“It’ll be worse.” Marian broke into a grin. “August.”
“I’ve had animals with heat stroke all week. It’s good for business, but honestly, how hard is it to remember to water your pets?” Terry thanked the server for the drinks and headed back to the table where Jersey was waiting.
“Did you find her, Ellie?” Carrie sounded highly amused.
Marian glanced over her shoulder. Ellie was panting and looking uncustomarily disheveled.
“That was aerobic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you run that fast.” Jersey kicked a chair in Ellie’s direction.
Ellie collapsed into the chair. “Not a sign of her. I have no idea where she disappeared to.”
“She took one look at you and ran,” Terry observed as she set one of her two froth-topped cups in front of Jersey.
“She didn’t even see me.” Ellie mopped her forehead with a napkin.
“Well, she was definitely running from something, dear.” Carrie got up for more chocolate sprinkles. “She nearly knocked me over. I barely had a chance to wish her blessed be and she was off.”
“Amy was right, wasn’t she?” Ellie clicked her tongue, making Marian stare at the ceiling.
“A lovely woman,” Carrie agreed. “Doesn’t anyone have a name?”
“Lovely? That’s an understatement. And believe me, if I had found her out there I’d have gotten a name. And thanks for not eating my frozen yogurt while I was gone, guys. Good thing Marian wasn’t here—she’d have finished it.”
“Thanks, Ellie, I love you, too.” Marian ordered her frozen decaf mocha with skim, no cream, and sauntered back to the table to drop off her backpack.
“Wouldn’t you say so, Marian? That new woman—she’s not just lovely. Talk about Femme on a Triscuit.” Ellie licked the back of her spoon suggestively.
“She’s quite attractive. I hope we’re not going to argue about that for the next hour.” She wondered what Ellie would think of the building assault Marian had witnessed. Edible yes, Inner Slut agreed enthusiastically, with those slender legs emerging from those tiny red shorts with the slits on the side.
Shut up, Marian thought. Edible, maybe, but a tetch unstable.
She opened her mouth to say something but stopped. It had been odd, but also, well, private.
“Those eyes,” Ellie moaned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen eyes like that. A sort of creamy blue with hints of green.” Terry twisted the tiny gold hoop in her left ear. “Where do you suppose she gets that skin from?”
Jersey smacked Terry lightly on the shoulder. “Honey, as if how she looks concerns you.”
“I’ve got eyes,” Terry said mildly.
“I thought you only had eyes for me.”
“I do when it counts, sweetie.” Terry abruptly frowned. “Do you think if I tried I could be covered in more pet hair?”
“Hazards of being a vet, honey. Good thing I’m not allergic.” Jersey made a face at her drink. “It’s not like any of you looked higher than her shoulders.”
“I looked at her eyes,” Ellie protested. “Eventually.” Marian wandered back to the counter for her last indulgence of the day. More chocolate on top and two packets of fake sugar completed it to her satisfaction.
Terry scooted over one chair to give Marian easier access to the table.
“New software on the library terminals,” Marian said.
“You’ve had a stinky day, then.” Ellie raised her mug for a clink of solidarity.
“Another understatement. It’s easy to use but General Public and all the Lieutenants don’t like change.” The first hit of coffee, chocolate and melting ice felt like ambrosia on her tongue. She was going to live.
“I couldn’t work with the public,” Jersey volunteered. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“I like my job, even though today I wanted to commit multiple homicides. I like helping people find what they want.” It was hard to explain, though she’d tried before. “Most people want to Blue Book their car or get the latest bestseller, but sometimes what they really want is information about a dream they cherish. Like information about an exotic holiday spot. Or how to file a patent application.” Jersey shrugged. “But can’t they use a computer to find books these days?”
There was a short silence. Any other day of the entire month and Marian would not have been offended by Jersey’s usual lack of tact.
She wanted to snap back that search words were an art to choose, and one of the real pleasures of her job.
“Oh. I did it again, huh? Sorry, Marian. I know a computer could not possibly do your job, I know that. I was just thinking it would be nice if most people could do self-help and let you do the harder searches.”
Mollified, Marian smiled. “I understand what you mean.”
“Which is a good thing,” Ellie said. “Because she’s got PMS.” Terry made a show of inching away from Marian. “Do I need asbestos gloves?”
“Your hormone swings used to be worse than mine, and you know it.”
“Thankfully, I am largely free of such worries these days. I love being fifty. Fifty plus lube equals fun.”
“Terry!” Jersey flushed. “Do you have to tell our secrets?” Terry got the wicked smile that Marian loved. “Yes, it’s the liber-ation of my inner crone.”
“Marian, dear, have you tried that preparation I gave you for your hormone fluctuations?” Carrie regarded Marian serenely.
“It doesn’t seem to make much difference. I either want to murder strangers or commit chocolate suicide.”
“Oh, dear. Perhaps you should stop by and we’ll work out something else.”
Marian fought down a blush, remembering the first time she’d stopped into Carrie’s herb shop. Right now, her hormones raging, that night with Carrie ran through her mind like a DVD pausing at just the good parts.
Ellie nudged Marian, probably all too aware of what Marian was thinking. Damn, then she did blush and everyone, including Carrie, snickered.
Inner Historian reported that, according to the Iowa City dance card she carefully maintained in her memory banks, everyone at the table had been with Carrie at least once. Marian wasn’t sure anyone at the table besides Carrie knew it as well. It was an odd feeling, realizing Carrie knew what they all sounded like when they climaxed.
Well, she guessed they had all climaxed. She knew she had. Twice.
Carrie’s knowledge of female anatomy was better than some of the gynecologists she’d been to.
Now that she thought about it, she realized they all knew what Carrie sounded like, too. It felt, well, naughty, if she pondered it too long. Inner Prude suggested that it would probably be wise, then, not to think about it. Inner Slut, however, wanted to dwell on all the details. Useless hormones.
“Hey, Patty!” Ellie had the best view of the door, Marian realized, because it was several seconds before Patty’s short black hair and broad shoulders came into her line of sight.
“Can’t stay,” Patty called back. “Just grabbing a latte for Wen.
The line at the Java House was out the door.”
“I’m just wiped out,” Marian said. She allowed Inner Slut to watch Patty taking up her position in line. Even standing still Patty’s muscles rippled. “I’m going to drink this, go home and sleep until noon.”
“Since when do you get Thursdays off?” Ellie demanded. “I’ve got more pipes to rip out.”
“I don’t, but I might call in queer. I feel really crappy.” Carrie said kindly, as usual, “A good herbal tea would help, I’m sure.”
“Tea is not what Marian needs.” Ellie sighed. “If I don’t get the new woman, Marian should. She’s overdue.”
“I’m not in the market,” Marian muttered. She clamped her mouth shut. Damned hormones. She’d almost blurted out she was in love with her next-door neighbor. Something in her belly felt suddenly off and a dull throb thudded against her pelvic bone.
“You ought to be.” Terry gave her a philosophical look. “Don’t waste yo
ur thirties. Mine were fun, but too short.”
“She was in today.” The throb repeated itself.
Everyone paused and Marian realized what she’d said.
“What’s her name?” Ellie smiled sweetly, which meant she was resisting the urge to smack Marian.
“I’m sorry, that’s library records.”
Jersey set down her cup and gave Marian an intent stare. “Oh, not her name, surely.”
“Yes, including her name. And don’t call me Shirley.”
“Marian, how long have we been friends?”
“Forever, Ellie, and I still can’t tell you.” At the moment, Marian honestly couldn’t remember. The throb in her pelvis was getting stronger.
“I’ll never forgive you if Sandy gets her first.”
“Join the F.B.I. and bring some special agents with you invoking the Patriot Act, and then I can tell you.”
“She lives here in town?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Marian!”
“Ellie!”
Ellie got that look, that about-to-burst-into-song look.
“Ellie, don’t you dare. Not today.”
“Tell me her name.”
Patty paused at the table, leaning her square, buff frame over Ellie’s shoulder. “If you sing ‘Marian the Librarian’ I will help Marian kill you.”
“Amen,” Carrie added. “Fresh Meat is not worth fighting over.”
“Oh, I don’t know, she’s gorgeous.” Ellie continued to give Marian a narrow stare.
“Let’s do a pool.” Terry smiled brightly. “I’m willing to place a bet.”
“Oh no, guys, please ...” Marian began. She suddenly ached all over. She was in no mood for proof that everyone regarded her as the least likely to attract the interest of a new woman. That she didn’t want to attract anyone at this point in her life was suddenly beside the point.
Dollar bills floated onto the table. Even Patty dropped one in.
“My money’s on Carrie,” Jersey said firmly.
“How flattering—but our auras weren’t compatible.” Carrie regarded Marian serenely. “I’m not seeking her out.”
“Neither am I,” Marian said quickly. “And I’m not betting.”
“We should get Hemma and Amy to bet,” Terry added.
Great, just what I need, Marian thought, the woman I love betting for or against me seducing someone else. Her mood went from charcoal to black.
“So everyone is backing Ellie?” Terry poised her pen over a napkin she’d already dated. “You want to change your mind, honey?” Jersey glanced at Carrie and then nodded. “Okay, I’ll back Ellie, too.”
“Wait.” Ellie put her hand over the small pile of bills. “If you all pick me you’ll just get your money back. This is pointless.”
“Then I’ll make it interesting,” Carrie said. “I’m betting on Marian.”
“But I’m not trying.”
Terry did her perfect Yoda impression. “There is no try, only do, young Skywalker.”
“But I don’t want to do her.” Marian glanced around. “Seriously.”
“There are lots of babies in the world that prove you don’t have to be actively trying to create something new.” Carrie shrugged.
“It’ll make the bet worth doing.”
“Guys?” Marian put her hand on her abdomen.
“What?” Ellie snapped.
“I’ve got cramps.”
The napkins on the table ruffled in the collective sigh of relief.
Ellie touched her cup to Marian’s in salute. “Thank goodness.”
“Way to go.” Terry slapped Marian on the shoulder. She gathered up the bills and folded them into the napkin on which she had recorded their bets. “Carrie takes the long odds, so we have our-selves a horse race.”
“I’m not mounting up,” Marian muttered.
“This is the most politically incorrect thing I’ve done in ages,” Carrie said. She shook a wrinkle out of her long cotton dress. “Gaia works in mysterious ways, however.”
“It’s okay,” Marian said. “Everything will be okay now.” She smiled, feeling serene for the first time in days. Then she recalled that she was wearing her new white cargo shorts. Typical, just typical. “See y’all Friday night.”
Wednesday evening, June 4
Feel better. Very settled now that I’ve made up my mind on the M.L.S.
It helps not to be hormonal. I wish that the whole bleeding thing had an opt-out choice.
School is going to upset my routine in the fall, but I hope not Thursday night dinner. It’s the one thing I know I can look forward to every week.
Trombone chose the mocs today and Hill burped up more cotton. I should just pick up new underwear every time I go to the store. Maybe if I tell Trombone that my old boots are my absolute favorite shoes she’ll choose them for her hairball gifts. Ellie has the short odds to land the new woman. Best of luck to her.
Looking forward to telling HER and Amy tomorrow night about the M.L.S. HER will be pleased I’ve taken this step.
“First, click the ‘Reset to New User’ button,” Marian said, trying hard not to sound as if she’d already said it a hundred times so far today. She had really wanted to call in sick except Eric would have skinned her alive for leaving him with Bill and new software to show every user. “After you log on, the timer will start over. It’s designed to help remind people that others might be waiting to use the Internet. And this button here will turn off the Internet filters.” At least this patron appeared to have the basic skills to navigate the new software. The older woman peered up at Marian over her glasses. “I don’t disagree that it is useful to have a way to make access to the computers more fair, but I’m not comfortable with anyone being able to know what I’ve been looking up while I’m here.” Marian agreed with the patron’s concern. “If you log out properly, the system will purge your user history for this session.” The patron two computers down asked, “But what if I want to come back to a site again? I don’t have anything to hide.” The woman bristled. “Neither do I, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to preserve my privacy. I’m planning a trip to Cairo and somebody could decide I’m a terrorist!”
Marian said soothingly, “As a system, our library has decided that the patron’s privacy is more important than the convenience of bookmarks and even being able to look up books you’ve checked out in the past. Amazon.com knows more about your reading preferences than we ever will.” Marian did not want to get into a debate about the USA Patriot Act, at least not right now. She doubted either patron cared that significant federal funds would be withheld if the Internet filters weren’t defaulted to On at every workstation.
“What we don’t know we can’t be compelled to tell.”
Neither patron seemed particularly mollified, but they went back to their browsing and Marian returned to her shared stint at reshelving. It was such a bitch when the circulation clerks were collectively unreliable. The usually steady Toni had been out sick a lot lately, too, and with students gone for the summer it was difficult to find substi-tutes.
Eric emerged from smallest of the three study rooms, smiling pleasantly at the latest job applicant. Even from across the floor, Marian could see he wasn’t impressed. Mary Jane, the library manager, likewise had that stiff what-a-waste-of-time look that had taken Marian two years to learn to read.
After the applicant had left, Marian joined them. “Let me guess. She wants to be a librarian because of the serene quiet and getting to read books all day.”
“And she thinks working with the public will be fun.” Eric sighed heavily.
“She obviously hasn’t before,” Marian muttered. “Sorry. I just hate to see another wide-eyed librarian hopeful crushed by reality.” Mary Jane pushed her glasses into position. “It’s not a career for the weak-at-heart. Thank you, Eric. Marian, you sit in on the next one at two.”
Marian trailed after Mary Jane into her office. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m go
ing to do it.”
“Have you?” Mary Jane beamed. “I think it’s an excellent decision. Make some capital off that master’s in history you went to such trouble to get.”
Marian basked in Mary Jane’s approval. She was both friend and mentor. “I’ll have that recommendation letter for you to sign some time next week. The application isn’t due for the fall semester until then.”
“So I’ll have another Master of Library and Information Science working for me who’ll want a promotion.” Mary Jane arched an eyebrow. “Might even be after my job.”
“I would never do that—oh. You are such a tease.”
Mary Jane’s neutral expression didn’t alter. “So I’ve been told.”
“By whom?”
“Don’t be impertinent.”
Marian went back to the book carts with a giggle in her throat.
Mary Jane could give off that reserved, cool, asexual vibe all she wanted, but Marian had seen her in her leathers.
A voice rose from the direction of the reference desk. “You must be kidding!”
Marian peered through the shelving to see what the problem was.
Oh, now that was poetic justice. Bill, the lazy lizard, was the recipi-ent of Seventh Dimension Bitch’s current frustration. They deserved each other. Let Bill show her how to use the new software.
She was shelving a volume on medical politics when she remembered the book Fresh Meat—really, she scolded herself, you can’t call her that—had needed yesterday. She’d probably like this one as well. Libby Peel, she recalled, from her hurried glance at the woman’s license. If Peel came in again, Marian would point the book out. Reader advisories in nonfiction were her specialty. She didn’t want to be a library manager like Mary Jane—too many stressful administrative details, not to mention having to always be poised, cool and more dressed up. Library managers did not get to gad about in shorts and tank tops when it was ninety. A collection manager, now that had appeal. She could debate collection development policy all day and go back after dinner for more.
Getting her M.L.S. was the right thing to do. Besides, she had the time to do it. She ought to have done it when Robyn left. If she had, she’d be done now.
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