Another glance at his plan and he moved on to finishing his preparations for leaving town.
The call to the airlines was short. “Book me on the first available flight to Strasbourg.”
In his travel kit, he placed the sealed plastic oblong of restaurant honey in the bag with his toiletries. The small empty flask found a place under the folded clothes in his suitcase.
He sighed and sat down. With everything perfect, he placed the call to Alsace. “We finally will meet as planned.” He gave time and date to the duke.
“I will expect you,” the duke said. “I am looking forward to it, although the family doesn’t know.”
Once the duke clicked off the phone line, the countdown started.
The next day, dressed in a navy business suit, false ID in place, the man stood in line at the airport security checkpoint. The sealed envelope of herbs was in his shirt pocket. The plastic bin containing his wallet, belt, keys, ring and shoes inched ahead on the conveyor belt. His luggage and briefcase crept through the machine and stopped for screening.
The TSA man pulled him aside. “Place your luggage and case on this table. We need to open them for inspection.”
Startled, he complied. “Certainly.” The wand zoomed up, down and around his body.
The TSA worker rummaged through his brief case, then flipped open the suitcase for the standard fabric rumple. He shook the empty flask and took the lid off, then unzipped the travel kit. “This looks like trouble.”
The man flinched, but did not speak.
“Look here, your shampoo bottle is too big. I need to confiscate it.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize.”
The TSA man jammed all the clothing into the suitcase. “Thank you for your cooperation. On your way.”
The man moved on, troubled over his new problem: getting the Book of Cures through customs on the way back from Alsace. The examination of his suitcase had been thorough. The simple plan of hiding the stolen object in his suitcase had been naive. If his case was opened, even a disguised book would be discovered, particularly if police bulletins were flashing out to all the airports. Luckily, he had a long overseas flight to come up with a new way to get the book to America.
Aggie discovered folds of money missing from the farm cash box. Food, some herbs and other supplies were gone from the kitchen. In the garden, it looked like some of the most dangerous plants leaves had been picked and a couple of the safe ones too. She swore a few gypsy oaths, wishing Griffo everything he deserved. She flipped to the back of her green family book to see if the recipe for lively tea was still there. It was. Through the years, she’d kept the crumbly paper secure in its unsealed envelope. Five ingredients spelled out a magical tea of romance her family had received from a wandering gypsy hundreds of years ago. The old ones told of ways the recipe was passed down for generations until now, it rested in Aggie’s family book. Early in her life, relatives had whispered the tale of a healer and his mysterious tea. Often, like vapors through moon fires, the thought of the tantalizing drink tripped through her mind. Her mama made her promise on an oath of gypsy blood not to stir up the remedy until a sign appeared from above. The sign never came, because the most important ingredient, the lively plant, was never found. The drawing in her book showed its shape, different from other plants, with leaves shaped like elf ears. She hung the other ingredients in bunches, waiting in the garage, sending out earthy aromas to tempt her with possibilities.
All her life, like countless gypsies before her, she’d been pulled into the shadows of a gloomy premonition about this special drink that made a person feel good, a tea of love and fulfillment. In the old country, relatives before her had gathered all the ingredients and re-created the drink, but they had not waited for a sign from above. Family lore said that afterward, storms of locusts fell from the heavens upon them. Toes and earlobes turned to twisted sticks. Minds emptied like wine jugs.
So Aggie waited and waited some more. By her seventieth decade, she’d never tried to mix up the recipe because she’d never found the strange elf-eared plant. No gypsy she knew had ever seen or been visited by the sign.
“Oh, live a little,” she murmured, “to celebrate the book club.” Aggie traipsed out to the garage and plucked bits of the four available herbs. In the kitchen, she donned an old apron bequeathed to her from her mama, put the kettle on, and measured the ingredients. Even though she was unable to create the actual forbidden drink of five ingredients, she could mix the other four herbs in a mason jar for a batch of “almost feel good” tea. She heated water to boiling and poured it into a flowered tea pot. Slowly she added the herb mixture and waited for the mystical liquid to steep.
After time infused the hot water with flavor and fragrance, she poured the tea into a crackled cup. She took a spoon and raised the tiniest drop to her lips for a taste. Even without the missing herb, she felt almost better. She touched her ear, no twisted lobe. She looked out the window. Gratefully, no influx of locusts had descended. After she downed the contents of the tea pot, she danced around the kitchen, baking a batch of flower cookies. Then, she decorated the platter with chive blossoms from the garden, petals of edible monarda from the patch by the porch, and slivers of dandelions greens. She assembled other items to take to the club meeting. “Next time, I’ll make a batch of this tea for the others.”
Dressed in her crazy quilt skirt, she drove to Cut & Curl for book club.
Piper stood with the salon door wide open, letting the sunshine pour in. “Welcome, dear book club lady.”
“I’m ready to get started.” Aggie carried in two brown paper bags, with a carry-all of bottled milk slung over her shoulder. “Goat milk to drink, farm cheese, oat and seed flower cookies.”
“Great idea. I wasn’t expecting refreshments.” Piper took the bags from her and set them on the salon counter. Aggie unloaded the food, while Piper went to the window to look up the street.
“I expect she’ll be here soon,” Aggie said.
An orange bookmobile crept down Main Street and parked. Lily slowly opened the door and got out.
Piper ran out the door to meet her. “It’s Ms. McFae, isn’t it? You look different. Must be the great jeans. How about a free haircut, for making the trip to help us?”
Lily pursed her mouth. “Oh…kay.”
“I had something to ask you before we start. About personal reading for me, maybe stimulating…suggestive…”
“What a magical traveling orange-mobile.” Aggie stood at the door.
“Oh, never mind, let’s go in,” Piper said.
A circle of three folding chairs waited. The library volumes left behind for consideration by the book club lay on a little table.
“I’m not much for chitchat,” Lily said, “but I do talk books.” She brought out notes and one at a time, picked up the selections. “Any others coming?”
“No, we’re all here.” Piper waved to the librarian. “Go for it.”
“I believe you had a question, Piper.”
“Talk to you about that later.”
The librarian pushed her glasses to the bridge of her nose. “I’m not disappointed there are only two of you. I’m sure you are kindred literary spirits.”
“Well, we needed you to come,” Piper said, “to jump-start the club.”
“Mostly, we don’t know what we’re doing, that’s why we asked,” Aggie added. She put the cookie platter near their chairs, poured little paper cups of milk, and handed out tidbits of cheese. “Made at my farm.”
Lily took a bite, then tried a sip of milk. “I never sampled goat milk before. It’s good. The cheese is excellent.” She picked up the poetry book. “I am incredibly happy you love books enough to nourish the beginning of a book club. As a way to begin, let me find a passage to share.”
“Is that the way to start each time?” Piper got up to grab a pencil and paper from a drawer. “I’ll write that down.”
“Only if you want to do it. This maxim comes to me: ‘We re
ad to train the mind, to fill the mind, to rest the mind, to recreate the mind, or to escape the mind.’ Holbrook Jackson said that.”
“That makes reading sound pretty serious.” Piper put down the pencil and reached for a cookie. “I’m not all that dedicated to training or recreating or even resting. But definitely escaping. Something snappy would do it.”
Lily closed the poetry book. “An understandable approach. Reading does not have to be serious.”
“Good. I’ve had enough of that. A few years ago, my mom skipped out to Vegas and left me her beauty shop. In this town, I’m young to own a business, and I’m grateful she left it to me. Even though it’s a big obligation, I took it on. I’ve always jumped into things. ‘Leap before you look,’ I say.”
Lily sat still, looking thoughtful, then smiled. “Is leaping into books why you started the club? It’s as good a reason as any.”
“Yup, I thought a book club might be fun and an escape from more serious things.”
“Doesn’t your mama give you advice on running the shop? Gypsies talk rings around things like that.”
“Oh, we never talked much in our family. And never about advice or problems.” Piper reached for a cheese cube. “So that’s why I’m here. You’re next, Aggie.”
“For me, reading is something to do when the work is done, when I can sit. And the club doesn’t cost money.” Her voice dropped. “Not many dollars left over for entertainments when a gypsy runs a goat farm.” She sighed.
“So that’s the story on us.” Piper pointed to Lily. “What about you?”
Lily reached for a book and looked away. “Me? Gracious, I’m not personally interesting at all, but I care for the special books at the library. The beautiful volumes are important, not me. And I keep busy dusting their spines. Breathing their fumes. Arranging cloth-cased folders and elegant calfskin and Japanned oxhide. Every time I touched those books, it was with reverence and white gloves.” She gazed out the window. “‘O would I were where I would be! Then should I be where I am not. But where I am, there I must be, and where I would be I cannot.’”
A puzzled look flitted over Piper’s face. “What on earth does that mean?”
“I am where I am, I guess, not where I might choose to….”
The women’s eyes shifted away.
“Oh, don’t misunderstand.” Lily’s shoulders dropped. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, but right now my job is…changing in a way. But here I am to talk about the adventures of reading. How it can sweep you away. Make you laugh. Throw you off cliffs.”
“Not too much throwing and falling, I hope. My arthritis.” Aggie curled her crooked fingers. “But the laughing part, I like. Not much laughter at the farm nowadays.”
“That’s the great part about book clubs. You read whatever you like. Books of humor, for example. Or adventurous subjects.”
“Now you’re talking.” Piper leaned forward. “Like how adventurous?”
Lily studied the alert expressions on the two women’s faces. “As far as you want to go. An infinite number of possibilities dwells in books: exploring for diamonds in caves, skimming past mountains on feathery gliders, swinging on vines in the jungle. You can conquer the world while remaining safe in your chair.”
“I used to explore and skim and swing.” Aggie sighed. “Not so much, any more.”
“Then lose yourself in novels of other people’s lives. Or in mysteries. No one gets hurt during the reading process,” said Lily.
“I can tell you’re pretty jazzed up about books.” Piper brushed crumbs from her lap. “You have the perfect job.”
“Actually, there was a disappointment in that regard, due to my own temperament.” Lily clutched the book against her breast. “Anyway, let’s forget that.”
“I understand about disappointment.” Aggie looked way. “And trying not to remember.”
“Hey, I’d like to forget a few things too,” Piper said.
Lily put the book back on the table. “For a while now, I’ve looked for different things to brighten my life. I pierced my ears on my thirty-fifth birthday and every birthday after that, I pushed myself into something new. Tasted the local calamari. Attempted to surf. Drank corn coffee. Last year, something private, but this year, I turned forty and I’m driving my splurge, an orange bookmobile.” Lily took a big breath. “And that is more than enough about me.”
The women regarded their hands, folded neatly in their laps.
“Then on to something new,” Piper said.
Aggie folded her hands over her faded patchwork skirt and cleared her throat. “New things are not always good. Illness. Sadness. Grief. Not many people in town know, but a while back, I lost my husband, Cim.”
Lily leaned forward. “My condolences.”
Piper gave Aggie an odd look. “But what about Camlo?”
“Whenever possible, gypsies do not say the name aloud of a departed one. So I do not say his name, except in my inner thoughts. Cim is the name I use for him now.”
Piper reached over and patted Aggie’s hand. “I didn’t know. Ever so often, I saw you and your husband around town. Not for a while, I guess. I didn’t realize he died.”
“I’m not certain if you want to go ahead with book club today. We’ve gotten personal rather quickly.” Lily’s face flushed. “Although I’ve heard sometimes it’s easier to talk to people who don’t know you. What do you want to do?”
“If Aggie agrees, I say we keep going,” Piper glanced over at the old woman. “Maybe reading will give us some sort of escape from our dark times.”
Aggie nodded.
Lily pointed to the library books on the table. “Looking at the selections I brought, which book reached you enough to want to discuss it?”
“I did like Rossetti,” Aggie said, “but she made me weep.”
Piper’s back straightened up. “Oh, let’s not do sad. We don’t need that. We need something to liven us up.”
“It’s your club.” Lily pointed to the science fiction on the table. “What comes to mind? Sci Fi or spy novels?”
Piper’s cheeks flushed as she stood up and moved to the barber chair. “Since it looks like we’re getting along pretty good here, I’ll throw out a suggestion. Just a thought, but how about something romantic? I mean very, very romantic. I mean books with sexy scenes. I love the real thing, but heck, reading about it might be worth something. We could have kind of a risqué book club.”
Aggie gave her a blank stare. The room was quiet enough to hear the calls of small children playing in a far yard. The slam of a car door in the next block. The chirping of a sparrow on the outskirts of town.
Piper returned to her seat. “I mean my life’s not so sexy right now for whatever reason, and I’m curious, like most women. That kind of reading might be a substitute for…” Her hand lingered next to her mouth. “Things. To forget certain things. I don’t mean a dirty book club, exactly, but one about…airotica.”
Lily thought of the books in the bookmobile closet. “An Erotica Book Club is absolutely possible.”
Aggie and Piper perched like birds, waiting for Lily to feed them mysterious seeds.
The librarian smiled. “There are classics in a genre called erotica.”
“Exactly how’s that spelled?” asked Piper.
“E-r-o-t-i-c-a, erotica.”
Piper nodded. “Oh, yeah.”
Lily leaned back in the chair. “In the beginning, you might want to broaden the term for your club. Think about the desire and hunger for pleasure as well as passion. Remember though, you don’t have to choose erotica. You could choose another book, one about –”
“Pleasure that feels like waves of a wild hairdo. With moving and swirling.” Piper shook her head to let her curls fly.
“Pleasure rolling in like an enormous sunburst, warming my body.” Aggie stretched out her arms. “I think what we want to read is ….”
Aggie and Piper shouted together, “Erotica.”
Piper j
umped up. “We could call ourselves The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies. And not tell anyone. I’m not sure how that name would go over in town.”
Aggie wrinkled her brow. “And I’m not sure exactly what it is.”
Lily stacked the library books. “Erotica has many meanings. It’s studied by scholars and historians. Even religious figures.”
“Let’s not do history. Or religion,” Piper said. “What about reading for the curious woman?”
Aggie massaged her thumbs. “Maybe start with slow and short. I’m not the most up-to-date lady. It was pleasure that sounded right. My gypsy family understood and yearned for pleasure.”
“The material doesn’t have to be explicit. Sometimes pleasure can be derived from being tantalized.” Lily held up a square of cheese. “For example, a craving for this creamy morsel. Or a voluptuous pear. Juicy. Tempting. The anticipation of tasting it.”
“Nibbling food to substitute for ears. Or other parts.” Piper tilted her head. “I can see that.”
Aggie mumbled to herself. “Yes, a strong man with a gentle mouth is to be wished for.”
Piper’s eyes widened. “You, Aggie, get right to the point.”
Lily paged through the poetry book. “Perhaps something acceptable to most people. Like Algernon Charles Swinburne. This is called “A Match.” From the last stanza,
If you were queen of pleasure,
And I were king of pain,
We’d hunt down love together,
Pluck out his flying-feather,
And teach his feet a measure,
And find his mouth a rein;
Piper frowned. “King of pain. Like whips and stuff?”
“We could talk about whether that’s what the poet meant,” Lily said.
“Or talk about plucking feathers. I know more about that from the farm.”
Piper nodded. “And sexy feet, I wonder how that works.”
“So with only a few words, you’ve run off in different directions. That’s good.” Lily closed the book.
“Leave that book of poetry for Piper, so she can figure out the sexy feet.” Aggie chuckled. “Although I’d really like to take it home first, to read the thoughts of different poets.”
The Erotica Book Club for Nice Ladies Page 7
