AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s probably the least of our concerns. The new owner is going to address us, and you know what that probably means.”
“He’s going to talk about the changes he wants to make?”
“Yeah, like closing the store and doing something more profitable with the space.”
“You’re such a pessimist.”
“Realist,” Florence corrected. “This is my third bookstore job. I just wanted this one to last me through grad school.”
“We’ll be fine,” I insisted. I wasn’t sure if I really believed that or if I wanted to believe it.
*
I woke the next morning—to that godawful alarm clock—with the sense that I’d had exceptionally vivid dreams of an entirely different life. There had been danger, and there had been moments when I was scared out of my mind, but there was also something nice about it, a sense of accomplishment. I lay there for a moment, trying to recapture the images and feelings, but they dissipated rapidly. The really weird thing was that those images were still sharper than any attempt I made to remember events from longer than about a week ago. I was way too young to have developed Alzheimer’s disease, and besides, that was supposed to work the other way around, where the distant past was sharper than the more recent past. I supposed it was normal for the past to grow foggy with time, but I would have thought that a year ago would be clearer than this.
With a sigh, I got out of bed and got ready for work. As I dressed, I thought about how nice this apartment was. It was a full floor in an Upper West Side brownstone, one that hadn’t even been carved up into studios. How could I possibly afford this place without a roommate while working in a bookstore coffee shop? Then a blurry-edged memory of finding this dream rent-controlled place popped into my head. Oh yeah, that’s what had happened. I put on my coat and headed to the store.
I didn’t have time to stop for my unauthorized dose of caffeine, so I was bleary-eyed when I stumbled my way up to the café, where the tables and chairs had already been arranged like a university lecture hall. Great, I thought, one more thing we’d have to fix before we opened for the day. I had started the coffee brewing when Florence showed up, laden with bakery boxes.
“To get them this early, I had to pick them up,” she explained.
“I wonder if that means they’re actually fresh.”
“Gee, I hope not. I have some pictures to hang and I need something for pounding in the nails.”
We set out enough plates and cups for all the employees, and I had just enough time to get a head start on serving myself some coffee, which was as bad as I remembered, even when it was freshly brewed. I took off my apron before taking a seat at the back of the café. The rest of the staff came in, with much grumbling and speculation about what we’d learn from the meeting. I wasn’t sure which outcome I really wanted. I didn’t want to lose my job, but if I did, that might force me to overcome the inertia in my life. I might someday look back on this meeting and realize it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
The room filled, and the various department managers came in and sat near the front. Once everyone was seated, a familiar man stepped in front of the group and said, “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for coming in early today. I’m Owen Palmer, your new owner.”
It was the dark-haired, blue-eyed customer I’d chatted with the day before. I was so very, very fired. I wondered if maybe I’d at least get credit for honesty. That was the only way I could imagine my job being saved. I hoped someone left a newspaper behind this morning. I’d definitely need to review the job ads.
He talked about keeping the store open in spite of the challenging economy and mentioned a few changes to help us be more profitable. Most of it had to do with more creative shelving and how we could take advantage of the fact that we didn’t have to abide by top-down dictates like the chain stores. We could shelve books where our customers were most likely to discover them, even in multiple places around the store. It wasn’t exactly an earthshattering idea, but it wasn’t something too many other stores did. He talked about getting employee input on purchase decisions and offering incentives for hand-selling books.
I tensed when he got around to discussing the coffee shop. I didn’t think he’d fire me now, but I prepared myself for a lecture on providing a positive customer experience. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our coffee is lousy,” he said. There was nervous laughter from the group, and I cringed. It wasn’t my fault, but would he see it that way? “We need to revamp our coffee shop, and we’ll be considering new suppliers.” I wondered if the revamp would include employees who didn’t peruse the classified ads while on the job or openly criticize the coffee to customers. But all he discussed was the quality of what was offered, not the employees. He’d probably fire me privately, in a one-on-one meeting later that day.
The meeting wrapped up, and everyone headed to their respective jobs, or to home, if they had later shifts. Most of the booksellers were already talking excitedly about how to rearrange the sections. Florence and I were less excited, since it was our department that had been singled out as a failure. Not that we disagreed—we avoided our own coffee shop—but it didn’t bode well for the owner to criticize us.
We hurried to get the café set up for the store opening. In spite of the nasty coffee and stale scones, we had our usual morning crowd. In this city, I was surprised that people hadn’t found better options, since I passed several on my way to work in the morning. The whole time, Owen Palmer hung around, lingering over a cup of coffee at the outermost table while he watched the flow of customers.
When the rush had died down and we were getting ready for the morning coffee break crowd, Owen came over to us. “Which of you is the resident coffee connoisseur?” he asked.
“She is!” Florence said, pointing at me and making herself scarce with a wink over her shoulder.
“I guess I am, though I wouldn’t call myself a connoisseur. I just drink it,” I said. “She doesn’t. She doesn’t even drink caffeine, if you can believe it—and she’s in grad school.” I was babbling, giving him information he didn’t even want, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“Then I’ll want you to help me in selecting new suppliers and revamping the shop. We do good business, but I think we could do better if we had better stuff to offer.” He frowned. “In fact, I’m not even sure why anyone comes here at all. There’s better coffee at just about every corner deli.”
“I think people feel like getting their coffee here makes them smarter, or something,” I said without thinking, then mentally winced. I shouldn’t be shooting off my mouth to my boss. He was just so nice that he lulled me into honesty. He was so good-looking that he addled my senses somehow. Then I wondered if maybe he was that guy who’d made the world go still that morning at the diner.
“Image means a lot,” he agreed. “And that’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. Would you mind holding off on your job search for a little while? I think I could use your expertise while we revamp the store. I’m hearing rumors that one of the chains is going to open a branch nearby, and I want to make a big splash before they can get established.”
“So you’re not firing me?” I blurted.
“Is there a reason I should?” he asked, with a mildly amused smile.
“No, no,” I hurried to say. “But you didn’t see me at my best yesterday.”
“You were honest with me about the product you were selling and steered me to something I’d enjoy more.”
