Libby the Librarian: A Rom Com Novella

by Bex, Alice

  Adam stopped by my office just before lunch. He’d obviously heard from Shasta. He’d also gotten an earful from at least one of my colleagues—probably Tina.

  “Shasta said you two went out Friday night.”

  “Brad was there, too.”

  “What happened? Shasta said you went home almost as soon as you got there.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “Really? Shasta got the impression you were upset about something.”

  “I was not upset.” I sounded upset as I denied it, but there was no use going into details. Adam would never understand.

  “I don’t know. Shasta is pretty perceptive.”

  “Well, this time she happens to be wrong.”

  “Why have you gone back to kakis?”

  “Why not? This whole thing is silly. Why should I make a fool of myself?”

  “You’re not making a fool—“

  Dr. Maxwell knocked on the open door to my office. He doesn’t like people to hang around chatting, even when they have nothing better to do.

  “I’ll call you tonight,” Adam said as he slid off my desk.

  Adam called, as he’d promised, but I didn’t pick up. He called back again. And a third time. He texted: R U OK? I ignored him.

  I got ready for bed early. I fed Dickens, Poe and Kipling. I swept the kitchen floor. I brushed my teeth. I was about to climb under the covers, when the doorbell rang.

  I went and peaked out. It was Adam.

  I opened the door.

  “As you can see, I’m fine. You can go away now. Goodnight!”

  I started to shut the door, but Adam stopped me.

  “I’m not convinced,” he said. “I think I’ve made a mistake.”

  I didn’t want to let him in, but it was obvious he wasn’t going away until he’d said whatever it was he’d come to say, so I shrugged my shoulders and motioned him in like it was some big dispensation on my part. He flopped down on my couch. I stayed standing, close to the door, so he’d get the hint that I wanted him out of there as soon as possible.

  “Will you sit down?” he said. “You make me nervous, standing there looking down your nose like that. You remind me of a vulture.”

  A vulture?

  “Thank you very much!” I didn’t even try to tone down my sarcasm.

  “Please, sit down.”

  I sat down. As far from the couch as possible.

  “Listen—“ Adam said. “Do you have to sit way over there? I feel like I’m talking to a person in the next room.”

  “Whatever!” I sounded like a sullen teenager, but I got up and moved to the end of the sofa.

  “Libby, you are my best friend. Maybe the best friend I’ve ever had. Certainly the best female friend I’ve ever had. I think that’s where I may have gone wrong.”

  “You’re sorry we’re friends?”

  I didn’t think that was what he meant, but he wasn’t making much sense. That was unusual. He’s generally pretty articulate.

  “Of course not, you goof!” he replied and tossed a pillow at me. “I just mean that I may not understand women very well, and my lack of understanding may have put you in a vulnerable position.”

  I still didn’t know where he was going with this, but he’d obviously put a lot of thought into what he wanted to say, so I decided to hear him out.

  “What I mean is—I thought you would gain confidence from looking different on the outside. I think I got things backwards.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Do you feel beautiful?”

  Certainly not. Was he joking?

  “I prefer to think of physical beauty as irrelevant.”

  “That’s not a real answer.”

  He wasn’t going to go away until I answered honestly.

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No. I don’t think I’m beautiful.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Are you done? Can I go back to bed now?”

  “Do you still have that dress Shasta gave you? The one you wore the other night?”

  Shasta must have given him a pretty detailed account of the whole debacle.

  “Yes. I was going to return it, but I haven’t yet.”

  “Are you free tomorrow night?”

  There was something I wanted to watch on TV. That counted as “plans,” right?

  “I have plans.”

  “You mean you plan to clean out your refrigerator or something?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You don’t even know why I’m asking.”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  “I know I’ve been pushing you out of your comfort zone.”

  “Out of my comfort zone? It’s more like you’ve kidnapped my comfort zone and you’re holding it for ransom.”

  “Let’s go back to The Presidio. Just you and me. No pressure. I won’t even make you dance.”

  “What’s the point of that?”

  “The point is, until you start to see yourself the way other people see you, changing the way you look on the outside is meaningless.”

  “I’d say it’s pretty meaningless, either way.”

  “From a philosophical standpoint, maybe. From a practical standpoint—“

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll wear the dress. We stay for one hour. No dancing.”

  I called Shasta the next morning. I didn’t want her thinking I was mad at her. I had been mad at her, but maybe I’d misunderstood. She seemed to know all about Adam‘s plan for putting me through another excruciating excursion to The Presidio. Some people—Shasta for instance—go clubbing for fun. It’s a mystery to me what they find so enjoyable about it.

  “I’ll come over,” she said. “Help you get ready.”

  “We’re only staying for an hour. An hour’s not really worth going to a lot of trouble for.”

  She insisted.

  There wasn’t a lot to do when she got there. I’d worn a modified Sexy Librarian to work. Modified in the sense that it included all the components except liquid eye-liner and high-heels, but Shasta insisted on redoing my makeup. It really did look good, when she was done. She wanted to leave right after she was finished, but I cajoled her into staying around until Adam came to pick me up.

  She may have a boyfriend now, but all hope is not lost. Adam can get her back, if he’ll just make a little effort. Adam isn’t used to making an effort. He doesn’t have to. Woman tend to come to him, and he just picks which one he likes best.

  Adam walked in the front door without even bothering to ring the bell.

  “You were expecting me, weren’t you?” he said when I suggested that he might have knocked. He handed me a small box. “I got you a present.” I opened it up. It was my ninth-grade glasses with new lenses.

  “Seriously?” I said. “You expect me to wear these?”

  Adam took them out of my hand and removed my regular glasses without even asking.

  “Now you’re just dressing me and undressing me like a doll.”

  “I wish.” Adam said.

  Shasta tittered.

  “If only you would be so cooperative,” he added, looking a bit red in the face. I think he may have forgotten who he was talking to there for a minute. He never says stupid stuff like that to me.

  Four

  When we got to The Presidio, it was much less crowded than it had been on Friday night. Unfortunately, this meant we made a much bigger entrance. Everyone who wasn’t dancing was looking at us. Probably thinking, “What is that spectacular-looking man doing with such a homily woman?” People probably assumed we were brother and sister. Scratch that. Adam had his hand on the small of my back. Nobody walks like that with his sister.

  “Remember. You promised. One hour!” I hissed in his ear. I had to lean back against his chest. I teetered a little. Shasta had talked me into wearing the heels with the dress this time. Adam put both hands around my waist.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded.


  “You were falling down.”

  “I was not falling down,” I insisted and pulled away.

  “You’re awfully averse to being touched.”

  “And you’re awfully handsy.”

  Adam just laughed. We were at the bar now. He ordered drinks.

  “You sure you aren’t interested in dancing?” he asked.

  “I dance like a penguin suffering from a seizure.”

  “It can’t be that bad.”

  “It is.”

  “Show me.”

  “No.”

  “Later.”

  “No.”

  “It’s not that complicated; you could learn. Most people only have a few basic moves anyway. Shasta could teach you. She’s a very sexy dancer.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to be a sexy dancer.”

  Adam leaned in close to my ear. His hand closed over my forearm.

  “Look across the bar. A little to the right of the bartender. That guy is checking you out.”

  I looked. There was a guy looking at me, but he hastily looked away.

  “This is no good,” Adam said. “I’m scaring off all your prospects.”

  “That guy was not checking me out.”

  “He was.”

  “He wasn’t.”

  “He was.”

  “You want me to march over there and ask him?”

  “I’m going to go to the bathroom,” Adam said. “And while I’m gone, he’ll make his move.”

  “What if I don’t want him to make his move? Not that he’s going to, anyway.”

  “This is what you’re going to do: You’re going to smile at him when he looks at you. He’ll come over to your side of the bar. You’ll attempt to be civil. If he makes a joke, you laugh at it. If he asks for your number—which I’m 99% sure he will—you give him one.”

  “What do you mean, give him one?”

  “A phone number. But not your real one. That guy’s not good enough for you. I can tell from here.”

  “How can you tell from here?”

  “Sixth sense. I’d better go. He’s starting to waver.”

  It happened almost as Adam predicted. Bar Guy smiled at me. I smiled back. He came over and sat down beside me. He asked if he could buy me a drink. I said, yes. He told me he was in office supplies. I told him I was a research librarian. He asked me if I was having a good time. I lied and said, yes. He asked for my number. I panicked and gave him my real one.

  As he was walking away, something occurred to me, and I called him back.

  “Did Adam put you up to this?”

  “Who’s Adam?”

  “The man I was talking to earlier?”

  Bar Guy just gave me a funny look and kept walking. I don’t think he’ll be calling, even though the number I gave him was real.

  “How did it go?” Adam asked. He’d sure taken a long time getting back. Probably being chatted up by woman eager to give out their real numbers.

  “Textbook. You didn’t pay that guy to come onto me or something, did you?”

  “Libby!” Adam looked exasperated. “Libby, Libby, Libby!” He looked like he was on the verge of pounding his head on the bar. “Let’s go.”

  “But it hasn’t been nearly an hour.”

  “I know. But I’ve decided I neglected basic groundwork before bringing you here. What you really need, is to how to dance. That way, the next time—“

  “I don’t want there to be a next time.”

  “It’s much easier this way. Unless, you prefer trying to practice getting picked up by men at convenience stores or laundromats?”

  “Why is it necessary for me to practice getting picked up anywhere?”

  “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “You talked me into buying a red sports model, when I would have been better off with a blue sedan.” I was never taking him along car shopping again. I’d only done it in the first place because my father had advised me that I needed to, as he put it, “take a man along to deal with the salesman.” Looking back on that, I realize that my father may be a bit sexist. Plus, “the salesman,” turned out to be a saleswoman. When she figured out that Adam and I were just friends—believe me, it didn’t take her long—she spent more time flirting with Adam than she did demonstrating the features of the cars I was considering.

  Adam didn’t think talking me into a car I secretly enjoy driving qualified as Steering Me Wrong.

  “My house is the other way,” I said, as we pulled out of the parking lot.

  “We’re not going to your house.”

  “I wasn’t consulted.”

  “You promised me an hour. There’s still half of it left on the clock.”

  “What clock? I didn’t realize there was a clock.”

  Adam didn’t answer. Sometimes he just lets me babble until I get tired of the sound of my own voice. I’m not much of a talker. I get tired of listening to myself pretty quickly.

  “Alright. Where are we going?” I asked.

  “My house.”

  I love Adam’s house. It’s much nicer than my house. I don’t know where he gets all his money. I’ve never asked, but it’s obvious that he didn’t buy that house based on his salary as a Jr. Professor.

  “Do you have food at your house?”

  “Of course.”

  “Can I eat before I subject myself to the indignity of having my flailing technique criticized?”

  “Who said anything about flailing?”

  “Do you have anything good?”

  “I made Thai yesterday. There’s left-overs.”

  Adam cooks. Much better than I do. Come to think of it, pretty much anything I can do, he can do better. Life’s unfair that way.

  I ate straight from the plastic container. Adam poured me a glass of wine. He didn’t have any.

  “This is really good,” I said. I was eating as slowly as possible. I’ve never been one for athletic pursuits, and when I tell you that, for me, dancing counts as an athletic pursuit, that probably tells you everything you need to know about my natural aptitudes.

  “Do you have any breath mints?” I asked. “Too much garlic.” I was stalling. I finished my wine while Adam went off in search of breath mints.

  He came back with a handful.

  “My breath isn’t that bad, is it?” I unwrapped a mint and popped it in my mouth while he fiddled with his sound system. He turned it up really loud. It was almost as bad as being back at The Presidio.

  “Come on, “ he said. He was moving gracefully in time to the music. I could have watched him all evening. “Let’s have a look at your flailing technique.”

  I didn’t budge from my spot. I was perched on the island in the kitchen. Adam has one of those open plan houses where the kitchen, dining and living room all sort of flow together. Plenty of room for dancing, unfortunately.

  Adam came and pulled me off the island.

  “Are you attempting to impersonate a corpse?” Adam asked. “You aren’t moving at all.”

  That got me moving. I flailed and stomped. I didn’t try to stay in time to the music. I didn’t try to look good. In fact, I tried to be as ungraceful and ungainly as possible.

  Adam stood back and watched. I think he was trying to decide if I was making a serious effort or having him on. I don’t think he ever did figure it out.

  “Alright,” he said. “That gives me a pretty clear picture of your fast technique.”

  He went over and changed the music.

  “Let’s see how you do with something slow.”

  I swayed back and forth a little. This did not impress him. He came over and put his arms around me, pulling me in close to his body. I stopped moving altogether.

  “What are you doing?” I protested.

  “Slow dancing.”

  “Well, stop.”

  He stepped back and put his hands up in the air as if this was a holdup, and I was demanding his money or his life.

&nb
sp; “You’re awfully sensitive about being touched,” he said. “I don’t want to get personal, but—“

  Whenever anyone says they don’t want to get personal, what they really mean is, “what I’m about to ask you is a gross invasion of your privacy, but I’m going to ask anyway because I’m just too damn curious to resist.”

  “Then don’t get personal,” I said.

  “It’s just that—do you have any experience with men at all?”

  I did. A little. I wasn’t a virgin, if that was what he was getting at. It had been a while, though.

  “That is extremely personal. And a little insulting.”

  “It’s just that—I mean you are really comfortable with me, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you are so comfortable with me, what’s the big deal about a little slow dancing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  That was true. I really didn’t know. Although, if I were honest, I’d have been much more comfortable slow dancing with a man I’d never seen before in my life.

  “Come here,” said Adam. “I’m going to forget dancing, for now. I’m just going to hold you until it stops feeling like I’m hugging a plank.”

  “Then we could be here a while.”

  He had his arms around me now. I tried to relax, but I couldn’t. He pulled me in closer. Adam is a very tactile person. Me? Not so much.

  “This is silly!” I tried to pull away.

  “Stop fighting it.”

  “Just let me take my shoes off.“ I was buying time, and he knew it, but he let me go and I took my shoes off and placed them by the front door, right next to my handbag.

  “I’ve had a better idea,” Adam said when I came back. “Baby steps. Let’s watch a movie.”

  Sure. I could do that. Watching movies: nothing to it.

  “Lying on the couch.”

  “I’ll take the recliner.”

  “We’ll both lie on the couch.”

  I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no.

  Adam picked something out I’d seen before.

  “How’s this? Have you seen it already?”

  “No.”

  Adam flopped down on the couch, stretched out his long body and patted the foot-wide sliver of surface area left.

  “I can’t fit there.”

  “Yes. You can.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “You haven’t tried.”