Alice
He felt her words drop like stones into his heart. He knew exactly what had prompted her doubt.
Dear Alice,
On the other hand, “on wrongs swift vengeance waits.” Perhaps your customer felt remorse soon after. I know that I often speak before thinking. It’s my worst fault.
It must be a glorious and terrible moment, sending a beloved book out into the world. I don’t have children but I wonder if it’s like sending a half-grown child to college. My mother was cheerful and supportive when I went off to school, but recently she confessed that she cried every day. She was terrified that I would be treated badly, then come back to her damaged and disillusioned. She was brave outwardly and I never knew.
I think you are the best kind of bookstore owner.
Your BWK
He rubbed his forehead. It was weird to talk to her as if they’d never met. He stared off at the river, wondering if she was upstairs in the same spot, looking at the same view. Before he thought it through, he added another few lines.
P.S. I’ll be in Natchitoches this weekend. I’m going to the Zydeco festival this Saturday. Perhaps we’ll run into each other? “Those who move easiest have learned to dance.”
He pushed send and then stood up, feeling a thrilling combination of anxiety and happiness surge through him. Was he really thinking of telling Alice his secret? Only Andy knew about his involvement but he was completely trustworthy and his best friend.
His pulse pounded in his temples. He must have lost his mind. She’d just vowed to do everything she could to keep his company from opening in her town.
On the other hand, this might help his case. He could prove he wasn’t all bad, no matter how it looked from the outside. The phone dinged and he jabbed the icon.
Dear BWK,
I love the zydeco festival. I was intending to go, even though I don’t like big, noisy crowds. I make an exception for our Creole music. (Your Pope quote is about learning to write well, but I like it anyway.)
When you said you’d have a friend come for your book, did you actually mean yourself? Is this an unexpected trip? Have you been to Natchitoches before?
I’m sorry to ask so many questions but I’m curious now. Most of all, aren’t you supposed to keep that fedora on? If we meet, I’ll know what you look like and I could splash your picture all over those rabid message boards.
You don’t have to answer. Everyone loves a mystery. It probably draws people to your books. It’s good marketing. Plus, Mr. Pope says, “And, after all, what is a lie? Tis but truth in masquerade.”
Alice
He grinned. If he’d approached most any member of the fan boards and offered to meet them, they would have been thrilled. Alice didn’t seem to harbor the same obsession with celebrities that most people did.
Dear Alice,
Yes, I’m supposed to be anonymous, but it’s not so that I can bring in readers. I think the litigious types are less likely to file a suit if they can’t find a legal name to attach to their complaint. The only thing I hide is my name and my profession.
As for running to the fan boards… It’s true, you could.
But you wouldn’t.
BWK
Seconds later her reply came and it was only one line. He read it twice, wondering if she was angry or just curious again.
How do you know?
He paced the length of the living room before responding. He’d claimed to know what kind of person she was only hours earlier, pointing out personal items and drawing his own conclusions about her life. And he’d hurt her. He didn’t want to do that again.
He chose his words carefully.
Because you would have asked me where to meet you, instead of reminding me to keep my fedora on.
The door flew open and Andy ran through. “I’m here!” He looked disheveled and sweaty. His tie was askew and the front of his shirt was wrinkled. “This place doesn’t really have any taxis, does it? I just jogged six blocks because all I saw was a horse-drawn carriage and a whole lotta tourists.”
Paul waved a hand around the room. “This is it. Nice, right? Let’s sign the lease and get stuff moved in.” He was already starting toward the door when Andy answered.
“Wait a sec. Does it have cable? Wi-Fi?” He stared around at the exposed brick walls and the carved fireplace mantel. “Looks like a museum. I can’t believe you grew up like this.”
He snorted. “Like this? My friend, in a few days I’ll take you to the little shack where I spent my youth. We can play ‘spot the cockroach’ and ‘watch those bedbugs’ and ‘no hot water for you today’. Unless they bulldozed it, of course.”
“Oh, um, wow.” Andy grimaced. “When you said you had a rough childhood, I thought you meant that you got teased for being a geek.”
“That, too. The only thing worse than being a poor kid is a poor nerdy kid that everybody thinks is crazy because he spends all his time playing video games and pretending he’s going to rule the world someday.” Paul held the door open. “Run go look at the bedrooms and see if you can survive it here for a month or two. I think this is the best we’re gonna get.”
Andy crossed the room and stepped into the hallway, opening one door and then the other. “I can survive. I took that trip to the Himalayas last year, remember? As long as I don’t have to eat eyeball soup, I’ll be fine.”
“Definitely no eyeball soup, but we do have a few regional dishes you might want to avoid.” Paul shook his head. “I’d tell you but I’m afraid you’d get right back on the jet.”
“Right. I don’t want to know.” Andy crossed through the front door and Paul followed, turning to lock the door again. “You bullied me into coming with you to this Cajun backwater and if I resist now, you’ll just feed me to the gators.”
Paul chuckled and was starting to reply when a woman’s voice cut in. “Mr. Olivier, I’d prefer you find another way to dispose of your homesick friend. We wouldn’t want our poor alligators to get indigestion.”
Paul turned, wishing with all his might it was anyone other than Alice. He couldn’t seem to avoid offending her, as hard as he tried. Her voice was light but she wasn’t smiling.
Andy held out his hand, introducing himself. “Do you live across the hall? I guess that makes us neighbors.”
Alice took his hand, her eyes still a little red from crying, and smiled sweetly. “No, it makes me your landlady.”
“Ah. Even better,” Andy said. “Then you’re the one to okay the service order to install high speed cable.” He gestured to Paul. “He’s got party plans on the brain but we’ve got to rig up our gaming system first thing. It’s a working vacation.”
Paul elbowed Andy in the ribs hoping that he would get the hint as he turned to Alice. “Did you have enough time for lunch? I’m sorry that I interrupted,” Paul said.
She slid a glance at him. “I did, thank you. A peanut butter and pickle sandwich hit the spot. It’s a comfort-food kind of day.”
He tried to think of something to say but his brain seemed to have stalled on the peanut butter and pickle.
Andy said, “We can call up the cable company, if you’d like. It would save you the hassle. Of course, they’d probably still need your okay since you own the building and they’ll need to drill holes to run the cable.”
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure if this building can be updated like that. It’s on the historic register. There are only so many changes we can make.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Paul here got the board to agree to let us build our new store right in the middle of the historic district and a lot of people told us we couldn’t do that, either,” Andy said. “Ow!” He turned and glared at Paul, who had nudged him a little too hard that time.
“He did? That’s strange since I’m on the board and I never approved that plan.” Alice’s voice was like steel. She seemed to be doing her best not to lose her cool. She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’ll check into the cable issue and
let you know. Nice to meet you, Andy.”
And then she was gone, the red polka dot dress looking even better from behind, her high heels sounding on each step down the wooden stairs.
Paul sagged against the door frame. He kept his voice low. “Why did you have to bring that up right now?”
“What? If she’s the landlady then she’d be the one to―”
“I know. It’s just… we got off to a rough start,” Paul said. “She’s not really happy about the new store.”
Andy peered down the stairs and then whispered, “Then win her over. Or give me the job. I thought landladies were supposed to be old, cranky, and have a hundred cats. She’s gorgeous. Those eyes, that mouth, that―” he moved his hands in an hourglass shape and whistled.
“Well, she’s got the cranky and the cats part down.” Paul didn’t want to discuss Alice’s best features. “Look, we need to tread lightly here. She’s one of those old guard types, protecting the city from ruinous newcomers.”
“Then put on the charm. You’re the local boy. Can’t you impress her somehow?”
Paul gazed at the stairway Alice had just descended. He’d never been known for his charm and the Southern accent only worked on New Yorkers. Around here, it was standard fare. “I’m sure gonna try.”
He could tell himself it was all about smoothing over the problem with the building plans, but Paul wanted Alice’s approval in a way that had nothing to do with his business. The clever book store owner seemed to stand for everything he’d ever wanted in Cane River. He wanted her approval and her support. He just had to figure out how he was going to make that happen.
Chapter Eleven
The machine does not isolate man from the great problems of nature but plunges him more deeply in them. ― Antoine de Saint Exupery
Saturday morning arrived after a full night of tossing and turning. The zydeco festival had kicked off the evening before and the party raged outside Alice’s bedroom window until long past midnight. Even after all was quiet, her dreams were threaded through with images of legal papers and steel girders and stacks of Alexander Pope poetry. She’d dreamed of Paul’s smile and missing books, then a full inbox and a man who wore a fedora who waltzed her across a dance floor. She crawled out of bed at dawn, grateful the night was over. After a long, hot shower, she slipped on a vintage shirtdress, hoping the bright green pattern would cheer her up. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and swiped on a bit of mascara. She kissed the rings and tucked her necklace inside her shirt. Because of the festival, there could be scores of customers. Or it could be completely deserted. Either way, the day would be a long one.
On a normal Saturday, she made a simple breakfast, but Alice decided to take advantage of being up early. She pulled maple bacon, shredded a potato for hash browns, and fried it all up with a sunny-side-up egg. Beau Monde coffee brought it all together. She sat at her little kitchen table, looked out over the river, and reminded herself how very blessed she was. She heard the cat door. The kitties wandered in, one after another, as the scent of fresh bacon reached them. Well, everyone except Darcy, who expected her to deliver his slice, and Van Winkle, who didn’t move for anything.
Grabbing a second cup of coffee, she tip-toed down the hallway, hoping that Paul and Andy weren’t morning people. The shop was dark and quiet, the smell of old books like a balm to her anxious state. She settled at her desk, letting Van Winkle eat his bacon off a piece of paper on her desk. She didn’t bother to turn on the little lamp. She held her mug in both hands, letting warmth seep into her fingers as the scent of the dark roast filled the little space.
A whisper-soft touch against her bare ankle made Alice pause. “I put your bacon in your bowl by the door.” Darcy drifted out from under the desk and gave her a cold look before wandering toward the back door. He came and went as he pleased, and today was no different.
Darcy had been Mr. Perrault’s favorite and Alice wondered if the cat was still mourning him. They all missed the man who spent most of his life in this little store, but managed to make friends with almost every person in Natchitoches. Alice closed her eyes. For a moment she could see his bright white mustache and clear blue eyes, could hear his measured tones and big belly laugh. Somehow she’d thought he’d live forever. Most days she still expected him to walk right back through the front door and sit down in his chair, the chair she occupied at the moment.
Tears burned her eyes and she felt them gather under her lids. Alice wished she could talk to him one more time. If he’d meant to include his niece, then Alice would honor his wishes. If not, then she had a legal fight on her hands and she hadn’t even started looking for lawyers. She knew nothing about court battles except they cost lots of money.
The store had plenty of valuable inventory that could be used to fund a legal defense, but selling it was the problem. She had the Rackham sale in the bank account, but had no idea how fast the legal fees would mount up. Alice leaned forward, hunching against the pain of loneliness. She never really noticed how alone she was until moments like this. Her brothers were scattered all over the South, busy with their own families, her mamere gone before Mr. Perrault.
Turning, she reached for a little book that always gave her comfort. Her head had been stuffed with Alexander Pope the last few days but his wit was never soothing. He spoke truth but it didn’t bring her comfort. The Seraphim and Other Poems was well loved and some pages were fragile and worn. Elizabeth Barrett Browning was Alice’s own personal cheerleader. Maybe it was because she was mostly self -educated, or that she defied everyone’s ideas of who she had to be and what she must do, but to Alice, her poetry felt like drinking espresso with just the right amount of sweetness.
She opened to a favorite spot and read aloud, letting the words wrap around her worries. “The Cry of the Children” was a terribly sad poem, but Alice didn’t use it to wallow in her problems. It gave her courage, because Elizabeth had written it to condemn child labor in a time when all the great poets were writing about Greek tragedies. Alice loved her for it, this poet who declared that her own people, in her own cities, were worthy of her time, energy, and talent.
Alice took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She was going to do what she could in Natchitoches, for her people. Whatever she had to offer, she hoped it was enough to turn the city from the overwhelming tide of technology and industry that was swamping the Creole culture.
Feeling a little more centered, Alice opened the laptop to check her email. There was an email asking about a set of first edition Heinlein paperbacks they’d seen on a previous visit to the store, but hadn’t bought. They wanted them now and requested shipping to their Florida address. Alice scribbled down the titles and headed for the science fiction section. This was when she missed Charlie. Alice had to hunt around for a little while. Charlie would have been able to find the books with her eyes closed. She brought the books back to the desk and replied, letting them know they were still here, and attached an invoice.
She allowed herself a small smile. Who said she couldn’t use technology to run her store? She clicked back to her email and her heart dropped a little before she even realized she’d been looking forward to another note from BWK. But there was no reason for him to write again. He had asked if she wanted to meet, and although she hadn’t said no, she certainly hadn’t said yes.
She re-read the last message. Because you would have asked me where to meet you, instead of reminding me to keep my fedora on. A smile spread over her lips. BWK was interesting, but he was also astute. She sat back in her chair, chewing on her lip. She wasn’t the type of person who enjoyed meeting new people, even when they didn’t have a complicated secret identity issue. But BWK loved books with the same passion and fervor that she loved books. There were very few people in the world who understood what it really meant to be a bibliophile. The way he’d written about missing his friends on the shelf reminded her so much of how she treated her own books, whose words kept her company in the darkest
times.
She hit the reply button and quickly typed out a response, before she could change her mind.
Dear BWK,
I’ll be at the center stage area at eight this evening, when Step Rideau and the Zydeco Outlaws play. I’m not the best dancer, but it’s impossible to sit still and listen. I’ll be wearing red cowboy boots.
Alice,
who can’t think of a single line of poetry that fits
Alice pressed send and then swallowed hard. This wasn’t a great time to be starting a new― what? Friendship? She didn’t even know if he was single. He could be married. He’d only said he didn’t share any shelf space and didn’t have any children. For her part, she’d flirted with him while Eric was still in the picture. She dropped her head in her hands at the thought of Eric. That had ended terribly, and right in front of Paul. He’d seemed sort of amused, really. He must think she was as country as a turnip green.
Alice stood up, smoothing back her ponytail, and went to flip on the lights in the main area. It didn’t matter whether Paul Olivier thought she was sophisticated or not. And although her resolution of never speaking to him again had ended about five minutes later, this time it was for real. She was going to make a real effort to keep out of his way.
***
Paul rolled over and groaned as the sun hit his face. Didn’t anybody believe in blackout curtains anymore? He flopped the other direction, pulling the pillow over his head for good measure, but some internal switch had been flipped, and his body refused to sink back into sleep. Throwing off the pillow, he sat up in bed, and rubbed a hand over his face. Last night had ended way too late, but not because of the Cajun party raging outside. He’d been using the mobile hotspot he’d brought to upload the files from the scanner to the website. The coverage was spotty and the upload would freeze mid-stream. He’d check the link in a few hours and see how his fans liked the new addition. The new equipment would be delivered sometime today so Andy could set up his workspace. To outsiders, it looked like play, but gaming was their livelihood. Their first game, Mars Invasion, a sci-fi fantasy, multiplayer online battle arena, made millions, because they’d treated it very seriously.
The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance Page 11