The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies

by Connie Spittler

  “You go ahead. Give it to me when you’re finished,” Piper said.

  Lily took off her glasses and handed the book to Aggie. “Next time, maybe try Emily Dickinson. The poetry book includes her small poem about wild nights. It’s filled with meaning and promise. I’ll write out another copy right now.” She took a sheet out of her notebook and began to write. “Read it. Study it. At your next meeting, discuss the writer’s intentions and the feelings her words engender in you, the reader. Decide if you feel the same or differently about the poem. There’s no right or wrong. I can send information about the author, if you’re interested. She was quite a woman.”

  “Gee, Emily Dickinson was an assignment in high school, but I must not have been paying attention, ‘cause I don’t think they taught erotica in my English class.” Piper wiggled the pencil back and forth.

  “Where do we find these writers of erotica?” Aggie said.

  “In bookstores, the library, on the Internet. There is something for everyone. Several famous authors raised the temperature of writing. Anais Nin. Vita Sackville-West. For an even higher degrees of intensity, Sappho and the Marquis de Sade. But if you prefer mild romantic fare, there are well-known authors, like Jane Austen. Actually, some fan fiction writers today have sensed an underlying heat in her classic novels and they’ve re-written certain scenes more explicitly, for example from Pride and Prejudice. I doubt any author of old would accept such revisions.”

  “But which one should we start with?”

  “There’s Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. Or Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.” Lily gestured outside toward her bookmobile. “I have examples in my van. Want to come take a look?”

  “We could do that, but I’m not sure about taking one home today.” Piper shrugged. “I need to decide where to keep it. Maybe hide it under the kitchen sink at home with the cleaning stuff. Freddie’s a bit of a prude about some things. And if it’s in the salon, some customer might pick it up. Maybe when you come back through town, we’ll be ready.”

  Aggie pursed her lips. “Looks like we both need time to think about how to go about this before we start reading.”

  “I can send a list of a few books with a theme line, so you can decide if the contents might appeal to you. When you’re ready, the library could mail them.”

  “Books in brown wrappers, coming through our post office to our mailboxes. Not a good idea,” Piper said. “We’ll figure something out. But send the list.” She ran her hands through her pink streak of hair.

  Aggie started packing up the leftovers. “Maybe there’s some erotica in the farm garage. Griffo has piles of books there. He sold old books for a time.”

  Piper stood up. “Then, it looks like we’re set. A great start for the first meeting of The Erotica Book Club.”

  “For Nice Ladies.” Aggie put the cookie platter in a paper bag. “That’s the part I like, being thought of as a nice lady.”

  Lily handed Piper a copy of the Dickinson poem. “Now you each have one.”

  Piper filed the poem in her bookkeeping ledger. “Before I forget, I heard something really interesting about a book when I was at the Emporium.”

  Aggie turned her head in surprise. “I wouldn’t have guessed you shop there. It’s an unusual place, at least for Nolan.”

  “I was there on an errand, and these guys were talking about a book worth a million dollars. Is that possible?”

  Lily nodded. “Certainly, if it’s scarce or historical. Maybe a first edition, or signed by an important author. A copy of Audubon’s Birds of America sold for 11 million and a Gutenberg Bible went for over four.”

  “Wow.” Piper folded up chairs. “I wished I remembered exactly what they said. Mostly about a drug company wanting to buy some old book.”

  “I don’t know any book about drugs worth a million, but could be,” Lily said. “Not many people participate in investments like that. Certainly not me.”

  “I’m partial to simple things,” Aggie said. “By necessity, but more than that.”

  Lily stacked up the unwanted volumes from the library. “And I’m the same way. I’ll leave these library books, just in case.” She took a deep breath. “Can anyone stay to talk? I don’t have to be anywhere. We could chat about anything. Doesn’t have to be erotic. Or even personal.”

  Piper carried the chairs to the back storage closet. “Darn, I have a wash and set in a few minutes.” She came back and shook out a plastic cape. “I put off the appointment because of our meeting.”

  “And goat hooves wait for trimming at the farm. I didn’t finish my work.”

  Lily held out a card. “Here’s my cell phone number, in case you have questions. Goodbye and good luck.”

  Piper put the card on the counter. “Thanks for your help and sorry we didn’t get to that haircut.” She turned to Aggie. “Let’s meet same time tomorrow to get this thing rolling.”

  Aggie smiled. “I’ll be here.”

  Piper watched the women leave, then wandered back to the storage room. Talking about her mom brought memories of the unopened boxes stacked in the back closet. Each one was marked “personal” and Piper stood staring at them, until her customer arrived.

  Lily drove the bookmobile to the town square and parked. Like a smoking combination of chemicals, she’d felt connected to these women. There was an ease to their conversation about books, and after that, the personal sharing. They’d twisted together, then sprung apart, yet sent out rarified fumes of friendliness in her direction.

  Then, just like that, it was over and the camaraderie dried up and blew away. For a few brief moments, she thought she’d found friendship with two clubwomen curious about erotica. But it didn’t happen.

  The door of the bookmobile opened and a mother with three noisy kids tumbled in.

  “This bunch needs distraction.” The woman’s eyes looked tired. “A reason to sit down and be quiet.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have much reading for kids.” Lily pulled out several books and spread them on the table. “This is it. Available to check out or purchase.”

  The mother looked inside at the prices, then drew out a wad of money. “I’ll buy them. My kids are pretty hard on books.”

  Lily pocketed the money and locked the door when the group left. At the drive-in, she ordered a double mocha shake and thought again about the book club women. Their quick dismissal of her hurt. Loneliness settled in when she realized she wasn’t headed home to Groverly. She checked into a room at Motel 5 on the outskirts of Nolan. Collapsing on the twin bed, she wrote out the short list of possible erotica she’d promised to the nice ladies.

  Lady Chatterley’s Lover. 1928 novel by D. H. Lawrence about the mind and the body. Well known and controversial. Main characters: an English lady, her paralyzed husband, and a young gamekeeper. With explicit sexual passages and four letter words that couldn’t be printed back in the 1920’s.

  Canadian author Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. A dystopian or futuristic novel with strangely erotic overtones. Women in assigned and subjugated roles, some kept for reproductive purposes.

  Crossed out, Aurora Leigh by Elizabeth Barrett Browning, the story of a woman who gradually realizes she loves her cousin.

  In an Alsatian hotel room, dried leaves and hot, hot tap water swirled into a brew. The result was poured into a silver flask.

  In her room, Piper read,

  Were I with thee

  Wild nights should be

  Our luxury!

  And Aggie read,

  Might I but moor – tonight –

  In thee!

  CHAPTER 9

  The businessman rented a car in Strasbourg and studied the map for routes to and from the Global Antiquarian Society. He looked in the trunk of the vehicle and made one stop at a hardware store. Then he drove to the city’s outskirts, down a long lane to check out the lay of the land. After his baggage inspection at the airport, he’d formulated another way to get the book home. It was more complicated with s
ome tricky parts, but he thought he could manage it.

  Back at the hotel, he unpacked and made a call.

  “Global Antiquarian Society.”

  “Can you give me information about your tour of ancient books? It starts soon and I want to make sure of the dates. Our family is going to the States, and we plan to visit your exhibit while there. A special treat for our family of dedicated readers.”

  He listened as the cheery-voiced receptionist read the itinerary.

  “Perfect. I’m ready to make our airline reservations, and I had a terrific idea. Perhaps the books and my family could leave the country at the same time and cross the ocean in tandem. I’d impress my kids and grandkids no end with my literary dedication.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything like that, but it’s a unique idea. I like it.”

  “I’m one of the society’s most devoted fans. So can you tell me when we should depart? It would make an exceptional memory for us all.”

  The receptionist laughed. “It’s not a secret. We even plan some publicity at the airport.” She told him the day and time the exhibit was scheduled to leave the building and the name of the airport.

  He hung up, went to the hotel restaurant and ordered jambon en croute. Afterward, he called the duke, reviewed his plan, then set off driving through the Alsatian hills to the Jardin Estate.

  The sound of jet planes streaked through the sky, breaking the meditative silence of the chateau setting. The man pulled himself together, then rang the bell on the gate.

  Soon, an old gentleman strolled to the entryway. “ I am Duke Quincy, head of the Jardin Estate. Welcome to our winery. I assume you are the society representative. Please follow me to the vault.” He checked his timepiece, then ushered his visitor toward a rustic doorway built into a hillside. “Our evening meal begins soon. Do you think we’ll be finished before the bell rings in an hour?”

  “This won’t take much time. I realize you’re breaking precedent.”

  The door creaked on heavy, rusted hinges and they went down a set of stairs.

  “Do not think me rude if I ask to see your credentials.”

  “Of course, here they are.” The visitor displayed the ID card from his wallet.

  “Centuries ago, workers dug this vault into the hillside.” The duke stopped by a long, oak table. A battery lamp burned, revealing the vacant mouth of an open vault. A black velvet placemat decorated the table.

  “I see you are ready for me. Is your seed business doing well?”

  “Yes, we’re pleasantly surprised at the volume of orders, because the herbs are only to be used decoratively.”

  The man placed his bulky briefcase on the table. “Your flyer excited our officers, an opportunity to authenticate the existence of your manuscript and include it in our bookbinding study.”

  “For years, we’ve tried to avoid attention to the book, but interest remains. It’s a new world and our marketer recommends we join in, if we intend the winery to prosper. I admit the intrigue about the book has increased wine sales, and we’ve turned down several offers to sell it.”

  The duke disappeared into the dark enclosure. When he reappeared, his gloved hands cradled an old manuscript. “The stone and mortar of this cave have provided a secure home for our book for hundreds of years.”

  “It’s not too late to include it on our book tour. The volumes leave soon for their first library showing, and I could take the book with me. Make all the arrangements.”

  “The answer is still no. I’ve thought long and hard over whether to show you the exterior of the manuscript.”

  “Know that the society members are grateful for this viewing.”

  “All I provide is a look at the exterior.” The elderly duke placed the scarlet-covered book on the dark velvet. The faded cover gave off a soft radiance. “Is this worth your trip?”

  “It is. After centuries of rumors, it validates an existing volume no one has seen, except your family. It’s said the book holds information about unique herbal combinations. What do you say?”

  “I have nothing to reveal, since I’ve seen nothing of its contents. We’ve kept it sealed.”

  “Amazing.” The visitor took out a notebook and ruler. “I see a touch of worn gilding on the cover. See, without touching, this laser ruler can measure the dimensions. I hold it just so, to get the precise height and length.” The ruler hovered over the cover, then the man marked down the calculations.

  “Careful. Don’t get too close.”

  “Quite right. One quick photo and I’m done.” The visitor reached into the briefcase for his iPhone and a flask. “We have a tradition at our headquarters that honors each rare book we uncover. We toast with a special tea of yarrow and lovage, often served at room temperature to enjoy its rare flavors. I thought it appropriate to bring some, so we could celebrate together.”

  The duke moved the placemat aside. “Yes, here at the estate, we often use herbal tea for different occasions.”

  “Think of it. After all this time, information about your manuscript will hold a place of honor in our archival study.” Tiny cups appeared from the depths of the briefcase and the visitor poured the amber liquid. “We drink to good fortune.”

  The duke raised his cup. “To the healing properties of yarrow and lovage. I’ve been troubled by ill health of late.”

  “May you soon escape that burden.” The visitor lifted his cup. He did not sip, only watched the old man drink his tea.

  The old duke whispered, “The yarrow we grow is not so pungent, the lovage not so bitter.” He gasped, struggling to speak again, to breathe. He grabbed the book and stumbled against the table, but the volume fell free as his body crashed to the ground. The outer seal quivered when the book hit the floor. He stretched out his fingers to reclaim it. Only one inch away. Yet a canyon of space separated him from the manuscript. “Help me,” he whispered. His face drained to a salt-white color.

  “I apologize for the flavor. Perhaps you taste the presence of monkshood behind the flavor of lovage. The dab of honey should have balanced that hint of poison.”

  The victim’s weary eyes met the visitor’s. “Why?”

  “My good man, so your book can travel to the States, after all,” the man answered.

  The duke’s violent cough left one splot of blood on the worn tile. His lids closed in his pale face.

  Drop by drop, the remaining cup of untouched tea was poured back into the flask. The gloves were stripped from the dead man’s fingers and used by the man to wrap the book in a soft covering, before placing it in the briefcase. He grabbed a bottle of wine and nudged the vault’s metal door closed until the lock caught. With a quick swipe of his handkerchief, he wiped the blood from the tile, and set the bottle near the duke’s hand. As he snapped off the lamp, the dinner bell rang out. “Sleep in peace, old fella,” he whispered to the motionless figure.

  Nearby sparrows huddled in their nests as blackness pushed against the silhouette that scuttled away from the winery.

  After dinner, the family checked the elderly duke’s bedroom to see why he’d missed the meal he most enjoyed. They found his bed made up, everything in place, except the duke. Within minutes, they’d organized a tour of the château, up and down staircases, floor by floor, room by room. But they didn’t find him.

  They grabbed flashlights and scattered to search the edges of the courtyard, the rows of the vineyard, the garden spaces. When they reassembled and checked off the points searched, they realized no one had visited the wine storage vault.

  They found him. His still body looked at peace, his hand outstretched toward a bottle of wine. Everything appeared in order. The table, clean. The vault, closed. The lamp, extinguished. Except for death’s swift visit, the place looked as cool and tranquil as always.

  The visit from their family physician determined that the duke had succumbed to a heart attack while getting a bottle of wine. His skin color was off, but his health complaints of late had been many. He was an old gentle
man, after all.

  All through the night, the outside gate of the chateau swung back and forth from a breeze that chilled the garden. The odor of lovage mixed with the scent of blossoming plum trees, fanning a rare perfume into the air.

  Aggie clutched her worn sweater close to her body. She slumped in the porch rocker, a rounded monolith, holding the heaviness of years in her folded hands. Suddenly she sighed, went inside and yanked open a warped drawer. With a black marker, she slowly penned “Room for Rent” on a piece of cardboard. She walked to the mailbox and attached the sign to the metal with strips of duct tape. Griffo’s room was officially available.

  A clear and perfect dawn arrived on schedule at Motel 5. Comfy in old gray sweats, Lily checked out and started on her trip, with Aggie and Piper prominent in her mind. It was the closest she’d come to friendship in a long time. She drove for an hour into the next county. Bumps in the road shook the bookmobile and rattled her spirits. At a three-way junction, she braked to let a band of bright-winged monarchs float across the road. As she watched them, she felt her thoughts lift with happiness. She turned the bookmobile around and followed the butterflies back to Nolan.

  CHAPTER 10

  The two women of the book club sat across from each other at Cut & Curl, library books stacked in front of them on the table. Piper held up the notes she’d taken. “Are we ready?”

  Aggie nodded.

  “Okay, here we go. The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies will begin,” she announced.

  They sat for a minute. Piper looked at her notes, while Aggie kneaded her thumbs.

  “Go ahead,” Aggie said. “The poem.”

  “The title is “Wild Nights.” But the words are printed twice and there’s an exclamation point at the end. That’s probably important.”