Men of All Seasons Box Set

The Fine Art of Reading Riley-4

After putting the flower arrangement in his vehicle, Stone ventured into Turn the Page Books, considered the dust mite capital of Plimpton with its Leo Tolstoy hotels, Tom Wolfe mansions, and Nora Roberts trailers. There were very few hardbacks in the place, since paperbacks sold better. The business encompassed an eight hundred square foot area filled with shelves, local artwork on the walls, a few unseen cobwebs, and multiple racks of children’s books. One wall, from floor to ceiling, had been covered in used paperbacks. Lighting suffered in the place, and the wooden floor creaked with every footstep. Some patrons called the place a docile wonderland while others thought it should be condemned in the world of e-books and handheld electronic reading devices.

Tender Reese, the owner, could have been Lance’s best friend on various levels, which entailed mostly good times and a few bad ones. Stone thought the two young people had accidentally slept together once and tried to see if couplehood would work, which it didn’t for them. Neither were ever seen entwined in public. Besides, Stone knew his nephew had a string of boyfriends in the past year, sleeping with an arrangement of one-night stands. Although cute and sweet-looking, Tender had a few extra pounds around her middle.

The woman practiced Tai kwon die, as Stone called it, and could be a badass motherfucker when pushed. When she wasn’t kicking someone’s ass, she used her olive skin tone, beautiful brown eyes, and curvaceous frame to obtain exactly what she wanted sexually from her female companions. For a woman who had just turned forty-two, a decade older than Stone, Tender had all her ducks in a row, which included her finances, business, personal life, and other everyday, status-reared things of importance concerning a tax-paying citizen of Plimpton.

When Stone entered the book store, he couldn’t help being scrutinized by Tender’s two kitties, Blackie and Whitey. The felines spun around his feet, snapped the tips of their tails, mewed a few times, and approved of him as a well-liked and regular paperback shopper. Although Tender wanted to show her adorable felines for monetary prizes, another business adventure in the young woman’s life, she couldn’t. Blackie and Whitey were exceptionally beautiful British Shorthairs with mundane coats, odd-shaped heads, and a few paws with six toes. Because of these impurrfections, as Stone called them, the furry duo lived in the bookstore with Tender, their happy clients, many books to choose from for reading pleasure, and two sandboxes that were well-kept, always scooped out on a regular basis.

When Turn the Page Books ended up for sale in the spring of 2010, Stone counted his pennies and debated whether or not to purchase the business. Unfortunately, the world just so happened to be geared by electronic thing-a-ma-jiggers called Nook and k****e, which inevitably changed his mind. Rarely, if ever, did he see anyone in Plimpton carry around a paperback mystery, thriller, or horror novel for enjoyment while they waited for a bus or sat in Plimpton Park, relishing the fresh air off Lake Erie. In the end, he had an uncanny feeling about purchasing the bookstore and passed on the opportunity, giving Tender rights to scoop it up with a wad of cash, money that had been given to her by her wealthy grandmother, Edna Steer-Reese. As far as Stone knew, the bookstore could never be a million-dollar-making property, but it did allow Tender to pay her duplex’s mortgage and supply food for the woman.

“Mr. Daye, I have something special for you today,” Tender said, lifting books here and there, moving piles of receipts, and a stack of magazines. Eventually, she came upon what she had been searching for and presented it to him.

As Blackie and Whitey continued to spin around Stone’s ankles, purring contently, Tender cordially (with smile and all) handed him a hardback novel by none other than Robert Riley. The green leather novel was four hundred pages long, had gilded pages, and sported a beautiful red ribbon marker that looked like its tongue. The pristine book felt heavy in his hands, almost perfect except for one battered corner that looked as if Blackie and Whitey had snacked on it.

Excited, admiring the book, Stone asked, “Where did you find this, Tender? I’ve been looking for years to get a copy.”

“You do know what it is, right?”

He nodded. “A limited and signed edition of Pearls of Vixen designed by a very small press called Paxtonian Books in Barefoot Beach, Florida. From what I understand, there were only five hundred printed and numbered. Two are in circulation that are signed twice by the author.”

Tender glowed with a smile. “You do know what it is. I knew you would. You’re an expert on Riley’s novels.”

“What number is this one?” he asked, feeling nervous and hot by just feeling the exclusive novel in his palms.

“Fifty-two.”

Perspiration built on his forehead, and he chirped, “How much is it?”

“I’m selling it at cost to you, since Lance sometimes lives with me. He’s my best friend, and because he’s your nephew and I feel that the two of you are part of my family. I wouldn’t feel right charging the thirty percent finder’s fee that I usually bill others.” Tender then shared a price with him.

“Thank you for being a wonderful human being, Tender. And thank you for being my nephew’s best friend. He’s quite the handful sometimes, and I know you steer him in the right directions.”

“I actually love being his confident. We are truly meant to be together, just not in the bedroom.”

Stone handed the book back to her, removed money from his wallet, adding thirty percent to the cost of the novel for Tender to make a profit. “Don’t argue with me. You’re not in business to give books away.”

No, Tender wasn’t in such a position. She smiled at him and accepted the money. After placing the short stack of twenties in her register, she said, “I have your box of paperbacks. Twelve in all.”

“How much, Tender?”

She looked up at the badly illuminated ceiling and mumbled something, obviously doing addition in her head. With her math complete, she said, “Forty-two dollars.”

He handed her forty-five dollars and told her to keep the change. When she passed him his small box of paperbacks, he said, “You know you’re still invited to join us this evening, right?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” she said. “You know how I am.”

Indeed, he did. Tender suffered from a very different and awkward social phobia that caused her to feel as if she were a know-it-all among other people. The last thing she wanted to do was become the queen of the reading group, embarrassing herself, and overcome with anxiety, talking too much. Stone really wasn’t sure about the psychological and professional term for her condition, but he was quite aware that it had a very long name, a weaving tongue-twister he probably couldn’t even pronounce.

Stone had always wanted Lance and Tender to have an affair, basking in each other’s skin like the youthful characters in Riley’s Pearls of Vixen. But maybe Lance couldn’t handle Tender that way, fearing that Tender might use her tai kwon die on him, afraid to live with the woman on a full-time basis, a nonparticipant in sharing romantic affections with her. Maybe Lance kept a distance from the plump warrior because they made better friends than lovers. But, if Tender decided to put the moves on him, which Stone clearly doubted happening, it could have been a scene of romance for Lance, or a death wish comprised of street fighting techniques. Who knew?

Ending his visit at Turn the Page Books, Stone carried his box of twelve paperbacks and the limited copy of Robert Riley out of the store, calling over his right shoulder, “I do know you, Tender. Trust me when I say you will be missed this evening. If you change your mind, join us.”

Tender shook her head, waved goodbye, and continued her workday as her two felines attempted to trip her, swirling around the woman’s feet.