The Perils of Pauline

by Collette Yvonne

  My glass is empty. I ought to toast the store so I pour a refill.

  “To success,” I say out loud, raising my glass and then taking a big snort to prove I mean it. This is good stuff. I love looking around this room at all the pretty, pretty books. This store is going to be fierce; I just know it. I’m sure I made the right move buying Jennifer out. Donald will see. The world will always welcome a good bookstore. “To Brick Books!” I take another snort.

  I don’t want to go home yet. I want to go dancing. I’m wearing my new 16-String dress, which has a complicated arrangement of long strings that tie the dress around my curves and is guaranteed to make Michael try to undo me. The night is still young to get undone. Maybe Michael will still show up. I take a peek out the front window. The street is dark and deserted. I check my watch. It’s coming on midnight. I guess he isn’t coming. I’m getting tipsy. I better call a cab. But first I will call Michael. Yes, I will pour another slug and call him.

  On the first ring, it goes straight to his voicemail. I hang up. Why did he turn his phone off? I need to think of a good message to leave. I should give him a piece of my mind. When he wants something from me, I have to jump and be quick about it. Then, when I want something, what do I get? Squat.

  Maybe I should call Donald instead. Come to think of it, I didn’t hear a word from him either. A big night for me, and not one freaking word from my own husband. I heard from almost everyone I know tonight except Donald. And Michael.

  I wonder what time it is in Canada? My head is fuzzy. I can’t remember if they’re ahead or behind, and by how many hours? I have lots of reference books here; I could look it up. Or I could call Donald and ask him. That’s what I’ll do. There’s still a little wine left here; I’ll finish off the bottle and call Donald. I dial the number and he picks up on the first ring.

  “Hello, Donald.” For some reason, I accent his name heavily.

  “Pauline?”

  “Yes, it’s Pauline. Your wife. Remember me? Pauline?”

  “Yes, we talked this afternoon. Have you been drinking?”

  “I’m toasting the store. You should come on over. Join the party. But you can’t ‘cause you’re in Canada. Far away. Wayyy, far away. So what time is it there? I jusht wanted to find out what time it is in Canada. What are you doing tonight anyway? Is Lindsay there? You know what, I wanna talk to that bitch.”

  “Lindsay’s not here. She’s at her apartment. Pauline, are you feeling alright?”

  “I’m fantashtic. I jusht bought a bookstore you know.”

  “I know. How did the launch party go?”

  “It was great; you should’ve been here. ‘Cause you know what? I’m a maverick. But now I have to go pee.” I hang up. Wait. I should call him back. I still don’t know what time it is in Canada. But first I better go pee.

  I stand up and the room tilts. I sit back down. I will try to call Michael again. No answer again so this time I leave him a message: “Michael, where are you? I had a party tonight and you didn’t come. You’re a complete shit and I have to go pee now.”

  I make my way to the staff bathroom at the back of the store. I’m dizzy and I have to grope the wall to find the switch for the overhead light. I flick the switch only to hear the bulb ping out. I have to leave the door open to see. The bathroom is tiny. It’s hard to manage in here even when sober. I tug my panty hose down to my knees, which effectively locks them together. Some of the longer strings on the back of the dress fall into the toilet. I gather the skirt section and all the wayward strings up around my waist, and sit down quickly so no bit gets away from me.

  Funny, the spot I’m sitting in has flashed over with an icy coldness and an eerie feeling comes over me like there’s someone outside the door hiding in the shadows watching me pee.

  I stand up and flush. A few of the strings have jumped back in the bowl. I yank them back quickly before my whole dress is sucked down into the pipes. The old plumbing bangs and thumps, but the noise is louder and lasts longer than usual. My hands are shaky; it’s hard to tuck all the strings back the way they were especially since they’re dripping wet.

  I hear a thump from the back of the store. Did I remember to lock the back door? Did someone slip in while I was on the toilet?

  “Garth?”

  I step out of the bathroom and peer into the shadowy corners. Nothing. Maybe it’s Michael come at last?

  “Hello? Is that you, Michael?”

  Nothing. A flare of light behind me causes a horde of shadows to shuttle across the wall. My heart flubs a beat. Oh, it’s okay. Just headlights going by. My heart is still flubbing though, and that’s when I hear a floorboard creak in the office, and one of the deepest, blackest shadows wavers ever so slightly. Without the aid of any headlights at all.

  Someone—or something—is lurking at the back of the store.

  “I can hear you back there. Come out now before I call the police.” I use my parade square holler. I know a thing or two about hand-to-hand urban combat and I know all the words to Goodnight Saigon, too, and this butthead is going to get it.

  Nothing. I call again, “I mean it, come out right now, I’m dialing.”

  I edge toward the phone while listening carefully. Nothing. All I can hear is the sound of water running somewhere. And then a loud knocking. Only the pipes in the basement. I should call a plumber instead of the police.

  I pick up the receiver and then think better of it. Maybe my ears are playing tricks on me. This is an old building, I’m tired and it’s just kind of creepy being here alone. Problem is I still have to call a cab and I can’t leave without my purse, which is in the back office. What if someone is hiding back there?

  I have a weapon. I pick up the vacuum cleaner and, holding the wand in an aggressive, head-bashing manner, haul it to the back. I use the wand to flip on the overhead light switch. Empty.

  I pull open the closet door. There’s no one standing there wielding a Bowie knife. The overhead light makes a crackling noise and goes out, leaving me in the clammy darkness. I feel my way along the wall to the light switch but the bulb is gone. Very strange.

  Then I hear a noise, this time it’s coming from the basement. I hear footsteps and then a kind of a rattling noise, like chains. I’m dead afraid to go out back. Ghostly Garth was right. This place is haunted. I’m likely dealing with the ghost of the pawnbroker who, come to think if it, died of a heart attack in this shop, maybe even on the spot I’m standing on now. No one found him for two days.

  Or maybe the pawnbroker saw the ghost and that’s what stopped his heart. Which makes at least two ghosts. The pawnbroker ghost is likely pissed that he was left to molder for two days. The other ghost probably is stuck here because he has souls to suck and hasn’t met his quota. The place is obviously jam-packed with unhappy spirits. I could be next to join them. Jennifer never breathed a word of this problem to me.

  Jennifer is still alive and kicking which makes me feel better until it occurs to me that insanity might be one of the curses. She was acting pretty crazy tonight.

  I’ve got to get out of here now. I’m selling this bloody business tomorrow, to heck with being a maverick. Now I know why Jennifer said I was brave. Crazy and brave, she said. Brave my ass. Crazy for sure. I grab my keys and prepare to run for it.

  There’s no way I’m going out the back door now which is at the end of a short but creepy length of hallway. The hallway passes the stairs that lead to the slithery blackness of the basement where murdered wraiths and disembodied demonic souls are no doubt lurking.

  I speed toward the front, careening down the side aisle past the travel section. I crash straight into the book spinner in the middle of the aisle, where we dragged it out of the way when we set up the refreshments table. It topples over, books spill out everywhere, and I fall on top of it. I try to stand up but some of the strings and my foot are tangled in the spinner. I yank hard on the strings to free them and step forward with my free foot onto a pile of paperbacks, landing in an ope
n scissor split back on the floor again. My foot is still trapped by the spinner so I pull hard. My shoe comes off and I hear a ripping noise, probably a string off my dress. I crawl as fast as I can through the spillage of books toward the door, which seems to recede into the distance.

  Go, go, go, get out. My legs feel all gloopy. At last I reach the front door. I can barely unlock it what with my shaking hands and I leap across the threshold, straight into the bulk of a dark shape with arms that wrap around me and hold me fast. I scream.

  It’s Michael. He peers into my face anxiously. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  “Oh my God, you have no idea. There’s something, it’s like a presence in the bathroom. I heard these rattling noises coming from the back and the lights went out and there was a cold spot and …”

  “I was at the back door a minute ago. I came to the front at first, but I saw a light at the back. I thought you were back there so I went around but the door was locked so I came back around here and, wow, you’re all sweaty. Mmmm. I like that.”

  “You scared the crap out of me. And you like the weirdest things.”

  “You’re missing a shoe.”

  I bend over all the way and inspect my feet. “You’re right!”

  Michael grabs a few of my dress strings and pulls me upright as if I were a marionette. “And you’re … happy.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” I pull Michael in to the shadows of the door and give him a kiss. “Come on in and join the party,” I whisper in his ear.

  Michael licks his lips. “You taste like blueberries and champagne.”

  I stuff my nose inside Michael’s shirt and smell his chest. “You smell like popcorn.” I start undoing his shirt buttons. “I want popcorn. Mmmm. With lots of melted butter.”

  “How many glasses have you had?”

  “Jusht a few.”

  “I’m sorry I missed your party. I took Nick to see a movie and then I brought him back to Carmen. I thought I’d have time to get back here for some of it but …”

  “Thash alright. Oopsh, your buttons don’t work.”

  “Wait, don’t yank them off like that. We better go inside.”

  Brick Books has been well and truly launched. After Michael helped me find my shoe, he picked up all the spilled books and spread a tablecloth on the floor at the back of the store. And then he untied all my strings slow-like and we had a picnic. No strings attached. And then I threw up.

  Best bookstore launch party ever.

  CHAPTER 21

  Minefield

  Minefield: In land warfare, an area of ground containing mines emplaced with or without a pattern.—Department of Defense Dictionary of Military and Associated Terms

  I hate Tuesday mornings in the store. That’s when Johnny Rotten comes in to trash the kid’s section. Mommy Rotten pretty much ignores the brat while she thumbs through the magazine racks while saying, “Don’t touch anything.” Meanwhile J.R. tosses all the picture books on the floor and smudges the covers with his sticky sproggy fingers. Today he spun the book turner so fast the books flipped like Frisbees across the room. Several books whapped him in the face, triggering a screaming tantrum. Mommy Rotten finally hauled him out of the store but not before complaining that my spinner is clearly unstable and I should do something about it. As I stoop to pick the mess up, Dwayne waves the phone at me.

  I signal Dwayne to watch the front and slip into the back room. It’s Michael.

  “What time do you want me to pick you up?”

  Uh oh. I forgot. I promised to have lunch with him today.

  “I don’t know if I can get away. I’m swamped. I did four interviews this morning, and not one of the applicants has actually read anything since high school. One of them has no car so she wants me to give her a ride or pay her extra for cab fare. There was only one who seemed okay. Until she blessed me. She held her hand over my head and mumbled something about banishing Satan.”

  “You need a break. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”

  I weakly say yes and hang up. I feel like laying my head down to close my eyes, just for a few minutes, but my desk is piled high with folders and catalogues. I pick up a pen to sign a stack of checks left for me by the bookkeeper. It’s payday. For everyone else but me that is.

  A few minutes later, Serenity and Jude step through the door. Huge smiles. “Look,” says Serenity as she hands me a photo, “an ultrasound picture of the baby. The technician says I’m exactly 14 weeks along and the heartbeat is perfect. Isn’t she cute?”

  I can see fuzzy grey head and torso shapes with some indistinct blobby elongations that are most likely the arms and legs.

  “Adorable.” I give Serenity a hug. “But what about that bit sticking up there? Unless that’s a high heel or a lipstick, I think you might be having a boy.”

  Jude grins even more broadly at this. “That’s what I said. The technician thought it might be a boy too. I think he looks like Johnny Depp.”

  Serenity scowls, takes the photo from my hand and tucks it in her bag. “It’s a girl. I know it. And Shae thinks so too.”

  “Where is Shae?”

  “She had to go back to work. She said to tell you that she’s going to bring you a new bench this afternoon to replace that old crappy one.”

  Man, I love that Shae found that job with the City Works Department. The pothole in the sidewalk has been repaired, two planters of fall flowers appeared last week and now a new bench for outside my store!

  “Mom, did you know there’s a woman walking around outside in front of the store drawing crosses in the air and telling everyone who goes by that the eye of Lucifer is upon you?”

  “I wouldn’t give her a job.”

  Jude and Serenity exchange glances. “Hang on. We’ll get rid of her for you.”

  Two minutes later, they march back in. “All gone,” says Jude, brushing off his hands.

  Impressive. And then, all in a rush, a brilliant trumpets-blaring, why-didn’t-I-think-of-that-before idea floods my brain: “Would you two like to work here at the store for me?

  Miraculously they look at each other, smile and nod their heads, yes. Before they can change their minds, I yell, “Excellent! I need you to start today. Immediately.”

  I run into the bathroom and run a sniff check. I smell like a musk ox. Removing my panties and grabbing the rose scented air freshener, I spray the air and wave them around. I add a squirt into the air between my thighs and do a little swishy hips motion for good measure. I haven’t shaved my legs in two weeks. You can’t have everything. I’m all prickly, but rose-scented and more than ready for lunch.

  Turns out, I was lunch. I feel completely deflowered. Mowed down even. Michael says he likes my legs all prickly. He kept running his hands up and down my shins saying the hair felt soft and sleek. I kept my arms down though, so he couldn’t pat the pelts in my armpits.

  Even better, I returned to the store to find that Jude had tidied up the entire YA section and Dwayne says Serenity’s a whizz on the cash register already.

  “What a week,” I say to Michael as he ushers me in to his apartment at the residence. We set down my bags of laundry in the vestibule. Since my washing machine is still busted, I told Michael that I would only have dinner with him if he lets me use the residence washing machines.

  He leads me out to his tiny kitchen and starts tossing the salad while I sit on a counter stool.

  “Jack almost got suspended yesterday,” I moan, “and Olympia is mad ‘cause she’s needed new indoor shoes for school for weeks. I told her I’ll go shopping with her tomorrow. If it weren’t for Jude and Serenity I don’t know how I would’ve survived.”

  Michael holds up a bottle of red wine. “This should help.”

  He stabs the cork out of the bottle with a penknife because he hasn’t got a corkscrew. Or glasses. He pours the wine into two plastic mugs left by the last tenant.

  I take a hefty swig. “The store is crazy. There’re all kinds
of people coming in the door all day long but hardly anyone is in the market for books. An old lady came in today looking for a can of tomato soup. I pointed out the grocery store across the street and she wanted to know why the hell they went and moved it over there.”

  Michael says, in a soothing voice, “Try to forget about work. It’s all in the past now. Relax and be present in the moment.”

  “It’s hard to relax. You know, today I had to counsel a man about his parenting problems. He came in for a book on how to control teenagers. Then he asked me for my advice. That’s pretty funny when you think about it. Everyone thinks a bookstore owner has read every single book in the store, twice, and that we know everything about everything.”

  I take another sip of wine. Michael’s right. I should try to relax but all I can think about is the fall returns and finishing the paperwork on my overdue sales tax. Meanwhile Michael has been sweet enough to make me dinner with candles and everything. Or maybe I should say candles and … nothing. We will have to eat on paper plates as Michael hasn’t had a chance to buy any kitchen stuff and his wife refuses to give him so much as an eggcup.

  While Michael sets the garlic bread under the broiler, I wander over and peek out the window. Michael has no curtains yet either. But who needs curtains way up on the sixth floor of the grad residence? I’m staring across a short span at a huge windowless concrete wall, the view compliments of the newest student residence on campus. Good job, Dingwall.

  There are books and papers piled everywhere in the living room, and the sound of someone down the hall strumming a guitar and the cork bits in the wine make me feel like I’m a college girl again.

  After dinner, Michael helps me lug all my baskets and supplies into the basement laundry room, which is, thankfully, deserted. I have all the machines to myself. I begin dumping clothes and soap into machines and sliding coins into the slots. Michael watches me from the doorway. Our eyes meet over the top of an agitating washer.