"Excuse me, Miss...."
"That's Ms. to you" she mumbled, then turned to face him and replied in her clearer customer service voice; "Yes, sir, how may I assist you?"
"Could you direct me to the biography section?"
"900 - Upstairs, to the end of the room on your left. The stairs and lift are over there."
"Thank you, Miss." He leaned closer in, then spoke more nervously. "And I just wanted to say - I mean - you should wear hose or pants... or something. They're pretty obvious, I mean." He backed away, turned and walked towards the stairs, pausing only for a second to look back at her.
When he had gone, Dalia walked back to the 'Enquiries' desk and sat down behind it. He had been the fourth person to comment that day, and it was only early afternoon. She mentally rifled through them.
The first was a man - must have been in his fifties, judging by the greying hair and beard. She had been restacking the shelves in Moral Philosophy when her sixth sense told her of staring eyes - not an uncommon occurence, even in such a prestigious library. She guessed it was natural. Female librarians were supposed to be sexless, hair-in-a-bun robots; they weren't supposed to wear tight skirts or high heels. He had only said one word, but she felt no attraction to him, so she ignored it; Mr. Could Do With A Good Shave had got the message, and though his eyes continued on her, he didn't speak again. She wheeled her trolley of books around to Comparative Religion, and out of sight.
The second guy? He had "gay" written all over him; muscles, white T-shirt and blue jeans, blond crewcut - and perhaps the biggest giveaway, the fact he was arm-in-arm with an older executive-type man. He was camply talking to his companion as she walked past - he had suddenly laid a hand on her forearm and said "my dear, I recognise those, and I'd be ashamed of myself if I were you". She had grinned at him and walked on.
And the third?
"Excuse me?"
Yes, the third... just the thought then had made her shiver inside.
"Excuse me? Ma'am?" Her attention snapped back to the library. A young boy was standing in front of her desk. "Where could I find a book on the Amazon?"
She stood up. "Here, I'll show you."
----
It was on afternoon break that her mind was taken back to where she had left off. The librarians' 'staff room' was a tiny little kitchenette right at the top of the building, with crumbling plaster on the walls and formica that looked like it was straight out of the seventies. Dalia was, however, glad of it; she was alone up here, away from the eyes, away from the constant requests; if only she had a dollar for every time she'd been asked who wrote Harry Potter.
Her little plastic pot of potato salad remained untouched; the coffee machine bubbled away in the background. It was the third person she was thinking about...
