Almost Always: A Love Unexpected Novel (17 page)

Twenty seven

A week later, I wasn't nearly as optimistic. I had emailed my resume to any and all jobs that remotely fit my parameters. I applied to publishing houses, theaters, museums, libraries, bookstores and non-profits. In seven days, I hadn't netted a single return call.

As a fall back, I had pounded the pavement in my neighborhood hoping to luck into a vacancy in a restaurant. I had experience as a waitress, hostess and pantry girl. Although I hoped it wouldn't come to restaurant work, I was prepared to take anything. I had let the grass grow under my feet. I was broke and had stooped to getting spending money from Mom and Dad. This was not the way I had envisioned life.

Dad had been talking to Kason on the phone. My parents knew, of course, that we were no longer 'together' as if we had ever really been. They were diplomatic about it and didn't question me. But they didn't avoid him, either. My father still wanted to nail the bastards that beat him up and Kason was the only person who seemed fully committed to seeing it through. I left it alone, it was between my Dad and Kason.

Plus, Archie was still hound-dogging the money trail to see if he could nail Mom's kidnapper. He was convinced that those hundred dollar bills would surface sooner or later and probably closer to home than any of us thought. Archie claimed to be an 'intuitive' detective. It was a word that seemed out of place in his vernacular. But he was sure that his gut feelings were as valid as any other piece of evidence in Mom's case. The police had been cooperative, but it was Archie (and thus Kason) who was supplying the man-hours. Plenty were needed.

We were at dinner one night about two weeks 'post Kason' as I had come to think of it. My father mentioned that a friend of a friend had a bookshop on the upper west side that was looking for an assistant manager.

"It's a really small place that specializes in rare books—antiques and first copies, I think he said."

"First editions, you mean?"

"That's it, first editions." He fished a rumpled piece of paper from his pocket. "All he gave me was an address. If you feel like it would interest you, why don't you check it out." He handed the paper to me. It was on Broadway, upper Westside.

The next day I put on a nice pair of slacks with a light turtleneck and my favorite, well worn but still classy blue blazer. There was a good autumn chill in the air and I threw a wool scarf around my neck for extra color and the warmth it provided.

The store was one of those narrow, tiny places with a classic green canvas awning stenciled boldly on the top with the word "Books" and across the apron on the front "Rare and Used Volumes". It was wedged between a florist and a dry cleaners and right across the street from Zabars. That was a great sign; I could always count on a good lunch from Zabars even if it would eat up half my paycheck.

I could see that there was a tiny apartment over the shop and wondered if that's where the owner lived. It was certainly a very cool location. It made me a little uneasy that the bookshop was only about a dozen blocks from the Dakota. But Kason wasn't likely to be walking the streets of his neighborhood and I put that little coincidence down to harmless.

The wizened old man who poked his head out when the bell tinkled as I opened the door looked to be about a hundred and ten years old. He was as dusty and antique as the books lining the shelves and piled everywhere. I picked my way through the mess and introduced myself.

Crusty as he appeared, Mr. Clemson was sharp as a tack. It didn't take me long to have enormous respect for the catalog he carried around in his head. "That's the trouble, though, you see. My head isn't going to be around forever. My grandson keeps needling me about a website and computerized records for all of my friends." He swept a gnarled hand at the stacks. The skin was yellow and fragile, like much of the paper in the room. He led me to the back of the store where, to my utter surprise, he swung open a door to an immaculate modern office about the size of a walk-in closet.

"I've got all the stuff here, but I just can't face it. At my age, I don't want to have to learn all . . . this. I'd rather be reading." He looked at me through rheumy eyes that belonged on an aging spaniel. I wanted to pet his bald head and get him a cookie.

I handed him my resume and pointed out the experience working the Tanglewood system and some other computer work I had done. A couple of simple websites were listed as part of my experience also.

Mr. Clemson waved the paper away. "I'm not interested in what you've got written down on that paper, Miss Harding. Take a look around you. Tell me if you know what needs to be done and if you think you are willing and able to do it. Take all the time you need. We're not going anywhere soon."

The way he referred to his books and himself as 'we' was charming. He rattled back into the bookshelves where he nearly disappeared, so camouflaged was he by the similarity between himself and his beloved volumes.

An hour later, having taken a good look at the computers—state of the art—and the program manuals—straightforward and practical—I was sure I could accomplish what his grandson rightly thought should be done to move the shop into the 21st century.

"Mr. Clemson?" I think I startled him out of a catnap. "I'm quite sure I can do what needs to be done here."

"Miss Harding, I believe you. When can you start?"

We discussed the details of the job. He offered me a generous salary, considering the fact that the shop couldn't possibly be making a lot of money. It wouldn't be enough to get me my own apartment for a while and the commute into Manhattan wasn't something I was looking forward to especially with winter approaching, but I was thrilled to have it.

As I was getting ready to leave the shop I asked Mr. Clemson if he lived above the store.

He snorted. "You must be joking! Have you taken a look at the stairs? That's a young person's apartment. It hasn't been occupied in years. I got tired of the last tenant traipsing in and out of the shop at all hours. There's no separate entrance for it, you see." He laughed. "The young pup was always arguing with me about the utilities, too. The store and the apartment are on one meter."

"I see." I was going to go for it. A lucky day shouldn't go to waste. "Would you consider renting it to me? I could pay out of my salary. I'd never be able to claim the subway was late or get snowed in and I'd always be around." I was prattling and I knew it, but it was such an opportunity! I smiled my most charming and persuasive smile.

Mr. Clemson tried to look stern, but I could tell instantly that he liked the idea. "It gets cleaned every so often, so it isn't knee deep in dust. But some of the furniture is older than these books. You want to take a look at it?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Clemson. Yes, please."

He rooted around in his roll top desk and produced an ancient key. "Help yourself," he told me.

I sprinted up the stairs and unlocked the heavy wooden door. The tiny apartment smelled like old books, just like the shop. The living, dining and kitchen area looked out over Broadway and the bedroom and bathroom were tucked away in the back. The old oak floors creaked under my feet as I poked around. The couch could have come out of some old time gentlemen's club. The golden leather had the patina of smoke about it. With a good dose of leather conditioner, I knew it would come back to life beautifully.

The two matching wingback chairs framed a fireplace, long converted to a gas heater, but it gave some charm to the room as did the high tin ceilings and the wonderful French windows. The kitchen area was tiny and I squealed with delight when I recognized the stove as the exact same one in Rachel Ray's kitchen on TV. The refrigerator was from the fifties also and matched the curvy lines of the Chambers stove. I figured I could rise to the challenge of appliances that were that cute.

Every last piece wooden furniture looked terribly old and dry, but otherwise classic in form and function. The dropleaf dining table was a masterpiece of space saving straight out of the 1800's.

A bright rug, a few pictures and a new mattress looked like just about all I would need to set up housekeeping. In the kitchen cabinets I found a complete set of pink depression glassware, old enamel bowls, iron skillets and a couple of copper pots. I was sure Mr. Clemson didn't know the treasure trove he had in there. He was lucky the last tenant didn't make off with the dishes. It was an antique hunter's dream.

I tried to put on a poker face when I came down the stairs, but it was impossible. "I love the place! It's so perfect." I sucked in some air and braced myself. "How much will you rent it to me for?"

He seemed to have trouble with that. "I wasn't really thinking about renting it at all. How does $500 a month sound? That would include utilities. I can't be bothered with separating the bills."

Five. Hundred. Dollars. For a cute upper Westside apartment? It was a gift. I could easily afford that on what Mr. Clemson had offered me. I wanted to hug him. But instead I just said, "Thank you so much. You won't regret it."

"I've already got that internet thing, but I don't know how to get that upstairs. If you want TV you'll have to do that yourself."

"That's fine, Mr. Clemson. I can put WiFi in for next to nothing. I probably won't need cable if the internet's good. I can watch plenty on line if I want to."

"I don't know why you'd want to watch anything with all these books here waiting to be read."

"You're absolutely right. I intend to take full advantage of this wonderful library." That seemed to make the old guy happy and we settled a few more details before I was on my way. I was to start in ten days which couldn't be soon enough for me.

As I rode the subway home, I couldn't help but smile at all my fellow commuters. I had scored a wonderful job and an apartment at the same time. My commute was going to be going down a set of stairs. Sweet.

Twenty eight

I couldn't wait to tell my parents about the job, the apartment and darling old Mr. Clemson. On the way home from the subway stop, I used the remainder of the twenty bucks Dad had given me that morning to buy some cannoli and cream puffs. Mom, Dad and I all had a weak spot for sweets and we'd celebrate with the pastries.

Up the stairs, two at a time, I went happily through the front door with my box of goodies and my news. I froze when I saw Kason seated, back to me, at the dining table with Taishi, George, Hoc, Archie and my parents. I felt my knees and just about every other part of my body go rubbery. My heart, my betraying, treacherous heart, began to beat against my chest walls and I could feel the heat of a blush working its way from my ears to my neck. The golden curls over his collar made the tips of my fingers itch to touch them.

The rational part of me wanted to run back out the door and wait in the shadows until I saw him leave. But my eyes had been starved for the sight of him. He had transformed yet another chair into a kind of throne where he elegantly draped his aristocratic frame. It wasn't a conscious thing, it was just who he was. All eyes, including mine were focused on him. He was ever comfortable in front of an audience.

"You shouldn't taunt them," he was telling my father. "They're going to come spoiling for a fight. Let them make the first move."

"This frightens me, Kason," my mother said.

"Jazzy, we've got all the angles covered. Kason's thought of everything," my father assured her. "These guys need to be in jail and we're going to put them there."

I sucked up my courage and made my presence known. As casually as I could muster, I strolled over to the table and put the box of goodies down in front of my mother.

"Hi everyone," I said brightly. It sounded brittle and fake inside my head, I hoped the others didn't hear it that way. "I brought yummy things from Ferretti's Bakery." I didn't; I couldn't look him in the eye. I went to the kitchen for something to drink and nearly cried when I saw that my mother had a stack of eight plates in position next to the stove. There was a big hot casserole covered with foil, a bread basket with a cloth, and two bubbling pots—one with water and the other with Mom's escarole steaming away. It was obvious we had company for supper.

"Well, sounds like we have a plan, Kason," my father said as he rose from the table. "I'm starved. Let's get this table set for dinner." Mom came into the kitchen and I yanked her into the pantry out of earshot of the men.

"Mother, why did you spring this on me?" I hissed.

"It was spur of the moment. Should I have called you?" She acted innocent, but I was sure the whole scene was no accident.

"It would have been nice to be forewarned."

"I didn't think it made that much difference."

"How can you say that? Of course it makes a difference."

My mother turned to me. "Annalise, you came home the night after the kidnappers released me and went straight to your room. From that point on, you have not spoken one word about what happened between you and Kason, if anything happened at all. You left me to speculate. I chose to believe that it wasn't important enough for you to discuss."

"So you assumed it was totally cool to force me to sit down to dinner at our table with him?"

"I'm not forcing you to do anything. Please yourself."

"Are you mad at me because Kason and I stopped seeing one another?"

"No. I'm hurt that you didn't see fit to take me into your confidence. I thought we were closer than that." I saw her lip quiver and it hit me in the gut.

"Mom, I'm sorry. It's so complicated and I . . . I really didn't know what to say. I haven't even sorted out how I feel yet."

"Did it ever occur to you that I might have been able to help you sort it out?"

"Yes, it did."

"Then why not talk to me about it?"

"Truth?"

"Truth."

"I'm embarrassed. I think I really screwed up. I think I acted like a stupid adolescent."

"Well, we can't spend all night in the pantry discussing it now. Help me with dinner." She put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me to her. "Just try to act normal."

I gave her a weak smile and followed her back into the kitchen
. Easy for you to say, Mom. Act
normal.
I wasn't sure I knew what normal was anymore. The day had gone so well. My life seemed to be righting itself. And now this. I watched Kason out of the corner of my eye as I put the garlic bread into the basket. I knew it was inevitable, but I wanted to crawl into the dishwasher and hide when I saw him approach me in the kitchen.

"Anything I can do to help?" He casually put his hand against my shoulder and the sizzle shot down to my toes. I wanted to scream "don't touch me!" Instead, I told him to take the foil off of the chicken parm. I couldn't tell if it was the oven or his body that was producing so much heat. He stood only a few electric inches from my side.

He leaned into me and I felt the warmth of his breath against me. He poured liquid words into my ear. "I've missed you. I've missed touching you."

I swallowed hard and gathered up the silverware bundles. I placed them in front of all the chairs but he followed behind me with the bread basket. He managed to graze my rear as he reached in to put the basket in the middle of the table.
Oh God
.

"I mean it, Annalise. I need to see you," he insisted as he slowly backed away from the table. The others were taking their places. Dad sat at his end of the table. George sat at his right hand and Archie at his left, Taishi and Hoc filled the places beside George. I was trapped into sitting next to Kason. I chose the middle, leaving Kason to sit next to my mother.

Everyone was excited about the plan to put the sting on the union thugs. I listened, half-heartedly. I was distracted by the pressure of Kason's hard thigh up against mine. Big as he was, it was hard to avoid touching me. Eight normal sized people were a tight squeeze at our table. Archie was a skinny little guy; he barely filled the chair seat. But Kason filled all the space he had and then some.

I couldn't help but notice that Kason had my parents eating out of his hand. They laughed at anything he said that was meant to be the least bit funny. They liked him. Possibly more important was that my father obviously respected him and my mother trusted him. What a strange position to be in. I almost felt like I owed it to my parents to give our relationship a better shot.

What would they say if they knew why I had cut it off?  My mother had already hinted to me at the Plaza that perhaps I wanted more 'touchy-feely' from Kason than I had a right to expect. And, I was pretty sure my father would feel the same way. But would they really endorse a relationship based on no holds barred sexual adventures, hedonism and, in Kason's own words, "no expectations"? Maybe I didn't know Marjorie and Donald Harding at all. Maybe Kason represented the kind of youth they wished they had—the kind they wanted for me. Maybe they had their regrets about a young marriage, early parenthood and a bland middle class existence.

Philosophic musing aside, his physical presence was exacting a toll on me. I was close enough to smell the faint fragrance of his skin. I felt intoxicated—giddy—even though there was only iced tea in the glass in front of me.

"I got a job today," I announced during a rare lull in the conversation. My voice kind of squeaked out of my constricted throat. I sipped my tea and continued. "Yes, believe it or not, I did. It's at a tiny little bookstore on the upper Westside. I'll be assistant manager."

"That's wonderful, Angelcakes!" my father exclaimed. "Good for you."

"I'm also going to be setting up a computerized system for the store as well as a website for online shopping."

"You mean to tell me there's actually a business left in Manhattan that doesn't have a website?" Mom asked.

"The shop is run by a very, very old and very sweet man. He told me he doesn't have the patience to learn about computers—he wants to spend his time with the books."

My father said he could certainly sympathize with that. He cursed every time he had to upgrade anything—cell phone, TV, even appliances—because of all the new bells and whistles involved.

"There's more," I smiled. "I'm also going to be renting the apartment above the shop. It's perfect for me and Mr. Clemson is practically giving it to me." I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. Kason hadn't made one comment. Maybe I surprised him by getting a job on my own.

"Congratulations, Annalise," he said at last. "It sounds like an ideal match for your skill set"

Was he mocking me? What did he know of my skill set? He'd seen me stage manage an amateur play. For all he knew my greatest talent was giving a blow job.

"Actually, it is. I'm confident I can do exactly what Mr. Clemson wants done."

"I'm sure you can. When do you start?"

"A week from Friday."

"So soon? Are you going to move in right away?" my mother asked. I could see that it dawned on her: I was really going to leave the nest.

"Mom, don't worry. I'll be close and visit a lot. I didn't see any washer and dryer in the apartment."

"Laundromats are expensive." Mom took the hint.

"I promise I'll bring every load home."

We finished the meal and the pastries were a big hit. I passed. After Mom's meal, I didn't need anything else. Kason remained quiet and subdued after dinner, but he cornered me in the living room as everyone prepared to leave. Archie had said his goodnights, Taishi was already outside waiting at the car and George and Hoc were helping Mom in the kitchen before they went downstairs. My father was taking the garbage out back to the dumpster.

"We're going away this weekend." It was a statement of fact and typically Kason.

"Oh?" Any snappy retort I might have come up with wasn't going to help. I wanted to let Kason speak his mind.

"You don't start work for almost two weeks, so don't tell me you can't take a couple of days. I made a promise to you in France and I intend to keep it."

I half remembered that he had said he would one day open up and tell me about his past. I didn't really count it as a 'promise'. Even so, I was kind of glad he considered it one.

"Give me just a little time to . . . just let me show you . . ." He was at a loss for words. I was flattered that I had the power to fluster him even a little. "Maybe if you know more about me, you can forgive me."

"There's nothing for me to forgive, Kason. It isn't a crime to want different things. You've been up front with me from the beginning. The other day, I was just doing the same. Our relationship was causing me more anxiety than pleasure."

"You know, Annalise, pleasure is simple until we choose to complicate it."

"That may be true, but for me at least, feelings aren't a choice."

"Okay, just listen for a moment. I told you at
Carcassone
that I would tell you about my past. It isn't something I'm looking forward to, either."

"You don't have to do it, then. It isn't going to change our fundamental differences after all."

"But it might lead to a better understanding." He put his hands on my shoulders and squared them with his. His eyes flashed with their autumn lights. "How much harm can it do you? Just say you'll come with me. This time you don't even need a passport."