Bookstore days

of my Long Island stories, there are some I have never touched on. I suppose those were the north shore years. 

Let’s see, long ago, before 9/11

It seems as if the world was so innocent then. But no, I was interviewed on Long Island tv about the Salman Rushdie book. That book. You know. 

it was when I was the assistant manager at the bookstore, and the manager was clueless; shaking in the corner asking me to go on tv for her. 

not so innocent times but looking back you always seem to see it that way. Like when you know the ending of a scary story —then you are no longer afraid.

One of the characters I worked with in my career as a bookstore manager was Jack. And bookstore people are a breed apart. It draws a certain and most particular of types. 

Jack? How would I describe Jack? 

Charming in that New York Irish way. The brilliant green eyes and the bullshit stories. You believe. But you know he is full of shit. That is Jack. Clever and adorable and used to knowing what to say to a female. 

Not me. 

No way. I saw right through his bullshit. So annoying. At first. 

I was also his boss. Did that bother him? I was also older than him. Did that bother him? He also had a girlfriend. Did that bother him?

He got on my nerves. Very distracting. I did not fall for his obvious charm. No, I was engrossed in my work all the time and really didn’t want his distractions. Doing the window “waterfall” displays, always a new Stephen King; on the phone placing orders….

 but it was this one day—he went too far

Really. He crossed the line. I was doing the payroll— adding up people’s hours and balancing it with our sales figures….  and tell me why do I remember this? I remember exactly what I was doing, sitting at the desk with—they had an old adding machine with tape. Does anyone remember those? 

This one I had put a paper clip where the plastic prong broke off to make the paper feed correctly. But the paper got jammed. We needed to prove our numbers so the paper jam was obnoxious to deal with. 

I was in the middle of this when—what happens? From the selling floor he walks right over to me —but I’m engrossed in my work. Suddenly I feel him lift up my long hair (I wore it very long then) and kiss the back of my neck!

That was Jack.

What did I do? 

I was not sure he did what it felt like. 

So I just looked up at him stunned. 

What did this boy do?

He laughed! He stood there and laughed that infectious laugh. 

You know, before we were friends, there were times I outright hated him. 

Finally I think I said,

“did you just kiss me? I’m your boss!”

And he walked behind me and took my hair in his hand again and said,

“so pretty—I really like that cherry tattoo….” and this time, when I felt his wet mouth I stood up and grabbed a tissue making gagging sounds 

but…. 

I did actually start to wonder if I had a cherry tattoo there

That was Jack.

I believe he was eighteen. When we met. I was not much older. But I was his boss…. But talk about character arches, we became almost like best friends there and I won’t say ever if it was that kiss which might have something to do with why I stopped hating him. His inappropriate behavior was shocking. Often. 

Well, it may seem shocking. He invited to his house one Friday. Just weeks after John and I broke up. It was after work. I went over to his house and met his parents. They loved me. I wound up having the best Friday night of my life with this New York City Irish family. I got drunk with Jack’s mom drinking Chambourd as they tried to teach me poker. And it was not the only time, I went every Friday after that because he was always scheduled on my shift on Friday. 

Jack’s father was a New York City fire fighter. A captain. 

I was so close with them that they wanted me for Jack instead of the girl he was with and didn’t mind that I was not only older but his boss, 

and, like routine, his dad would always give a wink to us every time when they got up off the couch to turn in and would say goodnight, leaving the tv on

his father took me with them to where he worked. Right in New York City. I saw the red trucks. 

***

We lost touch when Jack started at NYU. Years later Jack’s father was still a New York City fire fighter captain —during 9/11. And I believe Jack followed in his footsteps. I won’t say that I looked for their names on the list, only that I always remember them as they were and our very happy Fridays together.