Shelf Monkey

by Corey Redekop

  “You three are gone! You are banned, you hear me? I’ll have the police drag you out if you stay, I don’t care if you own —”

  “Just try it,” said Aubrey, his voice suddenly lowered. “You just try it, Page. I dare you.” It was deathly quiet on the other side of the door. Something very odd had just occurred, but I couldn’t think of what. Murmurs, indistinct, wormed their way back outside the office. I looked at Warren, who shrugged in shared confusion, and the two of us leaned our heads toward the door, striving to hear more.

  “— can’t do that,” Page was saying.

  “Watch me,” Aubrey said. “You want to make this ugly, I’ll match you step for step. Lawyers, trials, the works. I’ll close this place down before I let you win.”

  “Why?” said Page. She sounded scared. “You’d destroy what we’ve built, for what? Just so you can get your kicks?”

  “We’ve had a good run, Page. We’ve each made some money, more than I ever believed we could. I’m sure you’ll do fine on your own. Besides, I’ve been unhappy lately, you know that. It’s about time I stretched my wings and flew off for a bit.”

  “Please, we worked so hard. Why can’t you just leave me be, take your money and just go.”

  “Nope. I gave you Emily, but this is more important. Those two out there, with their ears against the door, they’re friends of mine. I talked them into it. I’m responsible for them, and I will not have them lose their jobs. You leave us alone, and everything will go along just as it always has.”

  There was a troubling minute of complete silence. I pressed my ear up against the wood. I could just make out Page’s voice, a violent whisper. “If you ever do this again, I’ll call your bluff. I’ll put everyone out of work. You, Danae, those idiots outside, everyone. I won’t stand for this anymore.”

  “Just so we understand each other,” Aubrey said. I jerked my head back at the sound of his footsteps approaching. Aubrey opened the door and stepped out, closing it slowly enough that Page’s angry breathing was audible. His skin was a morass of oils, his dreadlocks wilting with sweat. He slid a hand down over his face, saw us sitting there, forced a smile to the surface. “Cheer up, brothers, we live to fight another day!”

  “What, that’s it?” asked Warren, deeply flummoxed. “We’re good? Just like that?”

  “We’re good to go, Warren,” Aubrey said. “Everything’s, uh, copacetic. You just have to know how to talk to her. She’s a pussycat, really.”

  Warren and I exchanged a look. “You know, we could hear everything in there,” I said.

  “Yeah, c’mon, Aubrey,” said Warren. “You better buy us dinner first, you gonna fuck us like this.”

  I nodded my confusion. “What’s going on, Aubrey? ’Fess up. We should be on the street begging for spare change by now.”

  “You got pictures of her or something, that it?” Warren asked.

  “Yeah, there’s no way she’d just let it drop, Aubrey,” I said. “We knew that going in. I was already prepping my résumé.”

  “Look, it’s not something I want to talk about,” Aubrey said. He walked quickly away, Warren and me in hot pursuit.

  “C’mon, dude, what’s going on?” Warren asked as we took a left at Gay/Lesbian fiction. We were now running. Our footfalls echoed through the aisles. “Aubrey, what gives?” Warren yelled, his knees rising to my chest. I was taking two steps for every one of Warren’s. Aubrey faked a left at Hockey, went right instead down Football/Soccer, then cut across Golf, and broke into a full sprint, giving us the slip at Travel.

  “Where’d he go?” I wheezed to Warren. He craned his neck over the shelves, then grabbed my collar. “This way! Canadian History!” We dashed forward, Warren in the lead, effortlessly weaving his bulk through several families as he followed the red bobbing locks through Children’s Fiction, catching sight of Aubrey near the U.S. History/Performing Arts Criticism cloverleaf, and finally breathing down his neck as Aubrey began to lose steam at the Spirituality/ Self-Help junction.

  Aubrey whirled back at us, sending me careening left into the bookshelves as I swerved to avoid a collision, books flying as I drove my arms into the shelves to catch my balance. Warren, being the greater in mass, ran past Aubrey by several metres before he could bring his velocity to a halt. The three of us stood there warily for a moment, scrutinizing each other, punctuating the silence with deep ragged breaths, scads of Gilbert Morris and Karen Kingsbury scattered about our feet.

  Warren broke the peace. “You’re going to tell us what’s going on here, buddy.”

  “Let it alone, guys,” Aubrey begged softly. He crouched and started to gather the books in his arms. “Please don’t ask me again. Please.”

  “I don’t think that’s an option anymore,” I said.

  Warren loomed over Aubrey. A strange look had come into his eyes. “I swear to God, Aubrey, if you don’t spill —”

  “Drop it, all right?” Aubrey practically shouted this at us, his voice pushing us away into the stacks. I was stunned. Even Warren looked fearful. “You both still got your jobs, everything’s taken care of, so just fucking let it go already! Jesus Christ, I thought you ingrates’d be happy!” He stalked away, fuming, throwing his armload of Janette Oke to the carpet. “Leave me the fuck alone for a while! Jesus, can’t you guys do anything without me?”

  Warren and I stood there for a time, quietly dazed as we stared after him. “Now, what do you think —” I began to ask, stopping short when I looked up.

  Warren’s large eyes swam in water. “What the . . . the . . . what the hell was that about?” he whined. Being yelled at by Page was one thing, but this was something else altogether. The contrast of Warren’s massive frame with his face, screwed up in sadness, was appallingly pathetic. “Thomas, what’s going on?” he asked again, his baleful eyes lending him the look of an enormous basset hound. He started to hiccup. “I mean . . . Aubrey . . . he . . .”

  I shook my head weakly. “We’ll find out, big man,” I assured him. “You, me, Danae. We’ll corner him at home or something, make him confess. We’ll go after work, okay?” Warren’s bottom lip fluttered. The dam was full to bursting. “Warren, come on, pull it together. You want Page to see you like this?”

  “Yeah, but . . . man.” Warren wiped a tear away before it could escape his eye. “I mean, man, I . . . why’d he have to yell, dude?”

  Awkward is nowhere near a strong enough word for how I felt at that moment. Should I hug him? Pat him on the back? The seven-foot monster is going to cry, the Hooded Fang needs a hug. What’s the appropriate manly response to such an event? Doc Newhire would tell him to let it out, but come on, we’re in the middle of a fucking bookstore here.

  I opted for tough love. “Hey, soldier! Buck up!” I punched him on the arm. “Suck it up, buttercup!”

  Well, it got his attention. His eyes cleared. He grinned. “Did you just say ‘suck it up, buttercup’?”

  “You heard me!” I went into Full Metal Jacket mode. “You think you’ve got it tough, well, go home and cry to mama, you want a hug, you pussy! We’re here to work, motherfucker!”

  Warren smiled, then snapped to attention. “Jawohl, Sergeant Schultz.”

  “I was really going for the R. Lee Ermey thing.”

  “Hey, you’re lucky you got Schultz. Threatening you are not, bud.” He punched me back on the arm, lightly. I was sore for days. “Thanks, bro.”

  “No prob.”

  “That was weird, huh?’

  “One word for it.”

  “It’s just.” He thought for a second. “It’s like when your parents yell at you or something when you’re young, you don’t know why, but man, you feel it deep.” He took a deep breath. He wasn’t happy, but neither was he a blubbering fool.

  “Uh, don’t tell anyone, okay? About this?”

  “You think anyone’d believe me?”

  That evening, having corralled Danae into joining up, the three of us split cab fare to Aubrey’s place. Warren was sullen and q
uiet, still working to rein in his emotions. He took a moment to build up his game face after we arrived. This game face, I noted with not a small degree of fear, was a face that truly belonged on someone of Warren’s stature, fearsome and warrior-like, a face to be carved into the side of mountains to inspire and intimidate further generations. I opted for a simpler yet no less effective look of sustained confusion.

  An unsurprised Aubrey responded to our knock. “Come on in, guys,” he said. “Beer’s in the fridge, pizza’s on the way, and . . . Warren, you look awful, have you been crying?”

  “Almost.” The warrior in Warren decided to loosen up a bit. “C’mere, dude.” Warren grabbed Aubrey in a crushing bearhug. Aubrey gasped for breath, but I held Danae back from helping to free him from Warren’s squeeze. Aubrey had this coming.

  Later, Warren’s sentimental nature quelled under a mountain of cheese and pepperoni, the four of us quietly drinking and smoking our ways to oblivion. I hazily recalled why we had come.

  “So what the fuck, Aubrey?”

  “Aw, brother,” he began. “You don’t need —”

  “No, no, you don’t leave us hanging now,” Warren said. “I’m about wiped out from all this, but I swear to God I will kick your ass through the wall if you don’t ’fess up.”

  “Brotherman, that’s uncalled for.”

  “I think it’s definitely called for, brother.”

  “Second!” I seconded.

  “Aubrey,” Danae said, inhaling a large fogbank from the communal joint, “I think it’s about time.”

  “Danae, it’s not that simple. You know that.”

  “These two deserve the truth now,” she insisted. “After last night, you owe them that.”

  “They’re big boys. I owe them nothing.”

  “Hello, what’s going on?” I asked, sliding away from Danae. She looked at me with a pained expression. “You know something here, you didn’t tell me?”

  She glanced at Aubrey. “I’ll tell them, Aubrey. Say the word.”

  Aubrey stuck his fingers in his hair. “Aw, Danae,” he complained.

  “Hey, we put our asses on the line with Agnes!” Warren yelled. He jumped up and grabbed Aubrey by the collar, swinging him around with the ease of a dog playing with its favourite chewtoy. “Thomas and I should have been fired, you too! We were prepared for this, but you have to have your little secrets!” He dropped Aubrey, cocked an arm, and shoved Aubrey’s head into a monstrously painful-looking headlock. “The truth, now, or this comes off.”

  “Brother,” Aubrey squawked. Warren increased his squeezing. Aubrey’s eyes bulged.

  “I’ll pop it off, buddy, I mean it! Thomas, give me a count-down!”

  I held up my right hand, fingers extended. “Five,” I said peacefully.

  “Warren, let him go, he can’t breathe,” Danae said.

  “HHUNGH!” Aubrey agreed, turning blue.

  “It’s coming off at one, brother!”

  “Four.” I folded the thumb in. I nonchalantly took a bite of pizza.

  “HURG!” Lilac now.

  “Warren!” I held Danae’s arm.

  “Three,” I said, chewing. Pinkie in.

  “Hwawk!” Violet.

  “Time’s running out!”

  “Warren! Let him go!”

  “Two.”

  “Hnuu.” Deep purple.

  “You’re killing him! Thomas, stop him!”

  “You think I could?”

  “Phlugh.”

  “One.” Index finger left.

  “Off with his head!”

  “I own the store.”

  “Zer — what?”

  “What?”

  “. . .”

  “Did you catch that?”

  “Warren, let him go, man!”

  Warren unclenched his bicep. Aubrey collapsed in an asphyxiated heap.

  “I didn’t just hear that, did I?” Warren asked me. He bent down to Aubrey’s level. “Did you say what I heard, buddy? Tell me you didn’t.”

  Massaging his throat, Aubrey bobbed his head feebly.

  “You own the store?” I asked. “You own READ? How is this possible? And you,” I turned to Danae, wild, “you knew about this?”

  “I promised I wouldn’t say anything,” she said quietly. “Don’t hate me, ’kay?”

  “Don’t blame her,” Aubrey gasped. “I asked her to keep a secret.”

  Warren clenched his fists reflexively. “You own the store. You own the store? How is this possible, we’ve known each other, what, two years now, you don’t think to ever mention to me that you’re my boss?”

  “Well, technically, I’m your boss, too,” said Danae.

  “That’s not the same thing, you know it,” I said sharply. “You never lied about yourself. We always knew who you were. We accepted it. This, this is different.”

  “Damn right, different,” Warren said. “This here is betrayal.” He advanced on Aubrey, who skittered pitifully away, coughing weakly.

  Danae jumped up and positioned herself in Warren’s path. “Okay, everyone calm down,” said Danae, putting a tiny palm against Warren’s chest. “Warren, we’ll explain everything, just back off, all right? Go get Aubrey something to drink, will you?” Warren glared at her for a moment, and then lumbered off to the kitchen, swearing under his breath. He returned with a glass of water, spilling a fair deal on the floor as he shoved it in Aubrey’s direction.

  “I don’t get this, not at all,” I said, watching Aubrey greedily slurp down the water. “How can this be, you hate READ more than any of us.”

  “In league with the devil, pal,” muttered Warren.

  “Look, guys, I’m sorry,” Aubrey said, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

  “Aubrey and Page are equal partners,” said Danae. “They own the place fifty-fifty.”

  “I hired Danae, that’s how come she knows.” Aubrey pulled himself up from the floor and plopped himself dejectedly on the couch. He lowered his eyes and studied the rug. “Page and I, we met at business school.”

  “Business school, that’s rich,” Warren snorted.

  “It was years ago, I went to make my parents happy. Hell, I was McJobbing myself to death, anyway. I had nothing else to do, and it seemed to them like I had decided to do something, so they were all for it. I hated the stuff; have no head for any of it. Barely passed.”

  “That’s where Page was,” Danae said. “They were in the same year together. They, well.” Danae paused. “They hung out.”

  “So?” I asked.

  Danae’s cheeks flushed. “You’re not getting it, they hung out.”

  I mulled her emphasis over in my head for a second, then felt nauseous. “You and Page, you hung out?” I asked. “Like, hanging out? Biblically hanging out?”

  Aubrey nodded, shamefaced. “Oh my God!” Warren said. “This just gets worse and worse.”

  “Hey, Page was different then,” Aubrey protested. “I’m no great catch either in the looks area, y’know? It was just convenience. Fuck-buddies. She really was way more likeable before she got all money-conscious.”

  “Amen,” said Danae.

  “Page wanted to make money. I know books. I had this idea, thought we could hold our own against the big stores. I convinced Page to help, she wrote up a business plan, we got some financing, bought the place together, and things just went from there. We hired a few people,” Aubrey waved at Danae, “and we built the place up. We agreed up front, she handles the money, I do the ordering. She runs the place, and I just hang back and enjoy myself. It was terrific there for a while. I’d set up displays and readings for local authors. Worked with independent publishers. Had open mike poetry nights. Made the place homey.”

  “But people weren’t coming in,” Danae said sadly. “Not enough to keep the place going.”

  “No, and Page was desperate. She wanted to buy me out, completely gut and transform the place. She was right, too, but I couldn’t do it.
” He lifted his eyes, meeting mine. “It was mine, too. You understand? I couldn’t go back to unemployment. This was the only thing I’d ever really accomplished. So I . . . compromised.”

  “Sold out, more like,” Warren sniped.

  “I started ordering more copies of the books that sold, the for-sure profit earners. Page had been studying the trades. She could see what I thought, just a few at first, just enough to keep us fluid. I mean, just because it sells, it doesn’t mean it’s worthless, right? Atwood sells, Munro sells. These are good things. Then, okay, Oprah books, sure, they had some quality. They weren’t all Wally Lambs. I convinced myself I was still true to my ideals. I mean, ideals are great, but they only buy so much food. But now suddenly, more money was coming in. I bought the house here, told myself it was an investment. But as soon as I bought it, I needed more. So, more compromises. More Harlequins, less nonprofit publishers. Soon, it became all about the money.”

  Feeding the machine, I thought. Like I didn’t buy lotto tickets every week.

  “It’s not that bad, hon,” Danae said, rubbing Aubrey’s shoulder. Hon? “We all want money, it’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

  “Oh the fuck it isn’t!” Warren said. “Don’t let him off ’cuz he’s all hang-dog now! How much you worth anyway, brother? You let me destroy my body for cash, you can’t even help me out?”

  “Hey, I offered!”

  “Sure, you offered!” Warren spit on the floor. “Everybody offers! I didn’t think you actually had money! It’s an idle offer, none of us are supposed to have any money! That’s the way we are!” Warren stamped petulantly about the room. “I mean, the lies, dude. The lies! ‘Oh, Warren, the house was a gift from my parents.’”

  He knocked a shelf of books off the wall.

  “Let me get the beer, Warren, I have a little extra this week.”

  He kicked over a floor lamp, the bulb exploding.

  “Don’t worry about the ganja, I know this guy, gets me a really great deal.”