The Perils of Pauline (19 page)

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 open 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.

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.

“Haven’t I seen you here before?” Leaning against the frame, he runs his eyes up and down my body in an obvious fashion.

Oh, I get it. We’re playing strangers in a laundromat. “Maybe.” I bend low over my basket, showing my cleavage. Peering up at him through blond curls and thick lashes I say, “What’s your name?”

Turns out, he’s Arthur Miller and I’m Marilyn Monroe.

Another lunch date at the residence and I’m all caught up on my laundry.

After lunch, as I approach the store, I hear music cranked so loud it makes my eardrums bulge. Must be those kids who run the skateboard store down near the crosswalk. Someone from the BIA better warn them to cut it out; they’re driving away business. As I get closer, I see the door of the book shop is propped open. The racket is coming from my store.

Across the street, the guy who runs the pita place is melting down: he’s yelling something I can’t hear because of the noise, and waving his fist in the air.

This isn’t shopping music, unless you are looking for brass knuckles or a Rambo knife. What is Serenity thinking?

I run straight to the sound system at the back of the store to poke at the “off” button. Where is Serenity, anyway? I turn my stern gaze toward the front counter. A tall, twiggy girl is behind the counter, leaning over, arms folded, like an auto parts guy. She cocks her head at me, and says, “Can I help you?”

I can barely see her eyes under the fringe of colored, uneven strands of hair.

“Who are you?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Me. I’m the owner of this store.” My eyes light on a pickle jar sitting beside the cash register. I pick it up and read the childish handwriting: ‘Wendy’s Tips.’ “You must be Wendy.”

“You’re the Momsie!” She leaps around the counter with such enthusiasm, I have to take a step back. “Serenity had an appointment. Guess what? I sold three books. The store got totally cray cray for a while there. I didn’t know how the cash register works so I, you know.” She points at a small pile of bills and change on the counter. “Serenity said she’d train me when she gets back. But I figured it out on my own. A total moron could run your store, but most are computerized now. Maybe you should check it out. I had a job last summer at the dollar store and I got, like, mad skilled at it. You know, you count everything up, two items, two bucks, ten items, ten bucks. You could get that system going here and simplify. One price, one book, you should try that. I have, like, soooo many ideas. I wrote some of the coolest ones down.” She hands me a piece of paper and flashes me a grin. “This place is gonna be so-o-o-o amazing.”

Wendy spends half the afternoon chatting on her cell. Every time I walk by her, I hear snippets of her side of the conversation, which consists mostly of, “Just sayin’. I’m not sayin’ … know what I’m sayin’?”

As soon as Serenity comes back, I call her into the back office and gesture toward the front where Wendy is busy sending out tweets from her Twitter account with the store computer.

“I’m the one who makes the hiring decisions. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“Ewww, Mom, don’t talk like that. It’s just wrong.”

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I had to give her a job. Her Dad is in jail for, like, armed robbery or something like that, and her Mom is a total crack addict. Give her a break.”

“I don’t know. I need a reliable person and she’s a bit flakey you know? Like, the gun show is always on, even when no one’s watching.”

“When she takes her meds she’s fine. Give her a chance. She’s super smart. Like a genius.”

I’m unconvinced but I have to admit she’ll be unbeatable when it comes to shelving books because she can reach the top shelves without stretching.

But the best thing about having Wendy working for me is that my hiring days are over for now. Between Serenity, Wendy, and Jude, I can go do laundry whenever I want.

Having three employees also means I can get caught up on all kinds of backsliding. Within the space of two days I have everyone humming along with a detailed schedule posted on the office wall and everything. Here’s my chance to zip over to the bank to make a payment on my overdraft.

“These fines are hurting your business,” the accounts manager warns me.

“I have it all under control,” I tell her. “The overdraft will be cleared by the end of next week.”

… I hope. My overdraft is even larger than expected. Once Mom gives me the final installment, I can pay it off. I’ll call her tonight. Maybe the check is ready.

When I get back to the store, all is quiet. Too quiet. Where’s Wendy? I scheduled her for a full day today. There’s no one around except a lone shopper who, when she sees me step behind the counter, asks me what I’m doing.

“I’m the owner. May I help you find something?”

“No. Your salesgirl had to step out for a bite to eat. She asked me to keep an eye on the store.”

When my open-mouthed, blank-eyed stare goes on a little too long she adds, in an accusing tone, “She said she hadn’t had anything to eat for a couple of days.”

What is she talking about? I haven’t had breakfast yet while Wendy helped herself to two chocolate chip muffins from the coffee bar this morning. No point arguing with a customer though.

The woman glares at me. “You were supposed to be back ten minutes ago.” Her lips compress into a thin line.

“I got held up.”

Her lips disappear completely.

“Thanks for helping out,” I add, helplessly.

The woman tucks her purse under her arm. She looks at me as if she wants to take off her loafer and smack me across the cheek with it. “I have to get back to work now.” She marches toward the door and then turns and says, “Oh yes, your mother called. She wants you to call her back on her cell. It’s an emergency.”

Then she’s gone. Too late, I wonder if I should’ve offered her a free book or a coupon or maybe a handful of gummy worms from Wendy’s candy stash under the counter?

That’s it. Wendy has got go. Where is Serenity? And Jude? All three of them were here when I left.

First I have to call Mom. She sounds frantic: “I’m trapped inside my car.”

“Oh my God, have you been in an accident?”

“No, of course not.” She sounds indignant. “I’m in my driveway. I was going to book club and now I’m going to be late. It’s raining. The car stalled and the doors all locked themselves and I can’t get out.”

“Isn’t there a manual lock? Like a latch or lever or something like that? Look on the door. You have to find it and press on it.”

“I tried the manual lock already. It won’t budge. It’s stuck I tell you. You don’t understand. There’s something wrong with the electrical system. I need you to come let me out.”

I can’t drop everything and go over there right now. “Did you try the back doors?”

“You want me to climb over the seats to try the back doors?”