The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance (3 page)

Men have become the tools of their
tools. ― Henry David Thoreau

            “Come
on,” Charlie called. “Sitting down all day has made you soft.” She threw back a
teasing grin but Alice just smiled. She felt her own sagging spirits lift
around Charlie. The girl never lacked enthusiasm, that was certain. She came to
work every Monday and Wednesday as soon as she got out of her last class at the
high school. Employing Charlie, a kid who had read every science fiction and
fantasy novel going back to Jules Verne, was like having her very own reference
librarian in that narrow field.

             “I’ve
always been soft. Nothing new about it.” Alice glanced toward the elm trees
rising from the grass near the river bank. Across the river, the development
was booming. She wished the town would slow down. No more building. No more ugly
concrete., But the Cane River region would lose its young people if it stayed a
hundred years in the past. She was just glad the historic district didn’t allow
the kind of stores that sprouted up overnight. At least her little piece of
Natchitoches would stay the same--sedate and sophisticated.

            As
they reached the corner, Alice hoped to see a
Coming Soon
sign with the name of the museum or a fancy restaurant. Instead, she saw a
banner that read
ScreenStop
tied to a new chain link fence perimeter. Heavy equipment rumbled off to the
side, smoothing the area where parking would be. Most of the building was
already completed and workmen swarmed the inside, carrying bales of wire and
tools.

            “ScreenStop?”
Alice searched her memory. “What is it? A movie theater?” DVD rentals were a thing
of the past, and they already had two theaters in the mall across the river.

            “You’ve
never heard of ScreenStop? They’re like, the best game store ever.” Charlie bounced
on the toes of her red Converse sneakers, beside herself with glee.

            “Games.”
That could be better than a theater. “It must have a lot of merchandise for a
store that big. I’m betting they’ll have more than Monopoly.”

            Charlie
stared at her, eyes wide. “Monopoly? Nobody plays that. These are real games.
Battle
of the Universe
,
Ninja Masters
,
Purple Penguin
.”

            “I’ve
never heard of any of those.” She turned back to the chain link fence across
the street. The banner was black with red flames forming the title, and what
looked like a bunch of angel wings in the background. She felt a wave of unease.
Even at the end of the row, a concrete and glass structure would be an eyesore.
Alice took a deep breath and tried to think positively. She liked board games
as much as the next person. Maybe it would be a good neighbor to have after
all. Board games and books. The perfect pairing.

            “Of
course you haven’t. You don’t believe in this stuff. You don’t even have a cell
phone.”

            Alice
would have been offended except that Charlie’s tone was teasing. “I do have a
cell phone. It’s just―”

            “Ancient.
It doesn’t even have data.” She laughed outright.

            “Why
would it?” She couldn’t help being a tiny bit defensive. “It’s a phone. You
talk on it.” Except that she didn’t, not really. That made twice this morning
that she’d been gently rebuked for not being plugged in. “Anyway, have you been
in one of these places before?”

            “Sure.
They’ve got a big one in New Orleans. Five stories of all glass and steel. Sixty-inch
screens everywhere. Gaming systems. Walls and walls of games, plus areas to try
them out.” Her blue eyes glazed over. “Cell phones, tablets, e-readers, TVs.
Everything you could possibly want. I got this cool patch.” She pointed to her Converse
high tops, where a matching logo shone back. Red flames on black, angel wings
in the background.

            Alice
felt her mouth form a little ‘o’ as her brain caught up with Charlie’s
description. It sounded like nothing she would ever want and there wouldn’t be
any overflow from the customer base. Video game players weren’t known for
spending their time reading. People buying e-readers wouldn’t come into her
bookstore and buy a paper book when they could just download one at a touch. They
were night and day, sun and moon. She turned back toward the shop. “Don’t think
I’m being a jealous cow because they’re some fancy store. I just don’t know who
approved this. I’m on the historic district board and I never heard a thing
about the plans. It’s really too bad they’re letting something like that into
the area.”

            Charlie
caught up to her in a few steps. She skipped along beside her, face glowing
with excitement.  “Too bad? It’s fantastic! I can’t wait to see it. I bet you
ten bucks and a Frisbee that they have a huge opening day party with a boatload
of prizes. The really big stores have celebrities come in and sign stuff. My
friend Jake had his chest signed by Kim Kardashian’s cousin.”

             Alice
disliked this new store more and more with each passing minute. “I don’t know
who that is, but I hope it wasn’t permanent. Anyway, I’m sure it would fit in
really well across the river to the South. Maybe down near the hospital. The
building isn’t right. The whole,” she waved her hands, “
clonkiness
of the structure just doesn’t fit.” She wasn’t sure if clonkiness was a word
but she could hardly express herself through her irritation.

            “But
why?” Charlie seemed honestly confused. “This is just what we need on this side
of the river.”

            Alice
blew out a breath. “No, it’s not. What we need is more readers. We need more
people willing to shut off the junk on TV and put away the phone and read a
book. We need less technology and more paper. Nothing in that place is going to
help keep my store running.” She couldn’t help the bitterness in her voice.      

            “You
just haven’t tried it. You’d love it. I can play for hours and hours.” Charlie
smiled, as if she hadn’t heard half of what Alice had just said. “I made it to
the fortieth level one night after I played Blue Penguin for six hours
straight.”

            Alice
shot her a look. “Fortieth level. And what did you get for that?”

            “Well,
nothing,” Charlie admitted. “But it was a big achievement.”

           
Achievement.
Alice trudged beside Charlie, half listening to her detail all the games she
was going to buy and all the blissful hours she was going to spend sitting in
front of a screen, decapitating zombies or whatever people did when they played
video games. Alice wanted to shake some sense into her, but Alice wasn’t
Charlie’s mother. She couldn’t believe this bright young girl was wasting her
life on false achievements that meant nothing in real life.

            “I
hope they start hiring soon. I bet I could get a job there since I’ve been
playing those games since I was little. I got my first Xbox for my twelfth
birthday and I almost wore it out.” Charlie had never looked so excited. “Would
you write me a good recommendation, Miss Alice?”

            Alice
missed a step and stumbled to a stop. Her stomach curled up on itself. Alice
hadn’t really thought it through clearly, but now she realized she’d always
thought of Charlie as someone she could rely on. Even though they were nothing
alike, Alice felt Charlie was someone who believed in books as much as she did,
someone who might be interested in helping manage the store someday. It was a
blow to realize Charlie wasn’t anything like Alice. In fact, she was almost the
opposite. But she had always been a good employee. “Sure. Of course I would.”

            Alice
felt her heart pounding as they neared the classically designed, hundred-year-old
building that housed By the Book. Every building for miles around was in the
same style, with ornate stonework around the arched windows. That store was an
ugly surprise, destined to ruin the atmosphere of the district. One more thing
to worry about, one more thing on her plate. She’d worked so hard, putting in
the hours and the effort, but things just weren’t going her way. Things hadn’t
gone her way in a long time.

            Gripping
the long brass handle of the front door, she let Charlie pass through first,
still chattering. Alice turned back for one last look at the construction
happening on the corner lot, and she made a decision. She was going to find out
who approved it. The parish council sent out notices for everything else, even
changing the street lamps. Nothing happened without a vote. Something was very
wrong. This had been slipped by the people of Natchitoches and she wasn’t going
to let it pass without a fight.

            She
narrowed her eyes at the rumbling machinery. Mr. Perrault would have been
appalled. This business threatened the health and welfare of the people she
loved most but for more reasons than being an eyesore. It was contrary to
everything about this place, the only town she’d ever loved and called home. Their
Creole culture was being shoved to the side and buried as easily as the dirt on
that lot.

            Alice
touched the rings hanging on the chain under her shirt. She wasn’t about to
roll over and let the owners of that abomination seduce the city’s children
with hours of meaningless, flashing images. This was personal. This was war.

                                                  
      ****

            “Mr.
Olivier, your meeting starts in fifteen minutes.” The personal assistant cut
into Paul’s thoughts. He hated the intercom system more than almost anything, but
without it he never arrived anywhere on time.

            He
pressed a button and responded, “Thank you, Mrs. Connor.”

            There
was a second of silence as if she were thinking of adding an extra warning, but
then the connection was cut. Paul smiled. Mrs. Connor thought ScreenStop would
go down in a fiery ball of disorganization if she didn’t show up to work, and
Paul was tempted to agree with her. The woman was inhumanly exact, annoyingly
direct, and never failed to point out the flaws in any plan. In short, she was
the best personal assistant Paul had ever had.

            He
turned back to the screen and groaned. His “super-secret superhero project,” as
Andy liked to call it, was growing out of control. Tens of thousands of
visitors per day came to the place Browning Wordsworth Keats called his cyber
home. The site was built to handle ten times that amount of traffic. They
talked on the boards, argued over poets, and left long lists of books they
needed in digital form but couldn’t find anywhere. He had appointed a few
regular visitors as administrators and they kept the ranting to a minimum,
making sure the site stayed friendly and upbeat, while not losing the point of
why they all came― to discuss good books. Paul dedicated several servers
just for handling the blog, so none of that was an issue. No, it was the email.
The site listed a contact address, and at first he kept up correspondence with
many delighted (and sometimes disgruntled) readers. But now, it was out of
control. Sometimes he’d receive a hundred emails in a day. Opening an email and
reading it through, even without a response, took time. If he sent even a few
lines back, it took longer. He hated to go to an automated reply system, but he
couldn’t see any other way around it. If he hired someone to sort his email, he
would have to let them in on his secret. And there was no one he trusted enough
besides Andy and Mrs. Connor.

            Paul
ran a hand through his hair and opened one more email. He needed to figure out
how to handle the wave of correspondence or he’d have to become unreachable.
His daily life couldn’t support a five-hour website babysitting job.

           
Dear
Mr. B. W. Keats,

                
I am an eighty-six year old retired librarian. My grandson gave me an e-reader
last year but I never used it. I don’t even have a computer. I think the Internet
is a terrible waste of time. This machine stayed in its box on a shelf until my
friend Rhonda told me about your project. I was curious, so I went to the
library and looked you up.

            Mr.
Keats, I cannot tell you what a joy it was to see
Mother
Carey’s Chickens
was available from your website. I
called my son right away and he helped me set up my account. In seconds, the
book was in my hands. This was my twin sister’s favorite book and she knew most
of it by heart. After she passed away, her children cleaned out her house and
sold all her books. When I realized it was missing, I felt like I had lost her
all over again. When I got it on the screen and read those familiar words, I heard
them in her voice even though I’d forgotten what she sounded like. I heard her
voice and I cried.

            Bless
you, Mr. Keats, whoever you are. You have given an old lady tremendous joy.

                                    Sincerely,

                             
Beulah Ditzner

            P.S.
I’m going to send you another email with a list of books that you might
consider adding. I know you must receive many recommendations and requests. I
will understand if you choose other works. These are simply books that I
remember enjoying in my childhood and would like to read again before I die.