CHAPTER 4 #2
After they wrapped up their conversation, India stood and took her stuff back to her office.
Deciding she could use a walk after that meeting, she made her way downstairs and outside, headed over to the bookshop.
This was her second walk of the day, and the workday wasn’t even close to being over.
She’d come this way earlier, when she got a phone call from one of her employees who was in the field, negotiating a lease.
She’d walked right past this place and then glared up at the clothing store that blared its music far too loudly, but this time, she pulled open the door to the old bookstore and walked inside.
“Hi,” a young girl said from behind the small counter. “Can I help you?”
“Just browsing,” she replied.
The iPad that served as their point-of-sale system looked wildly out of place among the old wood and red brick.
The newer books with their bright covers did as well when India saw them next to the shelves of the mostly antique hardbacks with brown or black spines that the shop also sold.
Some dark-greens and tans were in there, too, but they paled in comparison to the pinks, light-blues, and bright yellows of today’s book covers.
India moved to the front table, where she saw a guidebook for the city, which she saw practically everywhere.
Looking around, she felt at ease here, which wasn’t something she felt often, and it had her wondering why she didn’t come in here more.
Part of the reason, she knew, was that the place only sold books.
Yes, that was the point of a bookstore, but there was no café and no place to sit since there were only sometimes two chairs in the back.
Other times, there was a table with a chair behind it.
A few times, there was nothing back there at all.
When she had seen the chairs, they’d been filled by other patrons, so browsing and sitting down with a good cup of coffee wasn’t an option here, which was unfortunate because she imagined others would’ve spent more time here and would have probably bought more books if just a few changes were made.
“Hi there,” a woman said as India walked down one of the aisles.
“Hi,” India replied and couldn’t help but smile at her as she took her in.
The woman had this blonde hair that barely rested at her shoulders and these bright, kind blue eyes. She was also a little shorter than India, but that was probably due to India’s three-inch Louboutins rather than an actual height difference between them.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked her.
“Just stopping in to look around for a few minutes,” she said.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
“Not really, no.”
“Okay. Well, if I can help at all, just yell for Maisie.”
“Maisie?”
“That’s me. I’m the owner.”
“You’re the owner?” India asked.
“Yes,” Maisie said. “Why?”
“Oh, no reason. I guess I just expected the owner of this place to be a little old man or woman.”
“It was. A few times, technically,” Maisie replied with a smile. “It’s a family business. I took it over from my grams when she passed away. So, I guess it will be owned by a little old lady again in another fifty or so years, depending on what you consider old.”
India smiled and said, “It’s a great shop.”
“Thank you. I think so. It’s been in the Lincoln family since its inception.”
“Lincoln?” India asked. “As in…”
“Very, very distant relation. Like, if you put my DNA online and tried to find how I’m related to the former president with the same last name, you’d be scrolling for a while.”
India chuckled and replied, “Got it. Well, this is a great place. I come in here every so often. I’ve never seen you before, though.”
“Really? I’m here all the time,” Maisie said. “We’re open six days a week.”
“I would have remembered you,” India replied with a smile.
Maisie smiled back and said, “Maybe you saw Sarah or Lainey. They work here and usually cover the register.”
“The girl up front?” India hooked a thumb that way.
“Sarah.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen her before.”
“She’s one of my part-timers, but I’m always here. I’m just sometimes in the office. Or, recently, I’ve been running my campaign from the back.”
“Campaign?”
Maisie pulled something out of the front pocket of her jeans and handed it to her. India looked down and saw a button.
“Vote Maisie Lincoln for city council.”
“City council?” India asked, looking down at the button. “This district?”
“Yes. Wait. You probably don’t live here, do you? Just work in the area?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Well, I should probably ask for my button back, then. Got to save money where I can.”
India held it out for her to take.
“I was kidding,” Maisie said, laughing. “You can keep it. Maybe leave it at the bus stop for me, though, so that at least someone actually sees that I’m running against the guy on the big ad there.”
“Colter,” India said.
“Yeah, of course, you would know him. See him on the giant billboard?”
India nodded and didn’t know what to do with the button. She couldn’t exactly pin it to her pretty expensive blouse or blazer, but her blazer did have an inside pocket where she kept her phone, so she tucked it in there.
“Well, he’s my competition. Better funded, but not the best candidate. Of course, he’s the incumbent, so I will still lose, but I’m trying. That has to count for something, right? My platform is small business.”
“Small business?”
“Yes. Like this one.” Maisie motioned around the shop. “I want to protect places like this.”
“Colter wants the opposite,” India noted.
“I know. He’s the big-business guy. And I get that we need jobs here, but small businesses are the lifeblood of any community. This place has been here for hundreds of years. If we just keep losing places like this, New Orleans loses its charm.”
“I agree,” India said.
“You do?”
“I do,” she replied. “Even though I work for a corporation.”
“Where?”
“Next door. Southern Roastery.”
“Oh, I love that coffee,” Maisie said. “I grabbed some this morning from the one down the block. I take it, you’re not working in a café, though. Either that, or you never spill anything on yourself because you wouldn’t wear those clothes if you did.”
India smiled and said, “Corporate, yes. But we started here, and we were small before we got big.”
“Yeah, I’ve read the story of the founding on the walls of the cafés before.”
“Maisie, can you come up here for a second?”
“Yes!” Maisie yelled after the young girl India now knew as Sarah up front. “Sorry, I’ve got to go.”
“No problem,” India said. “Maybe I’ll see you in here again?”
When Maisie gave her a smile with a small nod and then walked past India to the front of the store, India pulled out the button and looked down at it. Maisie Lincoln was running for a city council seat, the same seat her brother currently held and was trying to hold on to.