Booked to die

We were at the end of another night. 1 was packing the tools and putting things away.

“And then there’s the problem of gettin‘ old,” Ruby said. “I can’t do this forever, I can’t keep hauling books all my life. Frankly, I don’t care if I never see another ten-dollar book. I want to do expensive stuff, like Rita McKinley. But almost everybody I know who does that has money to begin with. The rest of us just break our backs and get old.”

“You sure find your perspectives changing.”

“Ain’t that the damn truth. Everybody gets old in different ways. Me, I’m just slowing down. Neffs becoming a recluse. His uncle died a year or so ago and left him a scruffy broken-down ranch in Longmont. He lives up there on weekends now, and you know what?…he won’t even give me his goddamn phone number. He’s like Greta Garbo, he vants to be alone. He says if the store burns down he don’t want to know about it anyway, and he doesn’t want to be bothered for anything less. But I’ll tell you a secret, Dr. J, if you don’t tell anybody you heard it from me. 1 think he’s gettin’ in that Millie Farmer’s pants. She let something slip last week about the ranch, so I know she’s been up there. She thinks Neffs the most brilliant bastard she’s ever met. Hard to believe, considering she’s also met me.”

I was still at least two weeks from opening, but already the books were piling up. Bookscouts were coming by at all hours, tapping on the glass, offering their wares. People were curious and that was good. Neighbors looked in and some gave me a thumbs-up gesture as they walked away.

I knew I would open with good stock, but it wouldn’t begin to fill the place up. I had to decide about the books in Arizona. Ruby waved his hand, a gesture of dismissal. “I’ll tell you something, Dr. J, and I’ll tell you this in good faith because you and me, we’re becoming friends, I hope. You don’t need that stuff. I would really give my left nut for that finder’s fee, but if I were you I’d build this mother from the ground up. That’s how you learn, that’s how you keep deadwood off your shelves. Trust me. You’ll be up to your ass in books before you know it. As soon as people find out you’re paying real money, you won’t know where all the damn books came from.”

We had barely begun work that night when the girl arrived. It was still midsummer and the door was open to catch the early-evening breeze. I looked up and she was standing in the doorway, looking about seventeen in her spring- green dress. She had long coppery hair and when she spoke her voice had Scotland stamped all over it.

“Is this the bookstore? The new one the paper wrote about?”

“You’ve found us,” I said. “You’re a little early, though. I haven’t put out the Shakespeare folios or the Gutenbergs yet, and we won’t open for another week or two. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a job. I’m honest and I work hard, I’m pleasant to be around and I like books.”

“You’re hired,” Ruby said from across the room.

“Pay no attention to this street rat,” I said. “I’m the boss.”

“I knew that from your picture. I did think when he spoke up so forcefully that perhaps he’s the power behind the throne.”

“Hire this kid, Dr. J,” Ruby said. “In addition to all the obvious stuff, she sounds smart.”

“I am smart. I’ve got a brain like a whip. Ask me something.”

“What’s your name?”

“That’s too easy. Ask me something bookish.”

“What’s the point on The Sun Also Rises?” Ruby said. “Every bookman knows that.”

“What’s a point?”

We laughed.

“You can’t expect me to know something I never learned. But tell me once and I’ll never forget it. Oh, I forgot to mention one other thing. I work cheap.”

“Hire this woman, Dr. J, before the word gets out,” Ruby said.

“Don’t pressure the man, I can see he’s thinking it over. Why don’t you make yourself useful and tell me what a point is.”‘

“Three p’s in ‘stopped,’ page 181,” Ruby said. “That’s a point.”

“In other words, the first edition has a mistake and the later ones don’t. Now that I know that, I’m a valued employee.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“What difference does that make?”

“I’d like to know I’m not aiding and abetting a runaway.”

“For goodness sakes! I’m twenty-six.”

“In a pig’s eye.”

“I am twenty-six. What are you looking at, don’t you believe me? That’s another of my virtues—I never lie. My judgment’s good, I’ll always give you a sound opinion, and I’m compulsively punctual. What more do you want for the pittance you’re paying me?”

We looked at each other.

“I have a great sense of humor,” she said.