Confessions of a Curious Bookseller
Page 19
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Mon, Feb 25, 2019 at 9:02 AM
To: Staff
Subject: Reconnoitering
Kyle,
Please do me a favor and go to the Grumpy Mug and look for Butterscotch. I had an epiphany in the middle of the night that he might have been stolen by Mark or one of his minions and is currently being held in captivity. Please try to be very inconspicuous. Buy some coffee, peruse the shelves, ask questions about what books they have, and keep an eye out for Butterscotch. Keep an ear open too! I would go, but I have sworn to never set foot in that awful place.
Fawn, Owner
From: Fawn Windsor
Sent: Fri, Mar 15, 2019 at 7:18 PM
To: Gregory Harris
Subject: Springtime Greetings!
Dear Gregory,
Ah, the beginnings of spring! The snow has melted, and the horses are shaking off their wintry dispositions. The birds in the barns are cooing, coaxing the burgeoning sun to its grandeur.
The weather is fine, but the situation at the estate has become rather questionable. My younger brother, Gordon, has been missing for over a month! Do not take the exclamation point the wrong way—it is not my intention to cheapen the news with hyperbole. I am merely trying to translate my shock. Gordon was never much of an adventurer. He spent most of his time in one place: Russia. He studied Turgenev with a Fulbright scholarship and when that ended, he went back each year, having fallen in love with the drinking of vodka and with the various Russian men and women (but mostly women, if you know what I mean). Am I surprised he is missing? Yes, I am—but I would not be surprised if he showed up at my door saying that he squandered all the money our father had given him to pursue his studies in Moscow. I hope he is all right.
Truth be told, the countryside of England in the springtime can be a bit lonely. I wonder if it is all the melting that gives me this strange sinking feeling that my life is slipping away from me. I am getting older—it is just the reality of it, as I’m sure you understand. But being surrounded by servants and stable workers gives me a strange sense that I am useless—merely a figurehead of sorts with nothing worthwhile to do. I’m considering letting some of my servants go permanently. It isn’t money so much as it’s that I feel like I have grown completely out of touch with my own surroundings. Perhaps fluffing some pillows and dusting the chandeliers would help get me back on track, but I’m not sure.
For the first time in my life, I look around this grand place and wonder if this is the very best thing for me.
Much love,
Fawn Windsor
From: Gregory Harris
Sent: Sat, Mar 16, 2019 at 8:13 AM
To: Fawn Windsor
Re: Springtime Greetings!
Hi there, my dear,
I’m so sorry to hear about your brother. I hope they find him soon. I’ll keep my fingers crossed that he’s simply at the bottom of a bottle somewhere in a swanky out-of-the-way Russian hotel, cozying up with lovely women, good books, and cigarettes.
I know what you mean, as I am also throwing into question everything I’ve built these many years. This happens to me, though, around this time of year. I get itchy for change. I begin to ask myself if flipping buildings is really the right path to have taken in life. But is there a right path? Because if so, such a notion assumes that there is something predestined about life, that there is something pulling the strings for us, and despite the desperate pulling and corralling, we dumb humans go the other way. It could be true, since my whole life I’ve felt as if I always zigged when I should have zagged. Not that I’m unhappy. But I think it’s healthy to question, as much as possible, whether or not you are content.
I believe, wholly, that we are allowed to change our paths if we want to, and we do not have to feel guilty about it. But putting that into practice is hard. All I’m saying, my dear, is that if you are tired of running your father’s estate and the status quo no longer makes you happy, you have every right to walk down a different path. I certainly wouldn’t blame you. So many people don’t have that ability because of money, family obligations, or illness. Some people are entirely trapped where they are in life, but inversely you seem to be free. Unmoor yourself, my dear, if you wish. Do it for those who can’t, and ask yourself: What does make you happy?
Nothing new for me. Spring tends to make me a bit sad until I start to see the first daffodils pushing up in the park.
Much love,
Gregory
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Sat, Mar 16, 2019 at 9:30 PM
To: Kyle Krazinsky
Subject: Job Performance Meeting
Kyle,
Please come in a bit earlier tomorrow (say 7:30?) so that we can sit down together and discuss your future with the company.
Many thanks,
Fawn, Owner
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Sat, Mar 16, 2019 at 9:33 PM
To: Sam Asimov
Subject: Job Performance Meeting
Sam,
Please come in a bit earlier tomorrow (say 7:45?) so that we can sit down together and discuss your future with the company.
Many thanks,
Fawn, Owner
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Mon, Mar 18, 2019 at 8:19 AM
To: Angela Washington
Subject: Coffee
Dear Angela,
Just because they have coffee, that doesn’t justify your patronage. This is what I’m talking about. You do understand that we have coffee here? And I would even let you drink it for free if it meant you wouldn’t go support the enemy. And the only reason Kyle was there was because I asked him to go search for Butterscotch. Stealing cats is a pastime I wouldn’t put past Mark and his band of hooligans.
By supporting them, Angela, you are stealing from your own paycheck. The stronger they get, the weaker we become. Don’t you see that? I would hate to see it get worse around here and be forced to let you go just as I did the others.
Best,
Fawn, Owner
Fawn Birchill/CuriousCatBooks/8h
Fawn here! What is your favorite #book!? #Post it to us to win a #discount! Just come in and let us know you participated!
From: Florence Eakins
Sent: Mon, Mar 18, 2019 at 3:23 PM
To: Fawn Birchill
Subject: The Pirates of Penzanse
Hi Fawn,
I hope you are well! I just wanted to fill you in on what’s happening in our neck of the woods. Little Joe got the main part in The Pirates of Penzanse. He is absolutely thrilled about it, and I’m so proud of him. It would be great to see you there for a performance if you have the time. I know you’re very busy.
In other news, I got that promotion at work—finally! It will mean more hours, and I’ll be managing a small group of people, but honestly I’ve wanted more responsibility for years so this has been way overdue. It’s crazy to think that I am now director of marketing. Doesn’t it sound so authoritative??
How is your store doing? I hope that other store down the street isn’t giving you too much trouble. Let’s stay in touch more!
Talk to you soon,
Flo
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Mon, Mar 18, 2019 at 10:20 PM
To: Florence Eakins
Re: The Pirates of Penzanse
Florence,
I am glad to hear that Little Joe got the part, though I am not at all surprised. He has always had a flare for the theatrical, just like his father—but also just like me! It runs on both sides of the family, I believe! Let me know the dates, and I will see if I can make it. I am also happy to hear about your promotion. That repetitive office work can’t be easy or at all stimulating, so I have great respect for it. I imagine that day after day it really starts to wear you down, and you begin to see the world as a very repetitive and gray place indeed. But you somehow rise above with your vivacious personality! Sometimes I think about what we wanted to do as children
and how our lives are now, and I imagine what I would pay the devil to take me back to my childhood so that I don’t make the same mistakes.
I am so happy to hear of the good family news. In my news, Butterscotch has been missing for well over a month. I have posters everywhere but haven’t heard a peep from anyone. I do not sleep anymore and when I do, I need to take Ambien. Don’t be alarmed; it’s not something I’ve gone to the doctor over. My neighbor has a plethora of pills that she lets me take for emergencies, so it’s nothing serious. I just have to make sure I am in bed before taking the Ambien—a fact I learned the hard way when I woke up one afternoon facedown on the kitchen floor. I am missing a part of myself with Butterscotch gone. I feel like half a person all the time, and this despair makes it impossible to sleep. I don’t mean to burden you with this. Lately circumstances have been challenging and I’ve found that sometimes, indeed most of the time, it’s best not to shut down, to turn away, to hide. So I’m compelled to tell you the truth. I’m sorry if it’s uncomfortable.
The store is doing well. I let two of my staff members go because it is a slow time of the year, but no doubt they will return when things pick up. The new bookstore (thank you for asking) has made very little impact on the business (which I’m not surprised to find). I am not threatened by them and even encourage my staff to browse the new store’s aisles on their lunch break.
Miss you much!
Fawn
P.S. Penzance is spelled as such.
From: Florence Eakins
Sent: Mon, Mar 18, 2019 at 11:40 PM
To: Fawn Birchill
Re: The Pirates of Penzanse
Hi Fawn,
Actually, my job is extremely stimulating. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing it. Not all of us want to be business owners. I could really use your support right now without the snide, thinly veiled blows to my “office worker” status. Joseph is not as thrilled about my promotion as I hoped he would be, and it’s weighing on me. I kind of expected him to at least say that he was proud of me, but I came home from a very happy day at the office only to be greeted by him complaining about every little thing. So, I’m a bit sensitive tonight. I could use a kind word, thank you very much.
Flo
P.S. I’m so sorry about Butterscotch. He is a lovely kitty, and I hope you find him soon.
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Tue, Mar 19, 2019 at 1:12 AM
To: Florence Eakins
Re: The Pirates of Penzanse
Dear Florence,
I am so very sorry for my transgression. Plase forgive me. I am trly excited to for you and your win at the office. I know you are a hard worker and Joseph should see that and appreciate it about you.
Have a good night,
Fawn
March 19, 2019
I think it’s important to mark the date on which I shared an honest exchange with my sister (even if I was a little tipsy for it). I can truly say, now in the sober light of morning, that it was freeing. It doesn’t make any logical sense as to why it would be, but I suppose life isn’t always logical. In fact it’s quite messy, and sometimes things don’t fit the way one would assume they should.
My sister, though somewhat intolerable in the way she raises her boys and the way she interacts with the world around her, is not a bad person. She doesn’t deserve to be alienated by anyone but especially not by me. We have been through the war together, and I am finding it hard to suss out why I have pushed her away all these years. I suppose it could be because she reminds me of my past. Sometimes when I look at myself in the mirror, I see traces of my father—in the shape of my eyes and the curve of my chin. I hate mirrors because of this. Perhaps these two things are related.
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Tue, Mar 19, 2019 at 8:17 AM
To: Angela Washington
Subject: Windowpane
Angela,
When you get here, please find some cardboard in the back, cut it to size, and duct tape it to the broken window. Some smart aleck decided to throw a softball at our store.
Fawn, Owner
From: Gregory Harris
Sent: Wed, Mar 20, 2019 at 4:32 PM
To: Fawn Windsor
Subject: Hello
Dear Fawn,
I hope I didn’t overstep the other day. Since you haven’t written back, I’m worried I may have upset you. I didn’t mean to push my opinion on what you should do in such a forthright manner. To be honest, I am going through a bit of an identity crisis these days, so I was taking a lot of my angst out on my unsuspecting friend across the pond. Forgive me.
Regards,
Gregory
From: Fawn Windsor
Sent: Wed, Mar 20, 2019 at 4:59 PM
To: Gregory Harris
Re: Hello
Dear Gregory,
Please don’t think my lack of response was due to anger! I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I thought we weren’t friends. Life got a little hectic (Gordon is still missing), so I’ve been scattered. Your words and opinions are always welcome. Don’t feel as if you ever have to censor yourself or your advice toward me.
I hope you are doing well. You may always, always share your angst with me.
Much love,
Fawn
March 23, 2019
It has been three days since I found Butterscotch, and it’s still difficult for me to remain calm enough to sit down and write. I have spent the last two days feverishly cleaning and doing calisthenics, only to be interrupted briefly by intermittent sobbing episodes. I should have known not to allow Jane to keep open boxes of rat poison all over her apartment. I should have seen it as a hazard and discarded them.
It unfolded like this: I went in the other day to see if Jane needed help with anything or if anything needed to be tidied up. She asked for a book in her hallway on the shelf, White Fang. Why this sweet old woman wants to read a book about animals tearing into each other all day is beyond me, but I suppose it shows what I know. So I went to the bookshelf and immediately smelled something strange. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it earlier. Perhaps I was always in and out so fast that I couldn’t register the odor. I stood before the bookshelf for some time without looking at it, working up the courage to crouch and take a closer look—my thoughts already turning to the worst of possibilities. The smell was nearly unbearable by the time I knelt down to the rows of books to find Butterscotch huddled atop them, six weeks dead.
Spring is one of my favorite times of the year. I don’t know if I have it in me to walk to the art museum, which is what I usually do in the spring, but I think I will open the windows today. It’s becoming a bit stale in my apartment, and since I haven’t showered, it’s hard to tell if it is me who needs airing out or if it is my apartment.
I do not wish to write about the emptiness at the loss of a loved one. I do not think that whoever is still reading this wants to be told about feelings and pain when they very well may understand them well enough. But if you can imagine the worst moment of your life thus far and how it cripples your knees and turns your stomach inside out—it would be close enough to the truth. We all mourn in our own way. Ever since I was a little girl, my mourning rituals have been energetically cathartic. I would clean my bedroom, run laps around the house, and punch the trees until I wore myself out and fell into a stupor of emotional denouement, unable to leave my bed for days. I have memories of my father literally pulling me out of bed by the ankles, shoving shoes on my feet and carrying me to his shop while my sister looked on smugly, my knuckles still covered in dried blood from the birch bark. I used to be quite combative, but that all changed with puberty when I became quite the demure Scarlett O’Hara. I’m not sure exactly when this change took place, but instead of punching things when someone or something died, I simply cleaned and then, my head swimming in chemicals, fell onto my bed and sobbed into my pillow. Even at sixteen, however, my father was pulling me by the ankles. That did not ever change.
Every da
y I appear to be aging—I can actually see the changes in the reflections in the windows at night (I will not look in the mirror). Last night I went up to the dark window and pulled the skin of my face back and up until I thought I resembled Keira Knightley—especially from the side. Then I noticed someone looking at me across the way, and I pulled down the blinds. There is not a shred of privacy in this city anymore.
I plan to adopt a rescue cat in the coming days, and it has to be very clean in here. It has to be right, and there must not be any hazards. I have a lot of work to do.
From: Fawn Birchill
Sent: Sun, Mar 24, 2019 at 9:50 PM
To: Angela Washington
Subject: New lodger
Dear Angela,
You may notice a new presence wandering the store with regularity. Please do not be alarmed, as she is meant to be here. I met her outside Missy’s Co-op yesterday when purchasing sundries. You may be wondering why in the world I would still patronize such a cold place that turned its back on me with impunity; however, I am doing my best these days to forgive when forgiveness is due. Also, they have the best steel cut oats this side of the Schuylkill River and quite frankly, I will not deny myself such pleasures.
I digress. This new lodger, who says her name is Rainbow, was seated outside performing card tricks. With a lovely little rabbit at her side that goes by the name of Jellybean, she was able to divine my card eight out of ten times—an impressive percentage! She also pulled dollar bills from behind my ear! As I am gregarious to a fault, we got to talking, and I soon learned that she had been kicked out by her landlord for not paying the rent on time and had nowhere to stay. I then asked her, “Well, if you can pull dollar bills from my ear, why can’t you materialize rent?” But I think the joke was lost on her. Anyway, perhaps the recent tragedy of Butterscotch got the better of me, but I offered that she could stay in my spare room with her sweet little rabbit for the very reasonable price of fifty dollars a month—until she can get back on her feet. She tells me she is saving up to go to Vegas where she will “shock and inspire millions with her illusions.” I would not classify what I’ve seen so far as shocking or inspiring; however, this is perhaps simply an example of my ignorance when it comes to magic.