Ch. 1: Work

I really feel lucky that I got a job at a small bookstore in a quiet shopping district relatively close to campus. Tourists and teenagers are few and far between, which leaves our scanty clientele composed of college-plus aged urban hippies who have a love of the written word. Some come for the eclectic selection of new books we stock; others spend hours hunting through the once-loved texts former owners brought to us. I know most of our customers by name, and have gotten pretty good at guessing what they are in the mood for when they come.

The owner is a retired yuppie who has plenty of money but needed a way to pass the time. She likes to dress in rich earth tones, copper jewelry, and big flowy chiffon skirts. Her hair is a mess of red waves that is cropped wildly about her face. With her cat-eye glasses on a beaded chain, her white teeth, and her brown coffee in its crisp blue mug she looks like everyone’s favorite librarian. Her name is Fae, and she calls her store “The Book Faerie’s Bower- we conjure up anything!” And it’s true; she does have an uncanny knack for finding things for people. Sometimes it seems like she knows what the customers want before they do.

She looks up from a battered paperback as I click my way through the doorway beads into the storefront. The ceiling fans are whirring determinedly, and the air in the store is bright and pleasantly cool on my sun-flushed skin.
“Chris, you’re early today,” Her voice is low and full of wit.
I shrug and tug absently on my ponytail. “I had nothing to do.”
She studies my eyeliner, which has already lost the fight against the humidity. “Child, when are you going to learn to use waterproof pencils?”
“Look, I tried that once. When I tried to get it off, it just smudged all over the place and I had raccoon eyes for a week.”
She smiles at me. “If you’re too lazy to practice, then do what I did; get it tattooed on.”
I grimace in return and stick out my tongue. “Fae, not all of us have your courage.” But, her eyes do look stunning.
“Give it time. You’ll get bored and do it. Isn’t that how your tongue ended up in its present state?”
I stick it out again. “Bleeeeahhhh.” I really need to stop doing that. It’s a bad habit I’ve gotten into since getting it pierced, and I highly doubt it makes me seem mature or attractive.

There is a comfortable pause as I inspect a stack of recently traded-in books. “Should I price and stock these?”
“I’d rather you work on the pick-ups first. We have them all in stock; the highlighted ones are in the basement.”
I take the two-page list from her well-manicured hand and flip through it. “Huh. The things some people read.”
She shakes a finger at me. “Now, now, we do not judge. We merely supply. Now get going.”
I grin at her. “And what exactly are you working on right now?”
She blinks demurely at me. “I run the store.”
“No, but what are you doing?”
“Running the store. And telling you to get on it. I don’t pay you to point out the holes in my management.”
“Hmph. You barely pay me at all.”
She chucks the paperback she was reading at my left shoulder. “Out, you! To the basement!”

I grab her book from where it landed on the floor and run down the steps, ignoring her cry of protest, and bring it down with me. The basement is huge; it runs nearly twice the length of the store. The landlord, when he acquired the property, had decided to divide what was once one large store into two smaller ones, but not split the lower level. So, since Fae’s shop had the steps, she got the basement. I always wonder if the lady who runs the New Age music and bead store next door knows what she isn’t getting.

One of my first projects when I was hired here was alphabetizing the basement shelves. Now, when I go down, I feel proud that this miniature library owes its neatness to me. Before I had come, Fae would throw all surplus books down here and rely on her instinct to find them later. Now, I have them all neatly catalogued, and we can get things for customers almost twice as quickly. I grab three used and two new novels from the shelves and one first-edition print from the lockbox, then make my way back upstairs.

Fae frowns at me as I re-enter her view. “Where is my book?”
“Downstairs. Feel free to get it whenever.”
She groans. “Don’t tell me you shelved it.”
“Nope. But that’s a good idea. Next time I will.”
She runs her hand through her hair and sighs. “You are not worth it, young lady.”
I make a left and grab the last few books on the list for her. “Oh yes I am. If I weren’t working for you, you’d have to do more than read all day. Here’s the stack.”
She takes the books from me and checks them off her list one by one before tossing them under the counter to wait for pick-up.

“Alright. Price and shelve the new books now. But Chris, we’re running out of
room in the fantasy and religion sections, so we’re going to have to pull a few titles.”
“Should I put them in the basement?”
Fae sighs. “No, we don’t have any room down there, either. Our clientele don’t seem to care much for those kinds of books. I think we’re going to have to throw them away.”
I feel a sudden rush of sympathy for them. “Can’t I try to find a place that will recycle them?”
She looks at me quizzically. “I suppose you can do whatever you want with them if you don’t want to throw them away.”
“I can’t throw books away; it seems like such a waste. They deserve better.”
“Just make room. You know what authors sell and what don’t.”
“Yes. I’ll get right on it.”

One hour later I have a stack of about thirty books covering everything from psychedelic Buddhism to bad Star Trek novels. I call a few recycling places nearby to see if they will take books, but for some reason they all say no. That left me sitting on the worn, hardwood floor with my back against the wall, starting unhappily at the reject titles, trying to think of a way to save them. I wasn’t about to throw them away, but I wasn’t allowed to take them all home. Fae would probably only let me save two or three at most from the trashcan. I don’t blame her; I wouldn’t let my employees take home thirty books, either, unsellable or no.

Fae finds me sitting there and throws her hands up in exasperation. “Would it make you feel any better if I told you it would put them out of their misery to be thrown away?”
I shake my head poutily.
She sighs. “You have one hour to find something to do with them, Chris. Now go get me lunch.”
I look up at her suspiciously and draw part of the pile closer to me. She rolls her eyes. “No, I won’t throw them away while you’re gone! Go to the sub shop and get me my usual.” She looks at me and the books for a moment, then smiles slightly. “Here’s another ten. Your lunch is on me today.”
I stand up and wipe the thin film of dust off my pants and arms. “I love you, Fae.”
She swats me on the head playfully. “Get going, you.” Her skirt rustles pleasantly as she strolls around the corner and back over to the counter. I pocket the money and go out the door. The sub shop is within walking distance, so I decide to save the gas and brave the heat. It will help my metabolism, my environment, and my clubbing fund all at once. My eyeliner is already beyond repair, anyway. Hopefully it will keep anyone from talking to me on the way.

* * * * * *
I had a revelation about what to do with the books while returning to the shop with our food. I practically pounced on Fae when I got back in my eagerness to ask for her permission.
“Hey, Fae?”
She was familiar with the singsong tone of voice I was using, so looked suspiciously up from a list she was composing in bold black fountain pen. “What, Chris?”
“I was wondering…you know those boxes people put kittens in when they want people to take them when they can’t find a place for them?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Mmmmmhmmm…”
“Can we do that with the books?”
There is a short pause. “Chris, books are not kittens.”
“No, but they do need a good home.”
Fae rolls her eyes, takes my sub out of the bag, and tosses it to me playfully. “If I let you give away my merchandise, will you stop annoying me?”
“It’s not like it hurts you; the trashcan won’t pay you either.”
“Ugh. I’m going to eat in the back room. I don’t care what you do with the books as long as they are gone once I get back.”
I grin happily at her. “Thanks, Fae.”

She laughs gently at me and strolls out of the room holding her sandwich in one hand and a new book in the other. Evidently she hadn’t felt like walking down the steps to get the one she’d been reading earlier.

I scarf down my food as I dig up a box and decorate it with the colored Sharpies I always keep in my purse. Once I’m done, I throw all the books in and set it out on the curb. The box reads “Give us a good home.” I felt quite pleased as I leaned against the counter, munching on Cheetos and staring at my handiwork.

I hear Fae re-emerge and watch amusedly as she glances out the door and sighs deeply. “Couldn’t you have just written ‘take one, they’re free’? People will think I’m utterly insane.”
I grin at her smugly. “Well, the truth has to come out sometime.”
“Shush.”
“What can I do now?”
“Eh, just man the counter. I’m not letting you near the books for the rest of the day. It’s unsafe.”
“Heh. So I’ll sit here and do your job while you do mine?”
She raises her eyebrow and warily asks “What do you mean?”
I hop into the seat on the other side of the counter, take down my hair and toss it so it clumps wildly around my face, and put my feet up on the countertop.
Fae narrows her eyes at me. “What are you doing?”
I look at her innocently. “Running the store.”
She laughs appreciatively. “Except I know how to keep eye makeup in one place.”
“I blame the weather. Now go work, peon.”
She grabs a rag and some dusting spray and heads off to a particularly dirty part of the shop. “At least try not to scare anyone off.”

I pull my hair back up once she’s out of sight, since Miami summer is too hot to comfortably keep it down for any length of time. Looking out the door, I can see the shimmer of the heat radiating off the pavement, making everything seem hazy and distorted.

I watch the heat waves for a few minutes, raptly studying the effect they have on my perception of the fire hydrant I had set the book box next to. Eventually a person walks into my field of vision, also vaguely misshapen. It’s so bright outside, and so dim in the store, that he seems to glow. I can tell that he’s tall and slender, and he looks pretty hot. Literally. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, and his short, spiky dark hair glistened damply in the relentless sunlight.

I watch his pace slow as he passes the books and reads my less than appealing handwriting. I expect him to just keep walking by, like most people do, but instead he comes to a stop next to the box and stares down at it thoughtfully. Oh good, he’s going to take one.

I observe amusedly as he glances up and down the street, then at the storefront. He’s a decent distance away and can’t see me because of the dimness of the store, but I have a clear view of his eyes as he looks my way; green. Very, very green. It’s surprising that I can see them so well.

He takes one final look around, then stares intently at the box. His expression, from what I can tell, seems sad, and a little bit guilty. Then, to my absolute surprise, he picks the whole thing up and walks away, struggling slightly with the bulk of the box.

I stare at him in shock for a few seconds as he rounds the corner and disappears, then begin to giggle uncontrollably. Fae would be shocked to learn just how well my plan had worked. And probably a little angry that I just let one guy run off with several pounds of her merchandise.

He looked like someone who’d be good to his books. I’m happy for them.

* * * * * *

I told my roommates about it that night as we were sitting around the coffee table, eating Chinese take-out and trying to keep Lily from stabbing us with her chopsticks. She knows it’s a horribly rude and low-class thing to do, but she also knows that they are sharp, and in her mind the second fact makes the first irrelevant. We’ve been living with her for two years now, so we’re used to her random aggressive attacks, and I know that the more you ignore it the more quickly she’ll get bored. Poor Heather does not seem to understand this, though, and so tonight has become the focus of Lily’s torment.
“He –ouch, damnit Lily!- he’s gay. He has to be.”
I stifle a giggle by quickly inhaling a mouthful of lemon chicken. Chloe, who had finished eating and was lounging in a chair a safe distance from Lily, gave a reproach without even looking up. “Heather, that’s totally unjustified.”
“What kind of guy would take a whole box of books because he felt bad?” She flourishes her chopsticks for emphasis as she continues. “A sensitive one.”
Lily, pausing her assault for a moment, says slowly “Heather, sensitive does not mean homosexual.” Then she jabs her quickly in the arm.
“Lily, will you stop? That fucking hurts!”
“You’re too sensitive.”
I have to stifle another chuckle at this. Heather thinks about this for a moment, then sulkily replies “It means something if it’s a guy,” and rubs her newest stab wound.
I finish off my mouthful and laugh at my roomies. “Lily, please stop. You’re going to make Heather bleed.”
Lily shrugs and puts the chopsticks down. “Weren’t Goths made to bleed and whine about mortality?”
Heather glares at her from across the table. “I just like black, okay?”
Lily giggles and inspects a new food container hungrily. “Okay, okay. I was just trying to help your creative angst.”
“That’s Emo,” Chloe mutters, turning a page.

I try to get the topic back on track, since he’d seemed interesting, and would have been on my mind anyway. “Guys, he wasn’t gay. I didn’t get a vibe, and he was dressed totally normally.”
Heather flops over on the floor and lazily tosses a fortune cookie at Lily’s ear. “So he’s in denial, then. How old was he?”
I shrug and gesture for a cookie to be thrown at me as well. “Dunno, he looked young. About our age, probably.”
Lily gets up and walks over, evidently intent on lying down next to me on the couch. After making sure she didn’t have the chopsticks in her hand, I move over and let her stretch out.
“Was he cute?” she asks as she arranges one of our tattered pillows under her head.
“I don’t know. The pavement was doing that hot wavy distortion thing.”
“He must have been strong to carry all of those books.”
Heather chuckles. “I can’t imagine a big buff guy doing something like that.”

Lily pokes me in the side with her foot. “Watch out for him. Maybe he’ll come by again.”
“Make sure you tackle him so you can get a good look, too.” Heather grins and takes a suggestive bite out of her cookie.
“Not that good, I don’t think.” I laugh, then continue “at least not until after the first date.”
Lily snorts. “Only deprive them of large chunks of flesh after a date? Where’s the fun? Do it right away so you don’t have to put up with their stupidity.”
Chloe looks up and shakes her head. “And you whine that you’re single.”

I grab the empty food containers and move into the kitchen to clean up. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He was just some random guy who I’m never going to see ever again.”
I look through the door in time to see Heather swoon dramatically on the floor. “How tragic. You will die alone, deprived of Book Boy.”
“Yeah, because that’s not Goth at all, Hezzy.”
“Shut up, Lily.”