Recommended Reading

26. And the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

26

And the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Corner Books has people standing outside it when I get there, their umbrellas up. The rain is sprinkling, not knowing whether it wants to start or move along.

“I’m sorry. I’m late,” I call as I pass the crowd and fish out my wallet where I stored Corner Books’ key. My Summer of Bobby list comes with it. I shove it back into my pocket beside the stone.

“Bobby, sweetie,” Cindy says, stepping out from the group. “You look … not yourself. What’s going on?”

“I’m late,” I say, fumbling with the key and dropping it.

Cindy picks it up. “The store doesn’t open for another ten minutes.” She presses the key into my hand. “Breathe.”

I take a deep breath.

“That’s good,” Cindy says. “This is my meditation class. We just had a session on sitting with grief. Breathing is central to staying balanced. But caffeine can’t hurt. Take my macchiato. It’s caramel and I shouldn’t be drinking so much sugar first thing in the day anyway.” Cindy pushes her paper coffee cup into my grip. “Get yourself inside. Fix your hair. Drink the coffee. Pop a mint when you’re done. Everyone will wait to meet the Book Whisperer. By the way, cute outfit.”

I slide the key into the door’s lock, then turn off the alarm before I go to the back room and the tiny employee washroom. I wish I had a Mary Poppins locker like Luke’s because I could probably use a comb and some deodorant. I wet my hair and use my fingers to style it, taking sips of Cindy’s drink which is more sweet syrup than it is coffee.

I pop one of the mints Gladys keeps behind the counter. It tastes medicinal and I want to spit it out, but it has to be better than my bad breath. I sip the coffee around it and the two seem to mellow each other out. I turn on the old POS system and plug my phone into the charger I keep hidden from Gladys to avoid her lectures on personal phone use at one’s workplace.

Even though not being late gives me a momentary sense of relief, I can’t seem to calm down. Instead, I wonder about Luke and what’s happening to him. What if he loses his job? How will he cover his expenses? What happens to Mr. Martinez and the other seniors?

And what about last night between Luke and me? I don’t think I’m reaching in concluding there were moments. But what did they mean? Did he feel it too?

After, I welcome Cindy’s group in. I’m grateful I told Uncle Andy to keep his eyes out for a coat rack and umbrella stand, which he found on clearance in a consignment store down the block. The raincoats and umbrellas drip onto the boot tray, which doesn’t fit the décor but Gladys insisted on and is now proving its worth in terms of functionality.

Cindy must sense I need help, because she keeps introducing me to one member of her meditation group at a time, engaging the rest in small talk while I work my Book Whisperer skills. Some of them I already know. I didn’t realize how many people in Little Elm were grieving, and with each person being different from the next one, I’m kept on my toes.

For one woman I recommend a sci-fi action novel with a strong kick-butt feminist heroine. A different woman takes home a series by Susan Juby featuring a Buddhist butler amateur detective. For one guy I recommend a picture book about a dog that he fights me on taking until I tell him the dog is never in danger of dying and the ending is happy for man and man’s best friend alike.

The rain must be to blame because more customers keep steadily coming in. Patience starts to run thin among them as they seem to have heard of the Book Whisperer and need my book magic. But magic doesn’t happen instantly. I don’t know what book someone needs until I can figure that person out. It’s a slow process and the speed of our cash register doesn’t help.

“Would you mind holding on a minute,” I say to a woman buying several pricey photography books. “I need to call the owner. We weren’t expecting so much traffic on a Sunday morning.”

My first call rings through to voicemail. I hang up without leaving a message and hit redial. My cell phone finally powers on and its screen lights up. It goes crazy with missed text notices. I finish cashing out the woman with the photography books, thanking her for her patience. I ignore my texts and dial Uncle Andy with my cell. He picks up this time.

“Bobby?” he asks. He sounds like I woke him up, his voice deep and groggy.

“Can you come down to Corner Books?” I ask.

“What’s going on?” I can hear him waking up.

“It’s a big rush. There’s a lot of customers. They all want personal recommendations …” My voice trails off as I hear something in the background of the call. Someone is singing. A woman. “Hold on a minute. A customer needs me,” I say so I can listen carefully.

I recognize the song. Annie Lennox, “Walking on Broken Glass.” I give it a second longer to be sure. When the singer repeats walking on a third time, I know it’s Cass. I don’t know where they are or what they did, but I know if Uncle Andy is only waking up now because I phoned him, he spent the night with her.

“Actually,” I say into my phone. “I’m good. Don’t come in. Do whatever it is you’re doing.”

“If you need help …”

“I don’t,” I say in my happy yet confident tone. “Gladys is on her way. I was overreacting. You know me. I always blow things out of proportion. Enjoy your Sunday off.”

“If Gladys is coming in, I guess it’s under control.”

“She is. It is,” I say. “You’re going to be wowed when you check today’s sales.”

I hang up. I put down my cell phone and pick up Corner Books’ handset. I brace myself as I dial the number taped onto the desk.

“Gladys?” I say when she answers. “It’s, uhm, Robert. I need your help.”

Two customers are insisting they’re next for the Book Whisperer. I’ve never had two women argue over my attention. I am certain of two things. One, two people fighting over you is not as sexy as books or TV lead you to believe. It’s awful and uncomfortable and there’s nothing for me to do but wish I were somewhere else. Two, I am most certainly and gratefully gay.

“I don’t know which one of you got here first,” I say when they ask me to weigh in.

“What is this nonsense?” Gladys’s harsh tone cuts across Corner Books from where she stands at the entrance.

She removes the see-through plastic bonnet from her permed hair and hangs it up with her raincoat and umbrella.

“Let’s settle this chaos,” she says. “Those wishing to make a purchase or place an order, form an orderly line at the register. Those who want Robert’s assistance, form a separate, equally orderly line against the wall and wait your turn. Preferably silently.”

She walks over to the two bickering women. “If you two can’t resolve this as adults, you can go to the back of the line or leave.”

Both women open their mouths to argue, but the look Gladys gives them is short of baring teeth and snarling.

“Yes, ma’am,” they mumble.

“Brace yourself,” Gladys says to me quietly. “Here we go.”

In a matter of minutes, Gladys manages to clear the line of customers waiting to make purchases. If they’re frustrated with the wait, no one dares say so. You can hear Gladys booming “Next!” throughout the store and the old register’s cash drawer opening and slamming shut over and over.

The Book Whisperer recommendations aren’t quite as expedient, but Cindy lingers despite Gladys’s giving her the hairy eyeball. She chitchats with those waiting, laying it on thick about the life-changing books they’re about to buy. I get the feeling some of the people waiting for me aren’t expecting to take home a good read so much as a miracle. No pressure, right?

I finally help the last customers in my line and Gladys has cashed them out.

“You need to learn how to shut down conversation,” Gladys says to me.

“What a team you two make!” Cindy cheers. “I don’t want to sound like a Debbie Downer, but I really thought everything was going downhill at one point.”

The door’s bell rings and a gangly guy I recognize from high school with long hair and acne comes in. He was a few grades younger than me so we don’t know each other well, but we give each other a head bob of recognition just the same.

“Someone ordered delivery?” he asks.

“Over here. Hurry up. And don’t slouch,” Gladys commands.

He straightens up as he approaches the register. Gladys inspects the contents of the paper bag he slides across the counter before she pays him.

“No tip necessary,” he says, handing Gladys back her change.

She counts her money before she extends two one-dollar bills toward him. “You’ll take this and don’t let me catch you slumped over like that anymore. You’re quite tall. Own it. Do you understand me?”

He nods. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says, then, spine straight, he leaves.

“Robert, get us two more chairs. Cindy, I ordered you a sandwich. Don’t get too excited, it’s vegetarian. I can’t keep track of what everyone eats or doesn’t nowadays.”

Gladys passes out napkins, sandwiches, and hot-pink, icy-cold cream sodas. She makes a point of mentioning how the drinks match my “odd choice of apparel.” We eat, Cindy chattering away, apparently not worn out for topics of conversation from the earlier rush.

When we’re done, Cindy leaves for afternoon cocktails with friends.

“Find that woman a book on how to slow down,” Gladys says. “She isn’t at all what I thought of her when we first met. Neither are you.”

I feel the sandwich turn into a lump inside me. “You were right about me. I couldn’t handle today.”

Gladys slurps her straw, noisily sucking up the last of her cream soda. “No. You couldn’t.”

I sigh. “I wanted to give Uncle Andy a morning off.” At least the Uncle Andy and Cass part of my plan worked out better than my first opening.

“You did.”

“But it cost you your day off.”

“It did.”

“You don’t have to agree with every negative I say.”

Gladys dabs at her lips with her paper napkin. “They’re facts. They’re neither negative nor positive. They are what they are.”

“That doesn’t exactly make me feel better.”

“I didn’t intend to make you feel better. How about some more facts?” Gladys stands and collects the glass bottles for recycling. “You tried to open the store by yourself. It got out of hand. You had enough sense in that skull of yours to realize it and you called in reinforcements. Does that sound correct?”

I nod. It’s a concise summary.

Gladys starts moving the chairs back where they belong. I get up to help her.

“I’m certain I’m the last person you wanted to be calling. It isn’t demonstrating inadequacy to put aside your ego and recognize your limitations. You’d do well to remember that in the future. You did well today, Bobby.”

I spin around. “Did I just hear you call me Bobby?” I ask.

Gladys harrumphs. “How would I know what you heard, Robert? Now get these floors mopped and vacuumed. Let’s run the sales reports for the day before Andrew arrives. You’ll both be pleasantly surprised by our numbers.”

We both turn our heads at the sound of an engine chugging. A motorcycle with a sidecar pulls to a stop in front of the store. The woman with the shaved head, leather vest, and tattoos from the graphic novel book club takes off her helmet, picks up a package wrapped in paper, and walks into the store.

I catch Gladys patting her hair as the woman approaches the register.

“You forgot these when you left brunch so abruptly,” the motorcycle woman says, holding the package out to Gladys. “I hope it wasn’t anything I said or did.”

Gladys snatches what is unmistakably a bouquet of flowers. “Don’t be ridiculous. I told you we’d have to take a rain check.”

It takes all I can not to burst out in a cheer. I found out Gladys’s secret! Gladys and the motorcycle book, she was trying to impress this woman.

The woman tilts her head down toward her shoulder and grips her arm with her other hand before she risks looking up at Gladys and giving a small smile. “Last I checked, it’s still raining.”

Gladys delivers her signature scowl. “I suppose it is. This is my place of business, you are aware. I conduct myself professionally.”

I nearly choke at what Gladys considers professionalism. I cover it by clearing my throat.

“The motorcycle is getting soaked out there. Maybe you could go cover it, Gladys?” I suggest.

“Yes, Gladys. Cover it. The sidecar will be full as a bathtub in no time.”

My eyebrows furrow. “I meant you,” I say and point to Corner Books’ Gladys.

“Gladys”—Gladys motions to the woman—“meet Robert. He’s a bit of a nuisance, but he’s grown on me. To be clear, because I know you’re slow to pick things up, I am named Gladys as is my companion.”

“Companion?” the second Gladys asks. “Don’t turn the charm on high. I won’t know what to do with myself.”

Gladys frowns at the second Gladys, but there’s no malice in it. “Don’t get cheeky.”

“Uncle Andy will be here soon,” I say. “You should go. I’ve taken up enough of your day.”

Gladys opens the package and smells the flowers inside. “If he’s on his way, I suppose an early dinner wouldn’t be out of line.”

“It would be my pleasure,” the second Gladys says. She steps ahead to hold open the door for Gladys.

As Gladys passes me, I notice a used book in the dollar bin by the register. I snatch it up and hold it out for Gladys.

She peers at it through her thick lenses. “ How to Win Friends and Influence People ,” she reads. Gladys tosses the book back to me, then fastens the snap of her plastic rain bonnet securely under her chin. “Oh, young, naive Robert. Save your Book Whisperer garbage for some loser who doesn’t have everything I’ve got going on.” Gladys joins the second Gladys standing by the door and says to her, “Be a doll, will you, and help me with my slicker?”