The Pepper In The Gumbo: A Cane River Romance Page 10

  “What on earth prompted that?” Bix asked. “I’m not saying you done wrong, sha. Not at all. Just curious timing if you ask me.”

  “It’s a long story,” Alice said, sighing. “Let’s just say he got in the way of a sale.”

  Bix’s smile grew wider and wider until he finally burst out in a belly laugh. “That boy don’t have a lick of sense. If he had any brains, he would have been helping you run this place, not gettin’ in the way.”

  “Well, it’s over now and I need to grab some lunch.” Alice shoved some papers into a drawer under the counter.

  “Are you going to give them the tour of the apartment?” Charlie hopped down from her stool as if she thought she might be invited along.

  “What tour?” asked Bix.

  “No, I’m not,” Alice said. She turned to Bix. “Paul Olivier wants to rent the other half of the upstairs. And I wish he would find some other place to live. I think he’s doing that just to spite me.”

  “Spite you? Girl, he just bought the priciest manuscript we have and he’s going to pay rent in your building when he could live anywhere.” Bix shook his head. “If you call that spite, then I want to see your idea of a good deed.”

  “Well, I have a lot of ideas, but moving his ugly building out of our city would be a good start. I don’t know why that’s so hard to understand.” With that, Alice turned and stomped out of the store, through the back door and up the small wooden staircase leading to her apartment. The long hallway was empty and she tried to pass silently by the door to the other apartment in case they were already inside.

  As soon as she was safely behind the thick oak door, she kicked off her shoes, dropped her purse on the side table, and sank onto the little entryway rug. She pulled the rings out from under her shirt and clenched them tight in her fist. She wasn’t a crier, but today had pushed her over the edge. She cried in a sad, pitiful way that felt good and annoyed her all at the same time. She knew she was being unreasonable about the apartment, but she had never been very good at conflict. How was she supposed to fight this man with everything she had when he was living under her roof?

  She pressed the rings to her lips, wishing her parents were still alive. For the first time in a long time, Alice ached for a best friend. She’d never had any really good friends, unless she counted Mr. Perrault. She needed someone she could tell the whole story to and ask advice. But there was no one like that, not even close. She felt as if she were on the edge of losing everything she’d ever loved again, and there was no one for her to go to for help.

  A light tap on the door jerked her upright. Maybe it was June Latraye needing her to sign the lease. She could leave it downstairs, if nobody was home.

  “Miss Augustine? Are you there?” The deep voice outside made Alice stifle a groan.

  She didn’t answer, hoping Paul would just go away and leave her be. She couldn’t possible have anything he needed.

  He kept talking as if he knew she was there. “Miss Augustine, I’m afraid June forgot the key. She’s gone back to her office to get it but we don’t have much time. We have somewhere to be in thirty minutes. I hate to bother you.”

  Alice didn’t breathe. He couldn’t know she was there.

  “I’m holding a first edition, signed portfolio of Arthur Rackham prints that cost more than a small house. If you don’t have mercy on me and my schedule, think of me carrying them all over town, exposed to the sun and the humidity.” She could hear the faint smile in his voice. “I’m appealing to the book lover in you.”

  She heaved herself off the floor and opened the door. At the sight of her face, Paul’s smile froze and then disappeared altogether.

  Alice dragged a sleeve over her eyes. “This has nothing to do with you,” she said fiercely.

  “Of course not. You’ve just broken up with your boyfriend. I’d expect any normal person to want to cry about it.” He looked extremely uncomfortable.

  “Oh, I did, didn’t I?” Alice started to giggle and couldn’t seem to stop. “Sorry. I’m not crazy, I promise.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  “You see… I never remembered him. Not ever. It was like… he didn’t exist,” she said, laughing through her words.

  “I can’t see how you’d ever forget him. He’s so annoying that I’d never get used to having him around.”

  “Oh, you should hear him laugh!” She paused, trying to get control over herself. “He sounds like a horse. Like this,” she said, and did her best imitation of Eric’s whinny, putting in a few snorts for good measure.

  Paul’s expression made her laugh even harder. She clutched the door frame with one hand and her stomach with the other.

  “You must be a saint to ever have given him the time of day,” he said.

  “I’m no catch, myself.” Alice wiped her face once more. “You can imagine that there aren’t a lot of guys willing to take a chance on…” She looked up at him and gave a wry smile. “A technologically-backwards woman who runs a failing bookstore and owns too many cats.”

  He didn’t laugh. “About that, I really didn’t mean―”

  She waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter.” Alice took a deep breath. “Look at me, telling you my boyfriend woes while you’re politely waiting for a key.” She turned and crossed the living room, her bare feet making soft sounds against the wood floor. Reaching up onto the carved mantel above the fireplace, she felt around for the spare key.

  “Just so you know, I was kidding about the portfolio. I wouldn’t haul it all over the city,” Paul said.

  “Good.” Alice came back and handed him the key. She wondered if sixty thousand dollars even meant anything to a guy like Paul. “And just so you know, not all my cats are named after romances.”

  His neck went red. “That was rude of me.”

  “It’s funny now, actually. But I wasn’t angling for another apology.” She pointed to the box. “The fat one who sleeps on my desk and never moves is named for a little-known picture Mr. Rackham drew of…” She smiled. “I shouldn’t tell you. You’ll have to figure it out.”

  Paul opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it again. “No, don’t tell me. I’ll have to look through these and maybe Google a bit. Give me some time and I’ll figure it out.”

  They stood there smiling at each other until Alice remembered that she’d just been weeping out of frustration over this man and all the trouble he’d brought into her life. “I should probably make some lunch and get back downstairs. Go ahead and let yourselves in. Give the key back to June or leave it in my mail slot downstairs. Let me know if you need anything else.”

  He nodded and stepped out of the doorway. “Will do, Miss Augustine.” Then he turned. “This is probably the wrong time to mention it, but…”

  She waited. It would never be a good time, really.

  “Can I ask what security measures you have on the building?”

  “Oh, I see. Personal safety must be a real issue, as famous as you are.” She didn’t mention the wealth part. It was obvious he must deal with threats and stalkers fairly often. “Maybe we can add some extra locks or an outer door to the back side of the building, where the apartment stairs exit to the alley.”

  “No, actually, I meant for the bookstore.” He looked down at his portfolio. “I was surprised to see such valuable manuscripts and no security. If you don’t mind my saying, I think you should have a security system in place.”

  Alice wanted to say no, she really didn’t need anything like that. It was for city folks who relied on electronics instead of their neighbors. But maybe was foolish to leave the inventory unprotected. She wished she could ask Mr. Perrault for advice. The locks had been good enough for him and Mrs. Perrault. “Okay. I suppose I can look in the yellow pages and call around.”

  “I know a great company, actually. I think they have a store in Natchitoches, too. If you’d like, I can have them come do a walk through.”

  She nodded, but inside Alice wasn’t sure she wanted to commit
to an expensive alarm system she might not know how to turn on and off. And when the experts came in, of course they’d recommend the biggest, most elaborate set up. She sighed. Some days she felt as if she was in completely over her head, in every area.

  “Have a good lunch.” He seemed as if he wanted to say something else, but turned and walked down the hallway.

  Alice closed the door more softly this time and leaned her ear against it, waiting until his footsteps faded away before she let out a long breath.

  She could do this. It was only a matter of separating the man from the business. It wasn’t personal. Successful business people did it all the time.

  Alice closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the door. Unfortunately, she had never been very good at making any kind of decisions without her heart. Anybody looking at her group of stray cats would be able to see that. She would have to see Paul Olivier not as the handsome-but-slightly-awkward hometown boy who seemed to know her better than anyone else. She would have to see him as a corporate entity. And to do that, it was probably best if she didn’t see him at all. From here on out, she would avoid Paul Olivier no matter the cost.

  Chapter Ten

  I just invent, then wait until man comes around to needing what I’ve invented.

  ―R Buckminster Fuller

  Paul couldn’t help grinning as he made his way down the hallway. He knew exactly which Rackham picture inspired that cat’s name. Some might say the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland, but Paul immediately thought of Rackham’s sketch of Rip Van Winkle. He wondered if Alice or the previous owner had named him,. He paused, key in hand, trying to remember the man’s name. The way Alice talked about him explained a lot about her devotion to the store. This place wasn’t just a book store, it was her heart. But that was never a good way to run a business.

  He turned the key in the brass lock and let the door swing open. The apartment was similar to Alice’s, with pine floors and a grand fireplace in the large living room. The long brick wall that the two apartments shared was bare of anything, even shelves. He peeked into the large but outdated kitchen, then the two bedrooms. It would do, unless Andy really objected, which wasn’t likely. He wasn’t pretentious.

  As soon as Andy arrived, he’d call for the luggage and the scanner to be brought from the plane. And then he’d have to give the place a tech overhaul.

  His cell phone rang and he answered it without checking the screen. “Andy, are you even close? Maybe we should meet at the building site in ten minutes.”

  A girlish giggle sounded in his ear. “Sweetie, it’s me. Holly.”

  Paul was momentarily speechless. If he’d had to pick the top one hundred people who might be on the other end of that phone call, his long-forgotten, ex-girlfriend wouldn’t have been on the list. “Oh, hey. How are you? I’m not actually in town, so…” He left the rest of the sentence unfinished.

  “I know. I just saw on Celebstalker site that you flew into your old hometown. And I thought it would be fun to see where the famous Paul Olivier came from.”

  He blinked. Holly had never shown any interest in his hometown. In fact, he didn’t think she’d ever asked where he was from. She couldn’t be suggesting that he invite her for a visit. It had been months since they’d even spoken. “I’ll be working most of the time, actually. I don’t know if―”

  “An anonymous source said you were planning a huge opening bash with some really big celebrities. That doesn’t sound like work. It sounds like fun!”

  Paul sighed. The nightclub scene must be wearing thin in New York City. Personally, he’d rather clean out the lint trap in his dryer. It was more entertaining.

  “I’ll let you know when it is. Right now we don’t even have a building.”

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter. I can come down there anytime and keep you company. I’ll help you plan everything. Plus, I know how lonely you get on the road.” He could hear her smiling and it made him grit his teeth. When they were dating, he confessed how much he hated traveling, wishing he could just stay home for once. Days later, stories started circulating that he was agoraphobic and a recluse like Howard Hughes. A tabloid quoted an “anonymous source,” claiming he sat around in his underwear, eating only candy bars and panicking at the thought of germs.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as any plans are made,” he said and hung up before she could respond. He definitely had to be more careful about answering the phone.

  Paul wandered to the built-in window seat and stared out at the river. This wasn’t the view he’d had when he was growing up. He’d seen the factories across the tracks, belching smoke and disgorging exhausted workers in twelve-hour cycles. Turning his head from side to side, he tried to ease the tension in his neck. He’d only been here half a day and he was wound tighter than a two dollar watch. He smiled at the thought. His mama liked to say that and he could hear her voice in his head. She was coming to Natchitoches tomorrow for the zydeco festival and he couldn’t wait to hug her tight. He was glad she was happy in her old farmhouse out of the city, but they were still Cane River Creole through and through. This would always be home in some way.

  Paul checked the time and dropped onto the window seat. Andy had seven minutes to get to the apartment or he’d just decide for both of them. He tapped his foot, wondering why it seemed so quiet in this place. It was a long time since he’d sat in perfect silence. It was hard to hush his brain, shut off all the to-do lists and worries.

  He touched the email app on his phone but didn’t open any new messages. He went straight to Alice’s note, and even though a quiet voice in his head told him to leave it be, he sent a quick reply.

  Miss Augustine,

  I believe Alexander Pope was a great genius, but his witty satire didn’t win him many friends. He never took a walk without his Great Dane, and a pair of loaded pistols in his pockets. Whether this was due to his treatment of women, we can’t be sure. He did seem to have a callous view of romance, saying, “they dream in courtship, but in wedlock wake.” Maybe that’s why he never married.

  Thank you for the picture. It was the best part of my day. Actually, it was the best part of my week.

  I’m traveling right now and I miss my bookshelves. I miss the familiar sight of all my favorites who have become like dear friends to me.

  Yours,

  BWK

  He sent the message and sat staring at the screen. Maybe it was being back in his home town, or having made such a jerk of himself earlier, but he felt entirely off-kilter. He usually walked through life with the confidence of a man who had created a very successful company, even if he wasn’t ever going to be a great public speaker, or be able to work a room like a pro. But today, all his confidence evaporated the moment he’d argued with Alice. He was left scrambling to make amends, to prove he wasn’t the arrogant, wealthy, entitled guy she’d met today. And it seemed the best way to do that was to reach out to her with the only version of him she didn’t hate: Browning Wordsworth Keats.

  His phone buzzed and he saw a reply. Paul frowned, wondering if she had gone back down to the store already. That wasn’t a very long lunch.

  Dear BWK,

  Please excuse any weird typos, I’ve just learned to use the email app on my phone.

  A particularly unpleasant customer used Alexander Pope against me today and I like the poet even less now.

  I’m glad you enjoyed the picture. I haven’t traveled from my home town for almost five years. I’m happy with that state of affairs. My books are my friends, too. If I had to travel, I’d want to pack the whole store.

  Alice

  Paul closed his eyes for a moment. Sometimes when he was reading a particular poet or writer, they seemed to get into his head and everything seemed to be related. He would walk through his day, lines popping into his head that supported his current arguments. And he’d done the same with Alice. It was a bad habit he needed to end, before it caused him a bigger headache. He re-read the note and grinned. She was emaili
ng on her phone for him. That had to count for something.

  Dear Alice,

  I’m sorry a customer was rude to you. Pope would say “never find fault with the absent,” but I don’t think that will bring our poet friend back into your good favors. Personally, I think anyone who would be unkind to a bookstore owner is clearly unhinged. This person must have succumbed to the urge to show off so “pride, the never-failing vice of fools” might fit well here. Anyway, “to err is human, to forgive divine.” (You knew that was coming.)

  Can I ask what happens when someone buys one of your favorite books? In a rare bookshop, you can’t just order another. Do you give it a sending away party? Do you worry about its new home?

  BWK

  Ok, so he was technically fishing, but he was curious about the Rackham portfolio. She’d definitely been reluctant to let it go. Grateful, but also a little wary. And then when she’d found out who he was… He shrugged off the memory at the sound of another email hitting his inbox.

  Dear BWK,

  Fine! Mr. Pope knows best that “to be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves.” I’m only giving myself a headache by thinking about this person.

  Funny you should ask about letting go of rare books. Today I waved goodbye to a very rare item I have loved from the first moment I stepped into the store. It was difficult, I won’t lie. The buyer (that same customer who used Mr. Pope against me) assured me that the recipient of this gift will treat it well, but I can’t shake that little whisper of worry. It’s one of only twenty like it in the entire world. I feel an obligation to protect it from harm. I feel like my heart is wandering around in the world, closed up in a box. It will probably be set carelessly on a shelf, soon to be forgotten.

  But denying books to people doesn’t work, either.

  I don’t know the answer. Maybe I wasn’t meant to own a bookstore after all.