My last post is now out-of-date and I want to post something new. I’ve been working on a new book for some weeks now and I like how the story is unfolding. I’m upset about the terrible things our federal government is doing, but I don’t want to write about that because I don’t have anything helpful to say except… maybe one of the chapters of the book I’m writing will help. Somehow. This is a work-in-progress, not the final draft. Enjoy.
Children’s Stories
At ten minutes to nine on a freezing cold Saturday morning five days before Thanksgiving, Marlowe stands behind the counter at Wonderful Books and Things, picks up the store phone, and calls Diana Crawford, she who knits the wool caps and neck-warmers Marlowe sells hundreds of during the cold months in Portland.
“Diana,” says Marlowe after listening to Diana’s brief outgoing message. “Marlowe here. We sold your last cap yesterday and I’m wondering if we can expect more from you any time soon. I’ve called you three times in the last week and emailed you and texted you several times and gotten no response. I hope you’re okay. I’d rather not find a new source for wool caps, but I will if you can’t provide me with some soon. Please be in touch.”
At nine on the nose, after making a little growl of annoyance regarding Leon Sturges not showing up for work yet, Marlowe goes to unlock the front door where five people are waiting to come in from the cold, all of them Saturday morning regulars Marlowe greets by name.
At 9:30, the store quite busy, Marlowe calls Leon who is sometimes a few minutes late, but never this late. When Leon doesn’t answer his phone, Marlowe calls Leon’s wife Susan who answers immediately.
“Susan. Hi. It’s Marlowe. Is Leon…”
“He split yesterday,” says Susan, sobbing. “I should have called you. Sorry.”
“I’m so sorry,” says Marlowe, and after doing his best to console Susan he hangs up just as the air is rent by the terrible sound of Diana’s old car pulling up in front of the store, the hideous racket ceasing when Diana shuts off her engine.
“Marlowe, Marlowe, Marlowe,” she says, hurrying into the store with a cardboard box full of her knitted caps and neck-warmers, her hair blown every which way. “I didn’t get your message until last night when I got my phone service going again. Long story I won’t bore you with. Short version, I took the train to Oakland, knitting all the way, my sister loaned me some money, I took the train back, I won’t be evicted, I have a working phone again, and I’m thrilled you want more caps and neck warmers. I brought you thirty caps and fifteen neck warmers. Can we make this an outright purchase rather than consignment? Please? That will pay off what I owe you and you know you’ll sell them all now the artic weather has arrived.”
“Fine,” says Marlowe, giving her an inquisitive look. “Diana… you once told me you worked in a bookstore. Yes?”
“I did,” she says, surprised by his question. “Drago’s Books. In Oakland. For three years. I quit right before I moved here. Eleven years ago. They didn’t fire me. I was a great employee. They begged me to stay. Honestly.”
“I’m sure they did,” says Marlowe, clearing his throat. “I’m in need of part-time help. Interested?”
“Very,” she says breathlessly. “I’d love to work here. When would…”
“Now,” says Marlowe, matter-of-factly. “I’m reading to the children and then selling children’s books from ten to eleven-thirty and I need someone to tend the counter and help customers find books while I’m with the children and their parents.”
“Now is great,” says Diana, barely able to contain her excitement. “How much… what’s my hourly?”
“Seventeen an hour to start,” says Marlowe, gesturing for her to come around behind the counter. “After you’ve worked here for a few weeks, assuming you get a new muffler, we’ll raise you to nineteen an hour. Do you know how to use this kind of cash register?”
“Pretty much,” she says, frowning at the modern thing.
“Good. Let’s take you through a cash sale.” He hands her a book. “I’d like to buy this one.”
Diana opens the book, notes the price written in pencil in small neat numerals on the inside of the front cover, enters the price into the cash register, and taps the sales tax button. “That will be seven dollars and eighty-four cents, please. Would you like a bag?”
Marlowe hands her a ten-dollar bill, she hits the Sale button, and the cash drawer slides open. She gives him two dollars and sixteen cents in change and carefully puts the book and receipt in a bag.
“Excellent,” says Marlowe, noting her ease with the various aspects of the transaction. “Now write the name of the book and the price paid in the notebook there to the right of the cash register. The credit card machine is slide or tap and interacts with phones. You know how that works?”
“Kind of,” she says, nodding.
“Good. If you have the time, these three stacks of books need to be shelved in their appropriate places. I will be on the sofa next to Children’s Books for the next hour or so should you need me for anything. If anyone wants to sell books to us, tell them I’ll be available to assess their books after two.”
“Got it,” says Diana, taking a deep breath. “Do I have five minutes to get my coat and lock my car?”
“You have exactly five minutes,” says Marlowe, greatly relieved to have Diana working the counter while he is otherwise engaged.
*
An hour later, Marlowe is sitting on the largest of the store’s three sofas reading aloud from Winnie-the-Pooh. There are four little kids sitting on his right, four little kids on his left, seven kids sitting on the floor in front of him, and twenty adults standing in a semi-circle around the sofa, everyone enraptured by Marlowe’s performance.
“And that,” says Marlowe, closing the book, “is the end of the story and the end of story time.”
“Oh please read one more, Marlowe,” says a chubby seven-year-old boy sitting among those on the floor. “I missed the first one because we were late.”
“There’s always next Saturday, Gerard,” says Marlowe, standing up to take a bow in response to the generous applause.
“Bravo!” shouts an elderly man. “You missed your calling, Marlowe. You should have been an actor.”
“Never too late,” says the mother of one of the kids. “He’s still young.”
Now three-year-old Eileen, she who came trick-or-treating to Marlowe’s house dressed as a cowgirl, taps Marlowe’s hand and says something so quietly he can’t hear what she’s saying.
So he bends down and puts his ear close to her and asks, “What did you say, dear?”
She gazes wide-eyed at him and whispers, “I love Pooh.”
“Then you shall have the book,” says Marlowe, giving her the little old volume.
Eileen’s mother, lovely Maureen with the Irish brogue, hurries up to Marlowe and says, “Oh we already…”
Marlowe places a finger to his lips and Maureen falls silent.
“You may already have a copy of Winnie-the-Pooh,” he says, winking at her. “But not this copy from which the story I read came from.”
*
Following a laughter-filled half-hour recommending books to parents of excited children, Marlowe returns to the counter and finds Diana, her hair now gathered in a bun, putting two astrology books into a bag for a young woman with pink dreadlocks and many tattoos.
“Do let me know what you think of these,” says Diana to the young woman. “The Gregory especially opened my eyes to the enormous influence of the north node.”
“I will let you know,” says the young woman, turning to Marlowe and pointing at Diana, “She’s great.”
“An excellent review,” says Marlowe, coming around behind the counter. “How are we doing?”
“Quite well, I think,” says Diana, consulting the notebook next to the cash register. “In the last hour and a half you’ve sold twenty-two children’s books, seven murder mysteries, an old hardback of Pride and Prejudice, three cookbooks, two Astrology books, a book about making home brew beer, a biography of Henry VIII, a book about cats, five of my caps, and three of my neck-warmers.”
“Good work, Diana,” he says, taking one of her caps out of the cardboard box and trying it on. “How do I look?”
“Gorgeous,” she says, bursting into tears.
“What a difficult time you’ve been having,” he says, gently putting his arms around her. “Crying is good.”
∆
