to enjoy wearing. Her gift to him was far worse than the three he had seen her wear. The peanut one she wore today was really over the top, but this may have taken the cake. It read “I like to conjugate my dangling participle.”

  Ethan’s face was deadpan as he looked at Janie.

  Janie was brimming with pride like a cat that had just brought him a half-dead convulsing bird. Her eyes were searching his for acknowledgement that this gift she presented meant something to her thereby connoting a meaning for him as well. For that reason, he made a point to not hurt her feelings, but he sure as hell would never be caught dead or alive wearing that damned shirt.

  “Thank you, Janie,” he said with a forced smile.

  Hester wanted to see the shirt. Ethan tried to hide the offensive fabric behind his back, but she gave him that Momma look and he handed it over. His mother held up the tee and read it. After she read it she noticed the shirt Janie was wearing.

  “Oh my Jesus,” she said softly. Hester passed the shirt back to Ethan and headed to the counter to get her coffee. Over her shoulder she sweetly added, “Nice meeting you, Janie.’

  “Your Mom is cool people,” Janie said.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled. His mother had most likely never in her life been labeled as cool, probably not even by the kids she hung out with in high school. Yet, Janie saw something in his mother few people did—an acceptance of her as she stood. Unlike Kate who immediately made a snap judgment, his mother took Janie at face value, which did make her a cool person.

  Janie is unquestionably a dynamic character.

  It was definitely going to be interesting partnering with her because he was certain there was never going to be a dull moment.

  Chapter 7. Revising the Plot...

  If there was a means to record the first full day which Ethan Strom spent in Janie’s company, it would have certainly gotten two million hits on a video streaming website. It could easily be stated that he entered the seven stages of grief in less than eight hours and ended the day resigned in the acceptance that Janie was probably going to drive him insane. He could not stop grinning at the thought of it because the more time he spent with her, the more he liked the odd woman.

  Saturday was crisp and clear for a May morning as he drove his very clean Ford to the Comic Book. Uncertain where she lived and afraid to ask for fear of being considered nosey, he agreed to meet her at the shop. She bounded out of the front door, fresh faced, wearing a giant grin, and ready to look at some buildings. Instead of her purple hobo bag, she carried a knapsack loaded with supplies, everything from wet wipes to flashlights, but the first thing Ethan noticed were her feet. Janie was still wearing those ratty Birkenstocks.

  “Those shoes may not be the best choice,” he told her as she slid into the passenger seat. This was the second time he noticed her scent. It was something faint and sweet. He couldn’t place his finger on top of it, but it was familiar to him.

  “Well, if I had another pair of shoes, I would have them on, Ethan.”

  “Then, we will need to stop and buy you a pair, Janie,” he said back in the same tone she had spoken to him.

  “If I had money to buy another pair, Ethan, this conversation would not be necessary, now would it?” Her head was cocked to the side as she spoke to him.

  Before entering into this partnership, a great number of factors would have to be considered. He would not agree to this merger until he saw her books, but an idea for the combined stores was fueling him to press forward, like some outdated homing beacon beckoning him to roost.

  As he turned down Elmherst Avenue, he spotted the sign for a discount family department store. In his head, they could pick her up a pair of covered shoes for less than $20. They only needed to run in the store, try on some shoes, buy the pair, and continue on with their day.

  It wasn’t that simple. Ethan noticed her tee shirt. This bright red one read: These are ma’ fun bags. He didn’t want to go into a family store with her wearing that shirt.

  “Where do you get all of these provocative shirts?” he asked because he truly wanted to know.

  “My sister Meg and I design them. We are hoping to launch our website later this year. Right now we are only selling ones and twosies, but I know we are on to something here.” She started toward the door, but he touched her arm.

  Ethan tried to gather his thoughts before he said anything else to her, “Uhmm...they are very...uhmmm....titillating...?” He knew immediately after saying it that the wrong word had been used.

  “Why? Because it draws attention to my boobs?” Janie asked him.

  His lips were pressed tightly together. “Yes...Janie, it’s not appropriate!”

  Janie turned so slowly that Ethan held his breath in anticipation of the verbal ass whipping she was about to unleash on him.

  “They are just titties, Ethan. You do know your mother has a pair,” she said softly.

  Ethan opened his mouth, but gave it a second thought and opted instead to shut up. Janie, unfortunately, had no intention of doing so until she made sure he understood where she stood.

  “Based on the closeness between you and your mother, I would hazard a guess that she fed you from her breast,” she said. “Is your mother still married to your father?”

  “She is,” he answered, hesitant to know where she was heading next.

  “I’m sure in the privacy of their home, your daddy considers those boobies to be his fun bags,” she said. She moved two steps closer to him. “Do you have a sister?”

  Ethan didn’t like where this was going. “Yes, I do, Janie.”

  “Well, guess what, she has a set of titties too, Ethan!” Janie watched him gnawing on his lip. “If she is married or seeing someone, they too are probably playing with your sister’s fun bags!”

  He was shaking his head, trying to walk away from her. Janie got loud, “Oh, don’t try to walk away from Janie now, Mr. Appropriate. Because you are worried Janie is going to ask how much you like to juggle a pair of fun bags. Is that it, Ethan? Are you a titty man?”

  The face which stared her down was serious. “Stop it right now. You will not embarrass me in public with this vulgarity! I asked you a simple question. Nothing more. Nothing less,” he said with anger in his voice. His words were powerful. He used a commanding tone. He somehow seemed...taller. Oooh, Janie likes.

  “I’m sorry,” Janie said. “I just get so sick of men trying to dictate to women what we can or should wear. There are a-holes sitting in legislation in Atlanta passing laws and edicts about my reproductive rights all the while sliding into bed with some shady pharmaceutic
al company who is buying up placenta and feeding it back to young women in their drugs and shampoo. They have convinced young women to stick on a patch that allows their bodies to self-cleanse only once a year, and they call it progress. I call it oppression. These are my titties. This is my body. If anyone is going to profit off of it, it will be me.”

  Ethan watched her face closely. She was a passionate creature. An enigma of a woman. Before he could respond, a young lady passed by and read her shirt.

  “Cool, where can I get one of those?” The red head asked.

  Janie handed the girl one of her business cards with the stick figure people on it. “You can call and place your order or drop by the store and peruse our catalog,” she told the lady who walked away happy.

  Ethan’s mouth dropped, “You have a catalog?”

  “Not really,” she whispered. “It is a three-ringed binder with trading card sheets along with trading card-sized designs in it.”

  He started laughing.

  “Hey, you gotta start somewhere,” she told him.

  What can I say? “Well, let’s go inside and start by getting Janie a pair of shoes,” he responded.

  It seemed so natural for her as she linked her arm into his, almost skipping like a kid going to get new school clothes. “Janie would like that a whole lot,” she said with a giant grin.

  She would not let the opportunity to learn more about Ethan pass. She asked him softly, “So Ethan, are you a breast man?”

  He said nothing as he continued to walk. She was grinning at him like he was about to buy her the first ice cream cone of the summer season when she asked, “So you are not going to answer my question?”

  “I would rather not!”

  Her bottom lip was poked out and quivering. He looked down at her face, avoiding visual contact with her fun bags. “Yes I am, Janie.”

  “I knew it!” She said nothing more, but in her mind she was happy, because Janie liked that idea a whole lot as well. More so the idea of Ethan using his forceful voice while he played with her bags of fun appealed to her a bit more than it should have.

  Jimmy Earl, who sat in the passenger seat of the car in the parking lot watching the two, did not like anything he was seeing. He did not like it in the least. She was his Janie. His alone. He only needed to find a way to remind her of his undying love. Then the fancy black man would go away and leave them in peace.

  Even if he had to make him.

  Chapter 8. Ship, shape, and scratch that...

  It did not take long to locate a sturdy pair of work shoes. Janie, of course, picked boots that were pink. Neither of them thought about bringing a pair of socks, so Ethan purchased a few sets of those as well. He reached for the solid pair that would provide the most comfort while she broke in the work boots, and Janie grabbed a duo of multi-colored striped socks with little toes for her little toes.

  “These are sooooo cute and fun. Can I have these, Ethan?” She was so excited he could not bring himself to say no. He still erred on the side of caution and purchased the functional pairs as well.

  Janie was different from any woman he had ever been around. Things that she ogled in the store, most of the women he knew would not want to purchase from this chain, but buy them somewhere a tad bit more upscale, simply because of the quality. One of the items he caught her staring at for a while was a blue dress.

  “Do they have it in your size?” He asked.

  She was embarrassed for even looking. Janie girl, you have too many priorities to even look at that thing. “Rarely do these types of stores carry my size. I’m a size eight. Most of these stores carry larger sizes and just kids. When something does come in my size, it’s gone fast!”

  That was the last thing said on the subject. “Oh, Ethan, I do need the receipt so I can reimburse you at the end of the month.”

  “Consider it my gift to you,” he told her.

  “Nope. We cannot start off this relationship with you buying Janie things and Janie not paying you back. That is not good business. And it is not something we want to practice,” she said.

  “Fair enough,” he said and handed her the receipt for $27.36.

  “You will get this back,” she told him firmly.

  He had no doubt that she would honor her words. His trust in her was beginning to grow.

  Janie stood in front of the building on Waterston Street eyeing the dilapidated structure with boarded up windows over burglar bars.

  “That is not a good sign,” he told her.

  “This place is a pile of shit,” she said flatly.

  “We can’t discount it without giving a good look inside. It may be a solid ship, and we just need to make her seaworthy. The back taxes are only three grand, and paying the city wouldn’t be a struggle,” he told her.

  “Yes, but paying the three hundred grand to contractors to redo the wiring that the mice have gnawed through or to remove the asbestos and black mold will be,” she told him. “They have boarded windows over burglar bars, which means it was probably robbed often before they closed shop.”

  “Good point,” he told her.

  She walked around the side of the building, throwing her hands up in exasperation.

  “What is the point of boarded windows when the building has a giant hole in the side of it?” Janie didn’t give him a chance to answer; she had already walked back to the car.

  Ethan walked the full building, seeing what else was visibly wrong. There was a lot. This one was not an option. The Mayor had called him yesterday to add one more building to the list, so he and Janie headed to that one next.

  She hated that one as well. “My parents have a co-op three blocks over and I grew up in this neighborhood. Any money that was in this community moved out long ago; my parents’ business is proof of the reason not to choose this one, so scratch it, too.”

  “We can’t simply say no; the last one may be worse than all three. You have to keep an open mind. It will take a combined vision on both our parts to pull this together,” he told her.

  Janie rode in silence while they made their way across town. As if she suddenly remembered something, she turned in the seat. The leather squeaked under her weight as she faced him in the car. “Ethan, I bet you went to college.”

  “I did,” he told her.

  “I never had a chance,” she said softly. Her blond head turned to stare out the window. “I was thinking, I could close the shop and go to school full time.”

  “Is that what you would like to do Janie?”

  “I think about it sometimes. You know, I am approaching 27, and my eggs are getting older, too...”

  A hand, calm, manicured, and callous free, reached over to touch hers, gently stroking the skin. “I do believe this last building will tell us exactly what we should do next,” Ethan told her.

  “The first one was awful. The second one didn’t fit our needs. It’s optimistic to assume the last one will be just right. I’m too damned old to be Goldilocks or to believe in fairytales, Ethan, but as you asked, I shall keep an open mind,” she told him.

  The GPS voice sounded louder than normal as it issued instructions, “Turn right on Baker Street. In point five miles, turn left on Butcher Street.” Ethan followed the instructions as the voice came across the speakers once more. “Turn right onto Candlestick; your destination is on the left.”

  Both Ethan and Janie were leaning forward in their seats in anticipation. “You have arrived at your destination,” said the voice through the speakers.

  It was the old Roxy Music Hall and Theater. The building was located in a very active part of town where many old family owned businesses still operated and thrived. The marquee above the building still said Roxy, but many of the lights were burned out or missing. Janie noticed immediately the second floor and the large windows. Upstairs apartments; I hope they are in good shape.

  Ethan’s mind rested upon the poster holders. Those would be perfect for upcoming events.

  They were both fumbling, trying
to grab their flashlights as well as the keys. The paint was peeling on the outside of the wooden frame of the building and the brass door holders had patina, but the outside had some charm.

  “A couple of bistro sets out front for the coffee crowd...” Ethan said.

  “A couple of urns with fresh seasonal plants...” she replied.

  The glass in the front door was still intact. The side display windows were charming and Ethan thought about the comic book figures that could stand in one while the latest best seller could be featured in the other. He inserted the key in the lock and heard the tumblers give away for entrance. The doorbell jangled overhead as he and Janie entered, arm in arm, nervous, excited and brimming with anticipation. The flashlights clicked on and the beams of light sprayed around the space.

  “Hello...” Janie called into the darkness.

  “If someone answers you back, you are on your own. I will leave your ass in here,” Ethan told her. “You will be running down the street behind the car yelling, ‘Wait for me, Ethan. Janie don’t want to stay here!’”

  Janie tilted the flashlight to shine upon her face like a storyteller around a campfire. “Again, you are a busted comedian. That is not funny. Besides....”

  She turned the light towards where she thought a window would be. “...I would trip you up and run up your back to get out of here first!”

  Her flashlight was smaller than his. “Ethan, yours is bigger, can you shine some of that light over here, please,” she told him as she pulled the heavy brocaded drapery back allowing light to flood into the space. Both she and Ethan’s breath caught.

  From the hardwood floors to the balconies and the performance stage, it was evident what they both were thinking. “Home,” they said at the same time.

  For a mere $4,600 in back taxes, the outdated building in the center of Candlestick Street would be the new location for their bookstore.

  Ethan looked at her. “I think we should keep the original name...”

  “...And we call it the Roxy,” she finished his sentence.