There's a small bookstore on Conner Avenue, situated near the middle of a block along the north side. The four story brick building houses three businesses on the street level; the bookstore, an artist supply store plus a bicycle shop. None of these businesses are particularly profitable and nor will they go away easily. Conner Avenue has three blocks devoted to the trendy shops and odd retail stores. People love to walk up and down the uneven sidewalk, browsing for new and used merchandise and perhaps stopping for a coffee at Starbucks. The coffee shop cleverly retains the old interior brick walls of one of the old buildings rather than going with a modern decor.
Ali's Books is owned by a wealthy man who kept the store as a tribute to his departed wife. While he doesn't come to the store often he feels he's protecting her memory by clinging to it. Behind the wood framed windows sit a few hard cover books, all used but in good condition. The man's nephew is the sole employee; the part timer having left to go traveling and so far no one else is interested in making $5.50 per hour among the worn shelves.
Jeffrey knows his uncle is paying him too much to manage the store, but also knows he might be the only one his uncle trusts to care for it. The wood floor creaks as it's walked on and the shelves seem to tilt at a slight angle, making one to always move slowly about the small spaces. It's a bookstore that needs special attention to survive even among the odd shops of Conner.
Jeffry thinks he's happy. Ask him how he's doing and the reply is invariably, "Just fine, just fine. How about you?" He's lying to himself. He does have friends and he shares a pint now and then with them. They read a lot, like him. A couple of them even aspire to be writers, churning out detective or adventure stories that no eyes will read with interest. One of his friends works for a lawyer that specializes in divorces of once loving couples. He hates his job but is scared to quit and look elsewhere. As for women, none of his friends are successful there. One is living in common-law, but there will never be a commitment made there.
Jeffery himself has been dumped by his two previous girlfriends and he never really understood the reasons why. They didn't mind he wore last year's fashions, or that he was just always a little quiet. His looks weren't a hindrance, tall with a bit of a stomach on a heavy frame, but didn't give cause for a second look. They dropped him because he just didn't want to do anything different, same thing day in day out. His passion was books and he didn't understand while books spoke about life they weren't meant to be life itself.
Tonight he was going to meet up with Frank and Jim at the Black Dog pub. They would sit in Mila's section and flirt with her as she served drinks. She was pretty, personable and working her way through college. At the end of the night they would tip her well, thankful for the odd hand she had placed on their shoulder. On special occasions, such as birthdays, she would give them a hug. She did like them; they were all nice guys but at the end of the evening her thoughts were on going home to her boyfriend.
****
Jeffry stood behind the counter reading a used pocketbook while keeping one eye on the two customers picking out books. He appeared slightly distracted as he glanced at his watch a third time. She was late. This Saturday, like all Saturdays, heralded the arrival of Miss C around two twelve p.m. The time was the careful averaging by Jeffery of the all times Miss C entered the bookstore over a period of three months and two weeks. The time average didn't take into account of the three Saturdays she missed nor the lone Friday she choose instead. Miss C, her name because Jeffery had seen the letter C on her driver's license while the rest of the letters were washed out from the reflected light, was an avid book reader who normally spent thirty seven minutes in choosing her two books to read each week. One was usually of romance and the other usually fantasy, although she had chosen other genres as well.
At two twenty-five Miss C stopped in front of the bookstore to scratch behind the ears of a mutt chained to a parking meter. She then took the single step up over the concrete threshold to open the door, spilling sunlight into the interior. She gave Jeffery a quick smile and proceeded to the shelves of books.
He watched her. Today she was wearing blue jeans, a dark blue knit top and low heeled sandals that seemed designed to show off her painted toenails. Her brown wavy hair was held in place by a plastic comb on her right side. He saw her poke around the table that contained the cheap romance novels and pull out a couple before securing one. Now she headed for another section. As she did one out of four times she pulled out a book from the erotica section, opening it in the middle to read a few paragraphs but this time replacing it. She then went to the science fiction section, choosing a Larry Niven novel. That surprised him; she normally preferred Sawyer when she did stray to science fiction.
Miss C waited patiently as he dealt with another customer then placed her choices on the counter and then from her handbag her two books she read last week.
As with last time he asked her how were her books.
Again she gave that flash of a smile. "Fine. Not too memorable but okay."
He wanted to say more, wanted to ask her out for a coffee or a drink, or anything. He stared at her brown eyes, wanting to have the courage to say something, anything but "How were your books".
"What's Larry Niven like?"
His jaw worked, his mind reeling from her question. "Uh, I, well ... .he's a good writer. Pushes the science aspect of science fiction. His books are usually part of a series, tied together but you can usually read them separately."
"Oh."
He forced himself to smile. "You like to read different stuff. Like romance, then fantasy."
"I do. I read a lot I guess." The smile she gave him stayed longer.
His courage increased. "What, what do you do? If you don't mind me asking."
"I teach at Walter Stewart School. Grade three."
"That's not far from here. I guess you live around here too."
"Just a few blocks from here. I like to walk along Conner and shop. I love spending my Saturdays here, people watching over a coffee and then coming here to get a couple of books."
