Cornered (4 page)

“Michelle!” Mr. Phan barked in his usual tone. “You come here!”

Crap
, she thought.
Mrs. Phan hadn’t been able to win her husband over after all. They could have told me this before I worked all afternoon cleaning behind the bar.

She stood up, straightened the apron she had on over her jeans, brushing flecks of cleanser powder from the front and following Mr. Phan around the front of the bar. He looked at her, narrowing his eyes for a minute.

“You good girl. I hate your boyfriend.”

Mr. Phan’s English, so blunt and to the point because of his limited grasp of the language and the pronunciations that didn’t make sense to him, was one of the things that kept Michelle secretly in stitches, even when he was at his most furious. She smiled while biting her lip, not wanting him to think she was laughing at him.

“I agree, Mr. Phan. I hate my boyfriend, too. And he is no longer my boyfriend,” she answered, cutting the air with her hands to emphasize the end of that relationship. “He will not come back here. We are finished.”

“My son tell me what you did last night. He say it not your fault, that boyfriend no come for you. He say you cover him up so boyfriend cannot hit him more.” Mr. Phan pointed sadly at Michelle’s cheek, nodding his head, showing his agreement with Binh’s version of the story. “You good girl. But I no can have my family hurt or my restaurant hurt. I’m so sorry. And you take this.”

Her heart sank when she realized that she hadn’t been able to change Mr. Phan’s mind.

“Mr. Phan, please. You know how hard I work. I promise there will never be any boyfriends here.”

“I know you say that, but you cannot make him stop. If you work here, he come back. And he do more than hit someone. We have problems already with neighbors because we different. I can’t have more problems because you here.”

He picked up her hand and pressed a roll of bills into it. Her eyes widened when she saw the number of twenty dollar bills and she immediately began shaking her head. “No, Mr. Phan. I can’t take this. It wouldn’t be right.”

He stopped her, closing her fist around the money before tears filled the corners of his eyes. “You hard worker and you been good to Phan family. Binh...he my only son. He could have died. You save him. But now it’s not safe. You have to go. If you need me to say you good things to next boss, call me. I tell him you best employee I ever have.”

Michelle turned to go, but ran back and gave Mr. Phan a quick hug, something that surprised both of them. He held his arms out awkwardly, not exactly returning the hug, but not shoving her away in disgust, either.

“Now, now. It’s okay. But no more stupid boyfriends! You too smart and too pretty to have stupid boyfriend. You only need good boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Phan. There won’t be any boyfriends, not any time soon.” She smiled and went to grab her purse from the hook in the kitchen before remembering that she had lost it while fighting with Daniel. “You didn’t find my purse in the alley, did you? I think I dropped it, but I didn’t see it outside anywhere.”

“No, no purse. You tell police?”

“No, I’ll have to do that if I can’t find it. My wallet, my bus pass, and my phone were in it, so I’ll have to report those missing. Thanks anyway. Bye, I guess.” She walked to the door, bracing for the forty block walk under skies that looked like they were about to open up any minute. She stepped out under the restaurant’s awning and looked up, trying to decide if she had the time to get home before the flood came.

What choice do I have?
She asked herself. Patting the roll of bills in her pocket, Michelle considered taking a cab, but the ride would cost more than the price of a new bus pass. Nope, there were bills that had to be paid and luxuries like cab fare weren’t one of them, especially since she hadn’t been able to win her job back. She’d just have to walk.

As she started out, she scanned the sidewalk and planter boxes one last time for any sign of her purse, hoping she’d just missed it in her hurry to get here this morning. It was tan, so maybe it had blended in, meaning no one had noticed it and made off with it. She’d tried calling her phone number from the restaurant, hoping someone would answer long enough for her to plead with them to return just a few of the sentimental things in there.

The half dollar her grandfather had given her before he died was in her wallet. It was tucked safely in there like a little talisman, reminding her of the time he took her for ice cream the day before she’d left home for college. The picture of her parents at their thirtieth anniversary dinner was in her wallet, too. Even the rosary her parents had given her as a Confirmation present was in the side pocket where she’d left it after going to Mass last week. Whoever had made off with her purse could keep it—it’s not like her prepaid “dumbphone” was expensive—but it would be great to have those special little things back.

Large drops of rain splashed around Michelle’s feet, still several seconds apart, giving her just enough time to duck under the awning of a small book shop. She paced back and forth the length of the small storefront, waiting out the water that was now running down the sidewalk.

“You’re welcome to come in, dear,” an older woman said after turning several locks and opening the glass door of the shop. She beckoned to Michelle to join her as she warily eyed the damage to Michelle’s face. “This should pass pretty quickly, it’s too heavy to last long.”

Michelle smiled and followed her inside the dark store, instantly remembering the musty smell of old books from her days meeting for study sessions at the campus library.. The same smell drifted down from the high shelves of the shop, too. And though it was a narrow property, she was excited to see that it extended back almost to the street behind it, making it nearly the length of a city block, every inch of it covered in brown or red leather-bound volumes.

“Oh! You’re an antique book dealer?” Michelle asked. The woman’s face brightened.

“Yes, I am. That’s why we don’t keep regular store hours like most bookstores. We don’t actively encourage browsing and our customers aren’t walk-in clients. We do most of our business through the online dealers’ boards. Some of these volumes cost more than my first car!” she said with a laugh, pointing to several locked glass display cases behind her counter. Michelle could see a tiny black box with a flashing red LED in the top corner of the case, meaning it was under alarm. “But since you even know what an antique book dealer is, you’re free to look around while you wait out the rain.” The woman went back to calculating invoices on her counter top.

Michelle did as the woman suggested. Carefully keeping her hands behind her back, knowing the oils from her skin could ruin any of these books—or at least severely lower their value—she paced the shelves with her head held sideways, her ear almost to her shoulder, as she read the faded titles. Her heart nearly stopped when she found a faded yellow label at eye level. It had been typed on an old electric typewriter and placed there so long ago that both of its short edges had pulled free from the wood and were curling inward slightly.

“Signed First Editions”

She held her breath as she tiptoed down the aisle of books that reached at least ten shelves high. Every classic she’d ever heard of, some of them written and first published hundreds of years ago, lined the shelves. They weren’t alphabetical, which struck her as strange.

“Are these in a certain kind of order?” Michelle called out softly to the store owner.

“Oh, you noticed that? That was my husband’s system. He couldn’t keep the twenty-six letters of the alphabet straight, but he could remember every single publication year of any of these books! They’re in order by year, not author’s name.” She smirked over some amusing memory before returning to her filing. The computer behind her had been pinging non-stop since Michelle arrived, announcing new emails. Michelle was very surprised that this seemingly sleepy old bookstore got that many messages.

She made her way around the shelves and back towards the front door, peeking out the huge glass window and sorry to see that the rain had only slackened a little bit. She pulled her jacket closer around her and reached for the handle on the door.

“Don’t even think about stepping out there in that,” the woman called from the counter, looking at Michelle over the tops of her reading glasses. “C’mon. Sit. We’ll have something to drink while we wait it out.”

Michelle looked over to the small reading nook nestled in a hollow space that had been carved into some shelves along the wall. It was so quaint, with a small table lamp sitting on a round table between two stuffed wingback chairs.

“I’m not a walking stereotype,” the woman said, “so I don’t have any tea! I’m a coffee drinker myself. What can I get for you?”

“Oh, coffee’s fine. Anything, really.”

“Good. Take a seat, I’ll be there in a sec.” To own a fantastic museum to the printed word, the woman’s accent was far from snooty. She had a friendly demeanor, one that was honed from not feeling the need to make herself seem superior.

When she brought over two cups of coffee balanced on a tray with some sugar and milk, she finally introduced herself. “I’m Marjorie McCree. And you are?”

“Michelle Vane. It’s nice to formally meet you,” the younger woman said politely.

“Well, Michelle, here’s what I know about you. You obviously read, you obviously pay attention to minor details, and you obviously don’t have a job since you’re walking around in the rain at two in the afternoon. You also heard the sounds coming from my horrible nemesis, technology. Are you interested in working as my assistant?”

Michelle looked at Marjorie over the rim of her coffee cup. This couldn’t be real. But at the same time, her portion of the rent and the need to purchase a new phone were both very real. Shockingly real. She smiled at Marjorie.

“I would love a job. I just lost my waitressing job last night, in fact,” she said, pointing to the large band-aid she’d been able to put on this morning.

“I was going to ask about that, but didn’t want to pry,” Marjorie said kindly. “Drop a load of dishes, did we?”

She wasn’t sure how much to tell. A job offered quickly could be revoked just as quickly, and Daniel had already cost her one job.
Honesty’s the best policy, though,
she thought. She explained everything with as little actual detail as possible, encouraged when Marjorie’s facial expression turned from enraged to sympathetic.

“That’s horrible! But I’m with Mr. Phan and his concerns about repercussions. That can’t happen here. Broken restaurant windows can be fixed, but these books are literally irreplaceable. In some cases, they are the last ones known to exist. No visitors, not even a girlfriend to bring you lunch. Understood?”

“I understand completely. I won’t even tell my roommates where I work!” Michelle promised.

“Well, you don’t have to go that far,” Marjorie replied, amused, “but they would have to wait in the visitors’ lounge in the back if they needed something. No one enters the store itself. All deliveries come through the lounge at the back entrance as well. This front door remains locked at all times. Any utility workers, or tech support on the computer, do not actually enter the store without me and without providing a document from the city or company stating their business there and signed by a supervisor.”

“Wow,” Michelle said, “this is like the Ft. Knox of books!” She immediately felt sheepish for the comparison.

“Exactly, except in the case of Ft. Knox, gold gets mined every day. These? These will never be written again. Part of what makes the books themselves so valuable is the scarcity. You’ll find that out over time, as well as factors like condition of the books, authenticity of a signature or dedication, and more. I also do a fair amount of business appraising books, so sometimes books will have to be picked up at the airport and carried back.”

“Airport? They don’t just come in the mail?”

“Well, yes, lesser valuable volumes do come registered mail and then it’s the postal service’s responsibility if anything should happen to the book along the way. But in the case of a book with a potentially extreme value that has to be appraised in a hurry before auction, sometimes they actually fly the books here.”

Michelle swallowed. She’d already lost a pretty lousy but not very complicated waitressing job due to conflict. It didn’t take a lot of brain cells to escort people to their seats and carry their food to their tables, and she’d still managed to get fired from that. The last thing she needed was to be responsible for a one-of-a-kind package so valuable it could buy several houses.

“Don’t be nervous,” Marjorie cautioned, sensing her doubt. “You would go by car service to retrieve it and bring it here. I wouldn’t send you out on the subway carrying a two million dollar book.”

Oh, that doesn’t make me nervous at all!
she thought. They finished their coffee and discussed the job details, finishing up over at the computer so Michelle could see how the system worked.

“I’ll have a few forms for you to sign tomorrow, non-disclosure agreements and such, nothing too strange. Until then?” Marjorie said, walking Michelle to the door and unlocking it, shielding the doorway with her shoulders to prevent a few drops of rain off the awning from being blown inside. Michelle thanked her and headed out into the light mist that was slowly letting up.