The Adventures of Holly White and the Incredible Sex Machine (7 page)

‘Is this someone's place?'

‘It's the bookshop.'

‘I've never seen a bookshop anywhere near there.'

He grinned. ‘You probably need to go there this week to get the reading done. Book
club is next Wednesday. First Wednesday of every month.' He took back the title page
and wrote Rodney Timms on it and handed it back to her. ‘You'll need to say my name
to get in, or I'll come with you if you like? Now, maybe? Or tomorrow?'

‘No, it's OK. I can go by there on the way home.'

He grinned even wider. She hadn't thought it was possible for him to stretch his
lips out any further but somehow he managed it. It seemed he was made of smile. ‘Book
club is going to blow your mind.'

Nadja

by
ANDRÉ BRETON

She passed the place twice before realising her mistake. She was expecting a shop
like the one at the university or the other, grander bookshops in town. Something
with a big shop window, maybe two. Books laid out on small tables at the front of
the store, posters for one blockbuster or another artfully arranged above a stack
of the blockbuster itself. At the very least she had expected a house, something
with walls and a roof and perhaps a garden.

This block was vacant, or it seemed so at first.

She checked the paper:
Atonement
Ian McEwan and then, below, the address. She looked
to one side of the block and then the other. She glanced across the street to the
building opposite, a warehouse, its windows shuttered. It seemed abandoned or perhaps
temporarily closed. There were signs for Salmon beside the locked door and a security
company warning fixed to the gate.
This property is protected
; 196…so 197 would be
here
across the road, right where she was standing next to the telephone box.

She heard the clap of a door opening and closing again, the scuffling sound of a
slight struggle. A coat caught in the closing of the telephone-booth door. Holly
turned and stared. A tall man was stepping out of the booth. There was a book-shaped
paper packet in his hand and she watched as he lifted his coat onto his shoulders
and slipped the parcel into the pocket at his hip. The door to the booth closed completely
behind him and he walked away.

Holly stared at the telephone booth. When had she last seen one of them? It was lit
from within and around it the daylight was bleeding out. The darker the sky became,
the starker the booth seemed. It was a warm evening and Holly thought about the man
with the coat who had disappeared around a corner. She felt uncomfortably hot.

The vacant lot was filled with weeds, or at least that was what she thought at first
glance. She stepped closer to the spill of foliage and realised she was looking at
wild lavender, rosemary in flower, the sudden shoots of rocket gone to seed, waving
tendrils of petals that looked as if pale moths had lighted on them. She recognised
sorrel and dill.

The block of land was a herb garden, but not one that had been tended. It was as
if someone had gathered open seed packets and dumped all the contents without any
care. The leaves competed for space, flowers spilled across each other. When a gentle
breeze passed over, the place smelled vaguely like a delicatessen.

Holly walked towards the telephone booth and pressed her hand to the glass. She could
see her reflection in the door and
for a moment she thought she was looking at herself
having already stepped inside. There was an old black bakelite phone there, but you
would not be able to use it. There was nowhere to stand. The floor of the phone both
dropped away into a plummet of wooden steps. She pulled the door open, noting its
rusty complaint, and stepped onto the first stair.

She thought of
Alice in Wonderland
. When she was a child she'd wanted to be Alice,
a pretty girl who seemed to tumble—literally—into adventures without ruffling her
bow. Holly, still in her short summer dress, felt the hem catch an updraft and smoothed
it down. The yellow high-heeled sandals clacked loudly on the wooden stairs.

The stairs fell at an alarmingly steep angle and Holly clutched the copper banister
as tightly as she could. Then she was in a narrow corridor with a dark green door.
She pushed her dress straight against her legs and stepped up to the door. The handle
was cold to the touch and when she opened it there was a cough of Antarctic air.
She felt her arms prickle with goosebumps.

The silence of the room underscored the tutting of the second hand on a clock suspended
above the counter. Books lined every wall, carpeted the floor, piled to the ceiling.
The thick spines seemed to eat up the sound of her footsteps. Holly looked down to
see a slightly stained, thick red carpet at her feet. Everything about this place
was blanketed, even the counter was shrouded in a drape of felt. She walked towards
the counter—not felt, but a thick cotton sheet with the image of a woman on it. Holly
looked closer. The woman was reclining on the fabric, her breasts exposed, her naked
legs parted. Her body was a silhouette marked up in chalk but she could see a
needle
pricking one nipple like a piercing, the embroidery thread still trailing behind
it, looping to underline the swell of a breast.

‘Who would have thought it would take so long to embroider a fucking pillow?'

Holly jumped back a step as if she had been caught in the process of shoplifting.
She found her fingers were spread to protest her innocence. She was suddenly aware
of the paperback copy of
Atonement
in her handbag. The book made her feel slightly
uneasy around Jennifer and the rest of the girls. She kept it pristine in its paper
bag in case any of them were to reach into her handbag for her lipstick or perfume.
Here, she could see it would be easy to think she had stolen it. She clutched the
bag tighter with her elbow.

The person was standing in the shadow of a doorway. A short figure, squared off at
the shoulders. Holly squinted but it was impossible to make out anything but the
outline until the woman took a step forward into the dim light behind the counter.
It was a woman, although Holly had to look twice to make sure. She had short hair
like a man's and mannish clothing, jeans and a collared shirt open at the top two
buttons, a soft brown cardigan buttoned over the top and thick-rimmed glasses like
the students in ENGL1500. She seemed to be dressed like someone's grandfather but
when she stepped forward and turned a little to one side Holly could see the swell
of her generous chest. There was an old battered fedora, the dark pink colour of
a glass of rosé, perched on top of a pile of books.

‘The embroidery is a gift from Cathy. Do you know Cathy? She works here Sundays.'

Holly shook her head.

‘She thinks I should take up embroidery. Pah!' The woman
shrugged. ‘I have no idea
why she would get an idea like that in her head. Tedious. Have you ever tried it?'

Holly shook her head a second time.

‘Well, don't bother. I can tell you right now it is a waste of time. Except doing
the genital area. Never complain about spending time on a vagina. That's a tip from
me for free. Apparently you can watch TV while you're embroidering. Do you watch
TV?'

Holly nodded.

‘Ah well, perhaps you'll like it better than I do. You certainly can't embroider
and hold a book open.'

The woman hefted herself up onto a stool behind the counter. Holly couldn't help
but glance at her cleavage, noticing that the skin there was a little leathery, traced
by a fine net of wrinkles that spread almost invisibly down into the plunge of flesh.
She couldn't pick the woman's age at all. Somewhere between thirty and sixty, perhaps
older or younger than Holly's mother. It was impossible to tell.

The woman smiled at her and tipped her head to one side, a girlish gesture that completely
disarmed Holly. She clutched her handbag tightly and rested her elbow on the counter.

‘I am here about the book club.'

‘Ah. Rachel's book club?'

‘I don't know, I…'

‘Political science?'

‘No.'

‘Sci-fi Sundays?'

Holly shook her head. ‘I don't think so. A guy at uni invited me. He said I would
need to mention his name. That it was invitation only.'

‘Ah,' the woman nodded sagely. ‘Sex.'

‘Sorry?'

‘What's the name of the boy?'

‘Rodney. Rodney Timms.'

‘That's Sex Club.'

Holly felt the blush creeping along her neck. There was no controlling it.

The woman beamed. ‘That's my book club. Sex in the bookshop. Invitation only.'

Holly barely knew how to respond; she decided not to.

‘You read a lot of sex books?'

‘No!' Perhaps her answer was too sharp. The woman leaned onto the counter, spilling
her breasts into the cleavage of her shirt. Beneath the weight of them the embroidered
woman spread her legs suggestively. Holly looked away. There was something too full
and lush about the woman's body. Her very physicality seemed slightly rude.

‘You want to read a lot of sex books?'

Holly shook her head.

‘So you want to join Sex Club but you don't want to read sex books?'

‘Rodney invited me and I didn't, I couldn't…' Holly knew that the blush had spread
right up to her cheeks and settled there. She stepped back a little into the darkness.
She heard a sound like the turning of pages and looked back at the towering walls
of books, wondering if another customer had ventured in while she was distracted.
The shelves seemed empty, lit with a greenish glow from the low hanging lights.

Outside it would be almost dark. She stared towards the green door with a certain
longing. Perhaps she should have
stayed out there in the twilight where she felt
safe.

‘Well.' Holly turned back towards the woman. The expanse of her cleavage, the shocking,
boyish cut of her hair, the face completely devoid of makeup, fingernails bitten
right back. She was so unlike Holly's own mother or any of her friends' mothers.
She was like an older version of those women that her friends would mock. Girls sitting
in an ugly gaggle at the back of the uni bar, all intellect, no style. Holly squared
her shoulders and took a deep breath.

The woman handed her a flier. Holly took it and read the words printed in large bold
type.
LEARN THE ART OF SEDUCTION FROM THE MASTERS OF LITERATURE: SEX BOOK CLUB
.

‘You are the first person that Rodney has brought into the coven,' the woman said,
grinning. It was a genuine smile.

LEARN THE ART OF SEDUCTION
.

‘Mind you,' the woman said, looking Holly up and down, ‘doesn't look like you need
any help in the art of seduction.'

Holly thought of Jack. Her breath caught suddenly in her throat as if her neck was
being squeezed by invisible hands. She was choking; her eyes watered from the pain
of it. She felt dizzy and clutched the counter, bunching the flier in her fists.
There were tears. She could feel them. She thought suddenly about her mascara, how
it would run in ugly streaks. The thought was enough to pull her back. She felt the
hands on her throat relax. She took a gulping breath.

‘Oh no,' Holly said. ‘It's a mistake. I can't…' Her nose was running and she wiped
the mucus away with the back of her hand.

The woman reached under the counter and thumped a bottle down in front of her. She
poured a nip into a glass and
pushed it into Holly's hand. She noticed the ring on
the girl's finger, spun the silver band around, peering at the words.
True love waits
.

‘Seriously?'

Holly sniffed and nodded.

‘Huh. How's that going for you then?'

Holly held the glass to her lips, breathed out. Drank it down in one burning gulp.

‘Abstinence is that good, eh?' the woman said and filled her glass up. ‘I like Rodney,
but he is something of a stray-cat collector.'

Holly had never thought of herself as a stray cat. The scotch had settled her a little.
She tipped the second nip into her mouth and grimaced. She could feel the alcohol
warming her throat and settling her stomach. She breathed easier.

‘So, it seems from your reaction there is someone you would rather like to seduce,'
the woman said. Holly thought about protesting. Instead she held out her glass and
the woman raised an eyebrow, but held the bottle out and poured another nip.

‘I can't,' Holly said, sipping more gingerly this time.

‘For some crazy reason you've made a pledge of abstinence?'

Holly nodded.

‘And you are struggling to keep it?'

Another nod.

‘I…It's…'

‘Well, people join Sex Club for a lot of reasons. If you can't be doing it you might
as well get your frustrations out of the way by reading about it,' the woman said,
pouring some scotch for herself and tipping it back in one quick movement. ‘I assume
you didn't promise not even to think about it?'

Holly sipped and inclined her head. ‘No. I suppose I didn't promise that.' The scotch
was rougher than the kind they had at home. It burned a track down her throat but
still managed to warm her nicely. The woman put out her hand and Holly took it a
little awkwardly. She was unused to shaking the hand of a woman, but the thick short
fingers were warm and firm and she felt that these were hands that could easily pick
her up and carry her through hard times.

‘Mandy.'

‘Pleased to meet you. I'm Holly.'

‘Pretty name,' she said; then: ‘pretty girl. Whoever it is that you want is totally
missing out.'

Holly laughed, but Mandy was not even smiling. It seemed she wasn't joking at all.