The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance (12 page)

            “No,
actually, I meant for the bookstore.” He looked down at his portfolio. “I was
surprised to see such valuable manuscripts and no security. If you don’t mind
my saying, I think you should have a security system in place.”

            Alice
wanted to say no, she really didn’t need anything like that. It was for city
folks who relied on electronics instead of their neighbors. But maybe was
foolish to leave the inventory unprotected. She wished she could ask Mr.
Perrault for advice. The locks had been good enough for him and Mrs. Perrault. “Okay.
I suppose I can look in the yellow pages and call around.”

            “I
know a great company, actually. I think they have a store in Natchitoches, too.
If you’d like, I can have them come do a walk through.”

            She
nodded, but inside Alice wasn’t sure she wanted to commit to an expensive alarm
system she might not know how to turn on and off. And when the experts came in,
of course they’d recommend the biggest, most elaborate set up. She sighed. Some
days she felt as if she was in completely over her head, in every area.

            “Have
a good lunch.” He seemed as if he wanted to say something else, but turned and
walked down the hallway.

            Alice
closed the door more softly this time and leaned her ear against it, waiting
until his footsteps faded away before she let out a long breath.

             She
could do this. It was only a matter of separating the man from the business. It
wasn’t personal. Successful business people did it all the time.

            Alice
closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the door. Unfortunately, she
had never been very good at making any kind of decisions without her heart.
Anybody looking at her group of stray cats would be able to see that. She would
have to see Paul Olivier not as the handsome-but-slightly-awkward hometown boy
who seemed to know her better than anyone else. She would have to see him as a
corporate entity. And to do that, it was probably best if she didn’t see him at
all. From here on out, she would avoid Paul Olivier no matter the cost.

I just invent, then wait until man
comes around to needing what I’ve invented.

―R Buckminster Fuller

            Paul
couldn’t help grinning as he made his way down the hallway. He knew exactly which
Rackham picture inspired that cat’s name. Some might say the Cheshire Cat from
Alice
in Wonderland
, but Paul immediately thought of
Rackham’s sketch of Rip Van Winkle. He wondered if Alice or the previous owner
had named him,. He paused, key in hand, trying to remember the man’s name. The
way Alice talked about him explained a lot about her devotion to the store.
This place wasn’t just a book store, it was her heart. But that was never a
good way to run a business.

            He
turned the key in the brass lock and let the door swing open. The apartment was
similar to Alice’s, with pine floors and a grand fireplace in the large living
room. The long brick wall that the two apartments shared was bare of anything,
even shelves. He peeked into the large but outdated kitchen, then the two
bedrooms. It would do, unless Andy really objected, which wasn’t likely. He
wasn’t pretentious.

            As
soon as Andy arrived, he’d call for the luggage and the scanner to be brought
from the plane. And then he’d have to give the place a tech overhaul.

            His
cell phone rang and he answered it without checking the screen. “Andy, are you
even close? Maybe we should meet at the building site in ten minutes.”

            A
girlish giggle sounded in his ear. “Sweetie, it’s me. Holly.”

            Paul
was momentarily speechless. If he’d had to pick the top one hundred people who
might be on the other end of that phone call, his long-forgotten, ex-girlfriend
wouldn’t have been on the list. “Oh, hey. How are you? I’m not actually in
town, so…” He left the rest of the sentence unfinished.

            “I
know. I just saw on Celebstalker site that you flew into your old hometown. And
I thought it would be fun to see where the famous Paul Olivier came from.”

            He
blinked. Holly had never shown any interest in his hometown. In fact, he didn’t
think she’d ever asked where he was from. She couldn’t be suggesting that he
invite her for a visit. It had been months since they’d even spoken. “I’ll be
working most of the time, actually. I don’t know if―”

            “An
anonymous source said you were planning a huge opening bash with some really
big celebrities. That doesn’t sound like work. It sounds like fun!”

            Paul
sighed. The nightclub scene must be wearing thin in New York City. Personally,
he’d rather clean out the lint trap in his dryer. It was more entertaining.

            “I’ll
let you know when it is. Right now we don’t even have a building.”

            “Oh,
that doesn’t matter. I can come down there anytime and keep you company. I’ll
help you plan everything. Plus, I know how lonely you get on the road.” He
could hear her smiling and it made him grit his teeth. When they were dating,
he confessed how much he hated traveling, wishing he could just stay home for
once. Days later, stories started circulating that he was agoraphobic and a
recluse like Howard Hughes. A tabloid quoted an “anonymous source,” claiming he
sat around in his underwear, eating only candy bars and panicking at the
thought of germs.

            “I’ll
let you know as soon as any plans are made,” he said and hung up before she
could respond. He definitely had to be more careful about answering the phone.  

            Paul
wandered to the built-in window seat and stared out at the river. This wasn’t
the view he’d had when he was growing up. He’d seen the factories across the
tracks, belching smoke and disgorging exhausted workers in twelve-hour cycles. Turning
his head from side to side, he tried to ease the tension in his neck. He’d only
been here half a day and he was wound tighter than a two dollar watch. He
smiled at the thought. His mama liked to say that and he could hear her voice
in his head. She was coming to Natchitoches tomorrow for the zydeco festival
and he couldn’t wait to hug her tight. He was glad she was happy in her old
farmhouse out of the city, but they were still Cane River Creole through and
through. This would always be home in some way.

            Paul
checked the time and dropped onto the window seat. Andy had seven minutes to
get to the apartment or he’d just decide for both of them. He tapped his foot,
wondering why it seemed so quiet in this place. It was a long time since he’d
sat in perfect silence. It was hard to hush his brain, shut off all the to-do
lists and worries.

            He
touched the email app on his phone but didn’t open any new messages. He went
straight to Alice’s note, and even though a quiet voice in his head told him to
leave it be, he sent a quick reply.

           
Miss
Augustine,

                
I believe Alexander Pope was a great genius, but his witty satire didn’t win
him many friends. He never took a walk without his Great Dane, and a pair of
loaded pistols in his pockets. Whether this was due to his treatment of women,
we can’t be sure. He did seem to have a callous view of romance, saying, “they
dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.” Maybe that’s why he never married.

            Thank
you for the picture. It was the best part of my day. Actually, it was the best
part of my week.

                
I’m traveling right now and I miss my bookshelves. I miss the familiar sight of
all my favorites who have become like dear friends to me.

            Yours,

                        BWK

            He
sent the message and sat staring at the screen. Maybe it was being back in his
home town, or having made such a jerk of himself earlier, but he felt entirely
off-kilter. He usually walked through life with the confidence of a man who had
created a very successful company, even if he wasn’t ever going to be a great
public speaker, or be able to work a room like a pro. But today, all his
confidence evaporated the moment he’d argued with Alice. He was left scrambling
to make amends, to prove he wasn’t the arrogant, wealthy, entitled guy she’d
met today. And it seemed the best way to do that was to reach out to her with
the only version of him she didn’t hate: Browning Wordsworth Keats.

            His
phone buzzed and he saw a reply. Paul frowned, wondering if she had gone back
down to the store already. That wasn’t a very long lunch.

            Dear
BWK,

            Please
excuse any weird typos, I’ve just learned to use the email app on my phone.

            A
particularly unpleasant customer used Alexander Pope against me today and I
like the poet even less now.

            I’m
glad you enjoyed the picture. I haven’t traveled from my home town for almost
five years. I’m happy with that state of affairs. My books are my friends, too.
If I had to travel, I’d want to pack the whole store.

            Alice

            Paul
closed his eyes for a moment. Sometimes when he was reading a particular poet
or writer, they seemed to get into his head and everything seemed to be
related. He would walk through his day, lines popping into his head that
supported his current arguments. And he’d done the same with Alice. It was a
bad habit he needed to end, before it caused him a bigger headache. He re-read
the note and grinned. She was emailing on her phone for him. That had to count
for something.

           
Dear
Alice,

            I’m
sorry a customer was rude to you. Pope would say “never find fault with the
absent,” but I don’t think that will bring our poet friend back into your good
favors. Personally, I think anyone who would be unkind to a bookstore owner is
clearly unhinged. This person must have succumbed to the urge to show off so “pride,
the never-failing vice of fools” might fit well here. Anyway, “to err is human,
to forgive divine.” (You knew that was coming.)

            Can
I ask what happens when someone buys one of your favorite books? In a rare
bookshop, you can’t just order another. Do you give it a sending away party? Do
you worry about its new home?

            BWK

            Ok,
so he was technically fishing, but he was curious about the Rackham portfolio. She’d
definitely been reluctant to let it go. Grateful, but also a little wary. And
then when she’d found out who he was… He shrugged off the memory at the sound
of another email hitting his inbox.

           
Dear
BWK,

            Fine!
Mr. Pope knows best that “to be angry is to revenge the faults of others on
ourselves.” I’m only giving myself a headache by thinking about this person.

            Funny
you should ask about letting go of rare books. Today I waved goodbye to a very
rare item I have loved from the first moment I stepped into the store. It was
difficult, I won’t lie. The buyer (that same customer who used Mr. Pope against
me) assured me that the recipient of this gift will treat it well, but I can’t
shake that little whisper of worry. It’s one of only twenty like it in the
entire world. I feel an obligation to protect it from harm. I feel like my
heart is wandering around in the world, closed up in a box. It will probably be
set carelessly on a shelf, soon to be forgotten.

            But
denying books to people doesn’t work, either.

            I
don’t know the answer. Maybe I wasn’t meant to own a bookstore after all.

            Alice

            He
felt her words drop like stones into his heart. He knew exactly what had
prompted her doubt.

           
Dear
Alice,

            On
the other hand, “on wrongs swift vengeance waits.” Perhaps your customer felt
remorse soon after. I know that I often speak before thinking. It’s my worst
fault.

            It
must be a glorious and terrible moment, sending a beloved book out into the
world. I don’t have children but I wonder if it’s like sending a half-grown
child to college. My mother was cheerful and supportive when I went off to
school, but recently she confessed that she cried every day. She was terrified
that I would be treated badly, then come back to her damaged and disillusioned.
She was brave outwardly and I never knew.

            I
think you are the best kind of bookstore owner.

         
Your BWK

            He
rubbed his forehead. It was weird to talk to her as if they’d never met. He
stared off at the river, wondering if she was upstairs in the same spot,
looking at the same view. Before he thought it through, he added another few
lines.

            P.S.
I’ll be in Natchitoches this weekend. I’m going to the Zydeco festival this
Saturday. Perhaps we’ll run into each other? “Those who move easiest have
learned to dance.”

            He
pushed send and then stood up, feeling a thrilling combination of anxiety and
happiness surge through him. Was he really thinking of telling Alice his secret?
Only Andy knew about his involvement but he was completely trustworthy and his
best friend.

            His
pulse pounded in his temples. He must have lost his mind. She’d just vowed to
do everything she could to keep his company from opening in her town.

            On
the other hand, this might help his case. He could prove he wasn’t all bad, no
matter how it looked from the outside. The phone dinged and he jabbed the icon.

           
Dear
BWK,

       
I love the zydeco festival. I was intending to go, even though I don’t like
big, noisy crowds. I make an exception for our Creole music. (Your Pope quote
is about learning to write well, but I like it anyway.)

            When
you said you’d have a friend come for your book, did you actually mean
yourself? Is this an unexpected trip? Have you been to Natchitoches before?

            I’m
sorry to ask so many questions but I’m curious now. Most of all, aren’t you
supposed to keep that fedora on? If we meet, I’ll know what you look like and I
could splash your picture all over those rabid message boards.

            You
don’t have to answer. Everyone loves a mystery. It probably draws people to
your books. It’s good marketing. Plus, Mr. Pope says, “And, after all, what is
a lie? Tis but truth in masquerade.”

            Alice

            He
grinned. If he’d approached most any member of the fan boards and offered to
meet them, they would have been thrilled. Alice didn’t seem to harbor the same obsession
with celebrities that most people did.