“Thing is, I didn’t get much sleep last night.” She slipped out of bed. “Too excited about the book club.”
“How about a relaxing back rub?”
“Great idea, but I’ve got truckloads of stuff to do at the shop.” She grabbed an outfit from the closet. “I’ll let the dog out.”
“You know, Piper, you been givin’ me the cold shoulder lately and you’ve never been like that before. You give up on sex or just me?”
“Oh Freddie.” Her feet padded to the doorway.
“What did I do?” he said, “let me in on it, will you?”
She called from the hall bathroom. “You didn’t do anything, honest. It’s me. Please, honey, just let it wait till later.”
In fifteen minutes, she poked her head in the bedroom door. “Sorry to rush off. Love ya.” On her way out of the house, she grabbed her book club selections and walked the short distance to Cut & Curl.
After she entered, she relocked the salon door. Pulse pounding, she opened Wuthering Heights. She flipped through the romance on loan from the library, and scoured the chapters for torrid scenes. The language fell far short of her expectations. What kind of folks named their son, Heathcliff, anyway? She turned to the last page of the book to see how the story ended and grimaced. No haunting sex scene. No final sensuous embrace. She put the book down and opened the anthology to read the first memoir, then went on to the next and the next, but found no spine tingling scenes. No rapturous caresses. No heavy breathing, gasping, and heaving. She grabbed the science fiction, but the intrigue of Ray Bradbury only intensified her unsettled feelings.
She spun in the chrome-armed chair until she was dizzy, worrying about the lump and the possibility of getting pregnant. It didn’t help that Freddie’s beliefs prohibited the pill. She just knew she shouldn’t think about having a baby. She stared into the salon mirror and picked up the phone book. In a few minutes, she made an appointment with a new doctor in Groverly, to get his opinion of her plight and a secret prescription for birth control pills. If she hid them and took them, that might be a solution.
Until then…she made a spur of the moment decision and rushed off to the house to move her clothes into the spare room. Before she left home, she went to the storage cupboard and found their high school yearbook. She wrote a few lines and put it on the bedside table in the master bedroom.
Then, she dashed off a note and tacked it to the fridge. It said, “We’ll talk.” She knew discussing serious matters was something married people were supposed to do, but she and Freddie didn’t. Never had. Who wants to share sad or bad things? She decided if she could find the right time and place, she’d try. The move to the spare room, the note in the kitchen might force her into a serious talk with her husband. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to someone you loved, but fear and panic kept her mind muddled and her mouth shut. If she said the words to him, her whole life might fall apart.
Pushing wisps of hair from her forehead, Lily sat at the Readers’ Advisory Desk, wondering why she was given the responsibility of this desk so often, keeping her away from the books she loved in the Special Collections room. She’d struggled to keep her composure since receiving the job loss notice, often fighting back tears that might mark her as an overly emotional employee. With no patrons in sight, she searched Google and read about the Jardin Estates and the winery mentioned in the flyer. It took only a few sentences to drown herself in the account, myth or true, of an old Duchess who died in the 1500’s. And a son who found her next to her Book of Cures with a request to hide it. Lily imagined the young duke wrapping the book in a simple cloth and storing it in the castle storage cave. Her mind whirled, thinking of the ancient pages stashed under a mountain of objects, worn linens, used tablecloths, dented tea pots, folded tapestries, unmatched candlesticks, and stringless lutes. There it waited for centuries to be released. And waited still. She crossed her arms over her flat chest and smiled. It was the first time in quite a while.
The smile turned into a positive feeling about the future, enough to pick up the Library Weekly to browse for employment opportunities in other facilities.
“Aha!” Her sudden cry jolted the air around her as she read the small headline at the bottom of the page: Antiquarian Books from Europe to Tour U.S. Libraries. Not a job ad, but an exhibit opportunity. The last line of the article indicated one short-term slot left at the beginning of the itinerary.
She clicked away at the computer to contact the sponsoring Global Antiquarian Society in Strasbourg. In her quick email, she offered the organization the time vacated by the baseball card exhibit. “Assignment accomplished, I hope.”
Aggie pushed open the door of the Used Stuff Store, hauling in her goat milk carrier. She waved at Sax who was admiring the tattoo on his upper arm.
“Look at you,” Aggie crowed, and he rolled down his sleeve.
“It’s not finished yet, but I’ll get it done.”
“I like it so far,” she said and walked on to find Maxine, sitting upright at the office desk, reading a book on business success.
“Morning, Maxine. Bringing the milk delivery.”
“Today, if you don’t mind, take it to the extra fridge in back. I need to talk to my brother and give him his chores.”
It took Aggie only a few minutes to put the milk away and weave her way through the furniture toward the front of the store.
Nose to nose, Sax and Max stood next to the register.
Sax’s voice penetrated the sales room. “Damn it, Maxine, I’m through being your follower. I’m moving out.”
Aggie trudged past breakfronts and bedposts to head for the front door.
Maxine’s voice pitched higher. “You might want to think twice about that.”
Aggie’s hand found the knob and twisted it.
“The front door opens and closes,” Maxine yelled. “Either of us is free to do as we please. Just tell me if you intend to keep working here. There’s a schedule to keep.”
Sax shouted back. “Damn right, I’ll keep working. I own half the store, even if it doesn’t seem like it to you. I’ll be back for my things.”
Aggie slipped out with the sound of Sax’s boots close behind her.
“Guess you heard us fighting.” He came up to her. “She’s a bitch. Always has been.”
“Families are like that, made up of all kinds of folks.”
“We’re together too much. But no more holding back for me. I’ve been too unhappy.”
“You do what you do in this world.” Aggie fitted the milk carrier into the makeshift stand on the moped.
The front door of Used Stuff opened. “Hey, Sax, we might be twins, but we each have our talents. It’s always been like that. I make the plans, find ways to make the money. You help me.”
“Go to hell,” Sax hollered.
“By the way, you’re a lousy chess player.” Maxine slammed the door.
Aggie climbed on the moped. The engine sputtered, then caught. “Twice as much joy. Twice as much trouble,” she called to Sax. “My gypsy grandma used to say that about twins.”
She headed for her last stop, The Emporium. The old, wooden building looked the same as the last time she’d been there, except for the addition of a glowing neon sign. She hadn’t visited the shop since the last owner died. Still sad over losing a friend, she stepped inside to take in the changes. The rows of DVD displays were new. A purple satin drape now covered the alcove once reserved for reading The Groverly Gazette. From a row of cages, metal birds twittered their tinny songs. She caught her breath at the smell of smoking and faded herbs.
“Can I help you? I’m Boris Ratchov.”
She noted his vivid arm sleeve tattoos. “I’m Aggie Verkie from the local goat farm. I, uh, I wondered if you’d like to carry goat milk for your customers again. A few places in Nolan do. It seems to sell and it’s a nice addition for your herb customers.”
“The herbs, for your information, don’t sell at all. And it wouldn’t work anyway. The cooler
went out.” He shrugged. “Anyway, who knows how long I’ll stay. I’m a globetrotting tattoo artist, who makes a few bucks selling the occasional collectible. When I’m bored, I try something different, like a rental department of X-rated DVDs.”
“I knew your uncle and am very sorry he passed on.”
“Yeah, when I heard my uncle died, I thought I’d take a break and crawl inside his hidey-hole.”
“He was such a nice man.”
“I suppose so. Take a look around. You might find something to buy.”
Sax Morton stumbled in and threw himself down into one of the viewing chair by the DVDs. He looked over at Aggie. “Oh, hello again. I’ve almost recovered after that fuss with Maxine.” He sighed. “Boris, I told my sister I’m moving out and I just got a room at the motel. Paid for six months.”
“Aren’t you the one?” Boris said. “Hell, why don’t we throw a few sharps to celebrate?”
“I heard about your knives. I was hoping you’d offer some time. C’mon, Aggie.”
“Sure, come on,” Boris moved into the office.
Aggie followed and stood in the back. She silently admired the shiny relics he’d collected, ancient swords displayed along one wall and small daggers attached to hooks on a knotted, gold rope. A heavy-duty nail secured each end of the cord that stretched from window to window across the thick cork wall.
Boris walked near his treasures, pointing to each one. “Scimitar from Turkey. Claymore from the Scottish highlands. Egyptian ritual knife. Japanese Samurai. Purchased during my worldly travels.” He glanced at Aggie. “Sax and I are going to throw daggers. You want to watch or are you planning to join in?”
Aggie shook her head. “You two go first, while I think about it.”
Boris took a dagger from the wall and handed it to Sax. “Here you go.”
Sax grinned and accepted the knife. “I’m more than ready to try.”
Boris undid his own favorite dagger. “This is how to do it right. Grip the handle, so. Angle it and swing it forward to release. Not like throwing a ball, but like this.” His dagger dug into the edge of the target center.
“Here goes nothing.” In a wicked frenzy, Sax threw his knife and it fell to the floor.
“Not so rushed. Relax and focus. Grip. Angle. Release. Try again.”
The two men set about flinging the sharp and shiny objects at a target on the cork.
Sax concentrated, flicking knife after knife with no luck. “Not doing so good, huh?”
“Remember, a weapon in hand bolsters confidence,” Boris said. “You’ll improve with practice. Believe in your power to do it. Want to give it a shot, missus?”
Aggie stepped forward and took the dagger. She held it lightly and stared at the target, then flipped the knife in an arc. The golden point hit the bullseye, digging deep into the cork.
“Wow,” Sax said.
“We can quit now.” Boris collected the daggers and connected them back on the rope. “What’s your deal, lady?”
“I’m a gypsy, you know. Traveling the countryside, a person finds many gifts in the woods. Thank you for including me today, but now it’s time to feed the goats.”
Driving home, the first meeting with her husband cut like a flying dagger through her heart. She remembered the bands of gypsies gathered in a faraway forest for an afternoon of raucous stories and dancing to the strands of zither music. When she took a break from the lively songs, she noticed a group of men who’d pinned chicken feet to the thick trunk of a tree. Laughing and yelling oaths, they took turns, aiming their knives at their target, with extra points for slicing off any of the toes. One tan and slender young man outshone them all, Camlo. As he aimed, his knife caught the sun shafts and glittered. When she moved closer to watch, he smiled at her each time his weapon flew through the air, hitting a tiny toe dead on. His dagger, his accurate throws repeated over and over sent her quivering inside. That night, he proved his point and afterward, they were never apart.
Sax prowled the Used Stuff Store, grabbing old suitcases and hanging bags. He packed his clothes, dropped off items to keep in the Emporium storeroom and returned to his room at Motel 5.
Annoyed, Maxine tapped her pencil on the distressed oak desk top. Finally, she realized the appeal of the new situation, the run of both apartment and store in off-hours. Indeed, she was as free of her twin brother as he was of her.
Aggie unlocked the closet door in her bedroom. She took down the samovar and removed the Mason jar. “To seeds of love planted in wild nights,” she cried. Cold to the bone, she wrapped herself in the black cape from the dresser. When it enfolded her, his spirit haunted her, holding her close. Clutching the jar to her bosom, she danced in circles around the room until she was exhausted. Then she lay down, the cape covering her, a dark, rounded blanket of passion remembered.
CHAPTER 6
Lily checked the new shipment of best sellers and sorted the library mail. To keep a lid on her emotions, she avoided the Head Librarian whenever she could, keeping to her cubicle, concentrating on repairing books and updating the catalog. Midmorning, she checked her email and found a reply from overseas.
Ms. McFae:
The Global Antiquarian Society accepts the offer of the Groverly Main Branch Library to participate in the upcoming tour of ancient books. Fill out the enclosed forms and specific information will follow. The itinerary is now complete. Your facility will be the first stop.
Lily completed the application and sent it back immediately. She sighed, knowing she’d be gone from the library by the time the tour arrived. She emailed a press release to local newspapers, TV and radio stations, then forwarded all the information to Library Director Trummel.
On her way to the lunchroom, a husky patron marched toward her. “Well, if it isn’t Ms. McFae. Imagine running into you.” He hesitated. “I’ve missed you at the Emporium.”
“I didn’t recognize you, Boris.” She blushed. “That particular chapter of my life is over.”
“I’m looking for some information you keep in a special room.”
“We have a Special Collections Room. Follow me.” Lily ushered him into the rarified atmosphere, closing the door to erase the murmur of outside sounds.
“I’m interested in a European estate called Jar Don. Jar Deen?”
“I know exactly what you mean. The Jardin Estate in Alsace. There’s an article about it in one of our reference books. Sign in at the reading desk, please.”
“Of course.”
Lily opened the log book and turned a new page for him. “You’ve made an interesting choice. Looks like others have looked at this book as well.”
“Mark me down as another one of them.” He flipped back the page and squinted at the signatures, then turned the page to scrawl his name and required information.
“I’ll get the book for you.” She pointed to a batch of white gloves. “You wear them while handling the book. After your research, toss them in the basket.”
The chair squeaked as Boris positioned himself at the reader’s table near the door. He set his cap on the table, opened his black briefcase and brought out notepad and pen before he pulled on the flimsy cotton protectors.
She laid the volume on the table. “One of our most interesting books. I do have other duties. Do you know how long you’ll be?”
“Not long at all, but go ahead with your work. Come back later.”
The humidifier whispered, adjusting the moisture in the air.
“Someone always stays with the patron. I’ll be working in the back stack.”
Boris found the article on the Book of Cures and skimmed through it. After glancing over his shoulder, he pulled out a tiny knife. He coughed softly as the knife edge skimmed along the inside of the page.
“Are you all right?” Lily peered around the corner, then sailed toward him.
Boris slid the knife under his cap.
“We do appreciate no coughing on the pages. I’ll get you a tissue.”
“Just a mil
d allergy. I’ll almost done.” He waited for her to leave, but she stayed close. Hunched over the book, he made extensive notes, then filed them in his black case.
“All finished, Ms. McFae.” He closed the volume, coughed again and rose from the chair.
He reached for his hat and slipped the knife into his pocket. “Thank you.”
She tidied up and stopped by her office to carry another armload of rescued books to the non-fiction stacks. “Here you go. Home again,” she whispered and placed a volume into its rightful position. Her palm swept lightly over the spines in their orderly presentation. It gave her joy, the side by side gifts of biography, essay, travel and reference waiting for readers. Numbered. Filed. Ready to reveal the breadth of history and tangle of civilization to anyone who presented a library card.
Library Board President Humphrey rounded the corner, followed by Ms. Trummel, who wore one of her immaculately tailored business suits, this one in a rich bronze tone.
The old gentleman tapped his cane and nodded at Lily. “Hard at it, I see, even in light of the regrettable recent budget decision.”
“I suppose.” She straightened her shoulders.
“Ms. McFae, since I study so many reports and business journals, I have a question. What’s your suggestion for a reading change of pace?”
She handed him the book in her hand. “You might try The Chaos Theory by Edward Lorenz.”
Director Trummel stepped into the conversation. “That’s one idea, but I have several other recommendations. I’ll make a list.”
“Not necessary. This looks interesting. I’ve heard about it often enough. What’s it about?”
Ms. Trummel pounced. “Well, very well known, of course, and discussed by many authorities. A theory that’s been around for years. A treatise on…on….”
“Random influences offering limitless possibilities.” Lily’s smile was smug. “The most quoted example, a butterfly waves its wings and later, perhaps thousands of miles away, that waft becomes a wind and then, that wind, a tornado. I think of it as long distance cause and effect. Something like that. Change evolving from a small, simple thing. The shape of a sand dune. A falling leaf.”
The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies Page 4