Enchanting Lily

by Anjali Banerjee

  “This is Tony,” Auntie says. “You’ll be working with him while I’m away.”

  I smile to hide the jumping beans in my gut. “Looking forward to it,” I say politely.

  Tony shakes my hand so tightly, my bones nearly break. “So you’re moving in.”

  I let go of his hand. “I’m only visiting. I’ll be staying with my parents a few blocks away.”

  Tony’s mouth opens into a round O. “Oh, no, you won’t. You need to hold down the fort. That means you stay here.”

  I turn to my aunt. “Is he serious?”

  “Of course. That’s part of the deal. You must be a caretaker for the house.”

  “I can’t stay. I’ll spend the nights at Ma and Dad’s, in the guest room. I need a desk for my work, a table. Your attic apartment is too small.”

  “Ah, but it’s the best spot in the house.”

  “But Ma has the extra bedroom made up. Lots of space there.”

  “Out of the question. You must be here, in case the toilets act up…”

  “The toilets?” I’m not a plumber.

  “…or there’s a power failure or, gods forbid, a fire.”

  “A fire?!”

  “We’ve got extinguishers. And we have many evening and early morning events. So you see, you have to stay—”

  “Events?” I blink. What events could she possibly host in this remote corner of the world?

  “Wednesday morning we’ve got an author coming to sign her books, quite early—”

  “Can’t Tony come in?”

  “I live in Seattle,” Tony says, frowning. “I take the ferry. Usually only on weekdays, but I’ll be here this weekend to help you out.”

  Auntie pats my arm. “You see? Tony is dedicated. Bookselling is a lifestyle, not a job. You don’t expect to arrive when the store opens and leave when it closes, do you?” Her eyebrows rise like two silver suspension bridges.

  “Actually, I do.” My handbag is slipping off my shoulder. I hastily pull up the strap.

  Tony is chuckling. I want to slap him.

  Auntie waggles a bejeweled forefinger in front of my face. “This is the nature of running the bookstore. Working after hours. Sleeping in the attic, listening to the books breathing at night.”

  “Books…breathing?” I hope not. My aunt needs to clean the rooms, open the windows, install more lights, and order in the new bestsellers.

  “Full-time job, nah?” she says.

  “But I have a lot of work to do while I’m here, for my real…my other job, and I’m wondering about the cell phone signal.”

  “You won’t find one here.” She gives me a warm smile, then turns to Tony. “She’s so busy, you know. She helps people sock away their money for retirement.”

  “In socially responsible accounts,” I say. And if I don’t make a perfect presentation to the Hoffman Company when I return to L.A., I may be out of a job.

  Tony looks me up and down again. “Girl, you know how to dress, but those threads are for the city, not here. You can’t wear those heels to work. Your feet will start hurting.”

  My toes are already sore. “I have a pair of sneakers in my suitcase.”

  “Then wear them. And you have jeans, I hope?”

  “Only one pair.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’ll be doing a lot of laundry, unless you buy another pair of jeans. You’re going to be on your feet all day.”

  “I thought I might help at the checkout register—”

  Tony guffaws. “What rock have you been hiding under?”

  “I’ve been living in the real world.”

  He throws his head back and laughs. “You call L.A. the real world?”

  I bite my lip to keep from spouting an acerbic reply. The snoring man snores louder. A bulb flickers on the ceiling, the floor squeaks, and a cloud of dust wafts by. I break into a fit of sneezing. The next few weeks are going to crawl by at a slug’s pace.