The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies

by Connie Spittler

“That guy was drunk. I never heard anything else about it.”

  Maxine crooked her finger at Sax. “Let’s get started since today’s the day we get ready for the annual sale. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

  “Selling off the remains of the remains. Sure.”

  The owners walked the aisles, noting the overflow of dusty bargains, ticketing crusty bake ware, run down shoes, snagged sweaters and stacks of magazines. Knick-knacks, trinkets, gewgaws, and bric-a-brac crammed on top of, around, and behind the furniture. Everything got tagged.

  Maxine took a thick marker and made a big lettered sign for the book sale and propped the huge placard up next to the coffee table. “Books 50¢ each.”

  “I’ll help you clear off the top layer of grime.” Maxine grabbed two feather dusters and handed one to Sax.

  He bowed and smirked. “I am so grateful for your assistance, dear sister.”

  “You’re a clod.” Maxine turned to whisk away at a needy shelf of pottery owls.

  In the midst of their dusting, Boris walked in. “Busy, busy, huh?”

  Maxine looked up. “Too much stuff everywhere means no space for more.”

  “So for pete’s sake, buy something, will you?” Sax said.

  “Don’t need anything, but I’ll look around.” Boris reached into his pocket. “I brought over these sleeping pills from the Emporium.” He handed the packet to Maxine, “Sax said you had bouts of insomnia. Matter of fact, I do too.”

  “Well, thanks.” She slipped them in her pocket. “I’ll try them.”

  Boris winked at Piper. “You find any of those naughty books you wanted?”

  She blushed. “I might have.” She paid five dollars for a half-price lamp and left.

  “I’m looking for something irresistible.” Boris worked his way from back to front, poking around, opening drawers, sitting on overstuffed chairs. When his extensive tour was over, he called out from the front door, “Sorry, couldn’t find a thing. And Maxine, you’re cordially invited to the Emporium for our dagger throws. Sax enjoys them.”

  Sax hurried after Boris and caught him by the arm. “C’mon, Boris, why’d you have to ask my sister to join us?”

  Boris looked him in the eye. “Just being neighborly, that’s all.”

  Customers popped in throughout the day, including Llewellyn Blanding, who browsed a while, then paused by the rickety shelf unit propped against the back wall. He examined the items on display: moldy books, boxes of rusty bolts, broken hinges, chipped dinnerware, and tatty neckties. He picked up a damaged glass and showed it to a shopper. “Do you think someone would pay good money for any items on these shelves?”

  The shopper shook his head and moved away.

  Llewellyn ambled up to the register and leaned toward Maxine. “You ever think of selling out-of-date pharmaceuticals here? I know the right people and could make the arrangements.”

  Maxine nodded toward the customers nearby. “Now is not the time to discuss it. Come back after the sale. Anything is possible.” She shooed him out the door.

  Even Griffo stopped by to examine the used books in back, before he approached Maxine at the register. “I own several interesting old books myself. I could be persuaded to sell, if you’re interested.”

  “Maybe later, Griffo. But not while we’re up to our ears getting rid of things.”

  Word of the sale filtered through Nolan, and the cash register rang up sales throughout the day. During a lull, Maxine sought out Sax, “What did Boris mean, about the daggers?”

  Sax gave her an annoyed look. “Our pastime at the Emporium. You wouldn’t be interested.”

  “Of course, I would. Sounds dangerous. Sounds like fun.”

  Sometime during that day, a hand carefully pushed a newspaper-wrapped package under the old storage shelves along the back wall. A corner of the package wrapping caught the jagged wooden edge on the bottom of the case, but only a small bit tore. Just a hint of shaggy newsprint peeked out from the edge of the bottom shelf board. The old stuffed chair and the coffee table close to the unit, piled high with outdated magazines and sheet music, disguised the situation.

  Piper blew through the open gate of the goat farm and rattled the back screen. “Hey Aggie, is Lily around? I thought we could organize Griffo’s old books and check them for erotica.”

  “Come on in. She’s off doing errands in Groverly, but I don’t see why we couldn’t look.”

  “You worried about Griffo leaving? Being a relative and all.”

  “I’m used to it. He’s gone more than he’s here and when he’s here, he’s mostly trouble. You and Lily are closer to me than Griffo. In a way, you’re family. Sit.” Aggie pointed to a chair. “I was reading something special.”

  “Looking for erotica?”

  “No, it’s a letter left by a wandering gypsy. It was written hundreds of years ago and translated by someone in my family. My relatives saved it because the traveling man was also a Romani and his words sing out to me.”

  “Is it a love letter?”

  “Not really.” With a slow, reverent gesture, she picked up a small scrap of disintegrating pressed fiber and showed it to Piper. “This is all that’s left of the original in German, but the translation is saved. I can read it to you …

  Here I be - sorry old man adrift - knowing that some died from my herbal trials at the Jardin Castle. Most patients were near death before taking my cures, so who is to say the reason they passed. And some times I worked miracles. Some day the secrets of healing will be uncovered in plant souls humming quietly in the ground. Witness the garlic and onions that nourish our bodies.

  Piper scooted her chair closer. “Oh, I love onions.”

  Aggie read on:

  Methinks the tea recipe frightened the duchess more than my failures. I give it to you my friends. But with this warning — mix the tea of love only after a SIGN from above. Know that any who ignore this message will be cursed. Z the Healer

  “Oh, Aggie, a tea of love. What does it taste like?”

  “I’ve never made it. The healers in my family were afraid of its power.”

  Piper nodded. “Are you a healer too?”

  “Only in small ways.” She closed the book. “The things in my book are for family only. So do not talk about this to others, except Lily. When she is back, I’ll share it with her too.”

  “You have my word, but can I ask you something, since you’re a healer?”

  Aggie nodded. “Healer of sorts. Small sorts.”

  Piper took a breath. “If a woman has a serious disease, what happens if she gets pregnant?”

  “Oh dear girl, are you sick? Are you pregnant?”

  “No, no, I’m asking for a friend of mine.”

  “I don’t know what to say. If your friend is expecting, it would be a question for a doctor. In Groverly, there are many who could help her. Has she seen anyone?”

  “Oh, she’s not pregnant now, but she wants to know. In a way, she’s afraid of the answer.”

  “All I can tell you is be there for your friend, in every way you can.” Aggie patted Piper’s hand. “Should we go now and look at Griffo’s books?”

  “Somehow, Aggie, I’m out of the mood.”

  Detective Jamison assembled the library employees and board members in the conference room for another session. “A few more questions, if you please.” He laid the file down on the table.

  They waited with impassive faces.

  “To begin, did any employees report in sick on the day you noticed the book missing, or the day before?” He scanned the group, carefully noting their faces.

  “No one,” the library director said.

  His eyes drilled into those of his audience. “Then as I requested, is every board member and every employee present today who was in the library the day the book disappeared? Let me add, also the days before.”

  “Yes,” Director Trummel said. “Everyone’s here.” A strange look passed over her face. “Except of course, my ex-assistant. The d
ay of the book display she gave the board her unique version of a farewell, but she was let go before the tour opened.” She shook her head. “Such a regrettable appearance.”

  “I don’t believe this information came up before.” The detective rubbed his chin. “Why didn’t anyone mention it? Who is she?”

  “In all the excitement, apparently we didn’t think of it,” the Board President said. “Her name is Lily McFae.” His fingers tapped the papers in front of him. “Reliable. Never absent or tardy. Intelligent, quiet, reserved. Due to certain circumstances, we let her go.”

  “Exactly why?”

  The director narrowed her eyes. “She was fired for extreme insubordination to me. Come to think of it, she was the person who talked about that encyclopedia.”

  The detective gave her a stern look. He shuffled his notes. “Anyone speak to her since that day?”

  Ms. Trummel blinked rapidly. “I would guess not. She didn’t mix in much. A plain woman. With a drab existence, I’m sure. She was let go simply because she broke the rules. That was it.”

  “I will certainly check on her.” He stalked out of the room, mumbling, “motive… motive.”

  When Detective Jamison called the phone number listed for Lily McFae, he heard the message about a disconnected line. After a few phone calls, he found a judge to give him a warrant to search her home in Groverly and left to visit the fired librarian. When he checked her mailbox, it was empty. When he knocked on her cottage door, she didn’t answer, even after his fist pounded with authority. He twisted the knob. Locked.

  “I have a search warrant, Ms. McFae,” he called through the crack. In the back, he found another locked door. “This is H. Jamison, Groverly Police Investigation Department. I need to speak to you. I am about to enter your property.”

  He peeked under the welcome mat and ran his finger over the flat top of the lamppost. Not until he lifted the book-shaped foot scraper did he find the key. As the back door creaked open, a wall of emptiness hit him, the feeling of vacancy.

  He moved through at a steady pace. A tidy-looking place. Lights not functioning. No milk in the refrigerator. Water turned off. No sign of cooking. Clean bathroom. No toothbrush. Seated at the desk, he noticed the newspaper. An article about the butterfly population was circled with red ink.

  The second red lines on the page made him scratch his ear, the underlined heading that announced the dates of the antique book tour at the Groverly Library. “So, you were interested in the exhibit and now, you’re gone. And so is the book.” Underneath the paper, he found her checkbook on top of paid bill stubs.

  As he revisited each room, he noted that all bookcases stood empty. She’d skipped out, a librarian taking her books with her, leaving the soundless ghosts of missing books lingering on the bare shelves. He put the newspaper and checkbook into evidence bags and called for experts to powder the place for fingerprints.

  Neighbors contributed little information on her habits or whereabouts, only that she’d kept to herself. They described her as an average woman without special characteristics. There was nothing to remember or report. He went to the post office, took a number, and waited his turn.

  After displaying his badge and showing the proper paperwork, he asked for her mail.

  “All I know is that Lily McFae’s mail is on hold,” the clerk said. “She should be coming back to her place within a month.”

  “Not necessarily. Some folks disappear for good.”

  “Matter of fact, she did leave an odd note.” The clerk brought out the yellow form. “Do you think she meant suicide?”

  The detective read the neat lettering on the bottom of the official card.

  If you wonder why I left, it’s because people should care more about books. Now, I do what I can. If others ask where I’ve gone, tell them destination unknown.

  Sincerely, L. M.

  The detective frowned. “I have no idea. One thing about Lily McFae. She’s not as forgettable as some people think. I find her perplexing.”

  On a hunt for books containing a whiff of erotica, Lily entered the Used Stuff Store and approached the woman at the register. “Hello, I’m Lily McFae.”

  “I remember you. You talked about books at our store. I’m Maxine, the manager.”

  Lily blushed. “Sorry, I didn’t remember you. I was nervous that day. Anyway, now I own a bookmobile and I’m in the market for some special books.”

  “Then you’ve come to the right place. Lots of them near the back, all special in their own way.”

  Lily took a circuitous route, making her way through the dining sets and nudging a coffee table to reach the tall bookshelves. She took her time examining the titles, but no gems appeared.

  She returned to the register. “I’m interested in more unusual books.”

  “Unusual is our forte, old books on most every subject. If nothing appeals today, then another time, perhaps we can deal. I’m quite a reader and collector myself.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She sat in her bookmobile for ten minutes before she made the decision to drive to the Emporium. Freed from employment constraints, she could get another tattoo on any part of her body. If she wished. And today, with feelings welling up, she wished.

  Inside the Emporium, a dusty herbal smell filtered through the air. She stopped at the DVD display, where two men lounged in the preview area, intent on watching trailers of seduction scenes.

  Lily sighed. “Is Boris around?”

  The men glanced up. Sax turned and pointed toward the office, then his head swiveled back to the action.

  A deep voice called out, “If you’re a salesman, I’m not interested.”

  “I’m not selling. I’m buying. An old customer, wondering if I can get a tattoo without an appointment.”

  “With you in a sec. Put your name on the log by the register and get changed if you need to expose any unusual body parts. I’ll meet you behind the purple drapes.”

  Lily signed in and went to the drab dressing room. She put on the clean, folded hospital gown, but kept on her jeans. Shuddering in anticipation, she thought about tattoos. For her, the markings fell between dreaded vice and tingling pleasure, a gesture of defiance toward her non-eventful life. She drew aside the purple drape and took a chair. Paraphernalia that belonged to the executor of upcoming pain gave her pause. The same photos of huge tattoos still covered the walls. In contrast, her own designs seemed a fragile piece of symbolism.

  Boris stepped into the room wearing immaculate scrubs. “Look who’s here. Ms. McFae. It has been awhile.”

  She blushed. “I’ve decided I want one more.”

  He brandished a bottle of denatured alcohol, then sprayed a light mist over the equipment.

  “I remember you told me in the library that you wouldn’t be back. But it’s hard to stop sending those inked messages, isn’t it? All my customers, blue collar guys, gang members, business types, lady professionals share the same urge. A human foible. Doesn’t matter whether it’s vanity or culture, one-upsmanship, even spiritual, my indelible work stamps an identity on the body as solidly as dental x-rays.”

  “After my surgery was one thing. This is something else. I’m sure this will be the end of it. I left the library and have my own bookmobile now. My plan is to travel to other places. Spread my love of reading.”

  “And what design will illustrate this voyage?”

  “I’ve sketched it out. It stands for books now lost to me, including one I’ll probably never open.”

  “And where does the tat go?” He studied the picture she drew for him.

  She pointed to the top of her shoulder.

  He nodded. “By the way, I could use some ready cash. Can you pay in advance? Two hours time should do it, since you know the drill.” He grinned. “I plan to dash off soon as we’re through.”

  “I could do that.” She handed over the bills, then cradled her purse against her side. “I’m ready.” She let the top of the gown slide down a fe
w inches in back to allow space for the markings.

  The needle buzzed and she clenched her teeth as the tips plunged into the beginning of the design. She endured the stings in silence, without twitching. As the process continued, she puckered her lips tighter and tighter, taking deeper breaths each time Boris blotted away the blood.

  “Whoa!” Her cry accompanied the needles that danced along her skin, the surface now altered, traced with blood and ink. “I need a few deep breaths.” She imagined the black outline, the shape of book spines emerging. Needle pinpoints ripped through tender surface layers as her hands clutched at her purse.

  “Okay, go ahead,” she said.

  He wiped the picture clean with his antiseptic cloth and resumed his work. “I’m ready to apply the color, if you’re up to it. What shades do you want?”

  “Mixed colors, but give the middle one a scarlet binding.” Her voice was faint.

  “Relax. Close your eyes. Think of something wonderful.”

  She concentrated on the Book of Cures. The mystery of its contents. She allowed her eyelids to droop. With great effort, Lily remained immobile as the needles moved in and moved out, drilling in tandem through her epidermal layer. The pain deepened.

  “Ow!” She winced and her purse fell to the floor.

  “Sorry for the discomfort. I’ll put your bag behind the desk by the front register.” He leaned over and picked it up. “Take a rest.”

  In a minute, he was back. “Not much left to do. You know you’re the only customer I have who’s a global expert on tattooing. Tell me about it. It’ll take your mind off the needles while I finish up.”

  “Global is a stretch. It was New Guinea and I taught there, ate taro, hunted for cuckoo eggs and watched the ritual tattooing of young women before they married. Buttocks, legs, faces, nape of necks and breasts marked to signify betrothal.” She clenched her teeth. “I guess that’s what made me realize the symbolism of tattoos.”

  “Yes, indeed. You’re doing fine and you’ll be happy to hear I’m almost done.”

  “Just a librarian without a job, taking old books out on the road to spread a love of reading.”