Her name was Wendy. Wendy Cunningham. She was told as a child that she was named after the character of "Wendy Darling" from J.M Barrie's play "Peter Pan." Her parents never did tell her why she was named after her, but through her grandmother she learned it was because she was concieved on the night that her parents saw the play. Now at the age of thirty, both of Wendy's parents were dead and Wendy was now living in a poorly-kept flat in London. Although she had resided in London most of her life, she never crossed by the area named Bloomsbury. It's not that she wanted to go there, she just never had the chance. Her job often kept her busy. As Wendy continued to stroll the streets of Bloomsbury, she passed by a small shop named "Black Books." Wendy, having an admiration for any type of literature, stepped inside of the shop. As she began wondering up and down the aisles in search of some decent books, she could see a man passed out at his desk. Fearing that perhaps he was hurt or worse, Wendy approached the man and shook his shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir?" said Wendy, shaking the man gently.
The man suddenly popped up, apparently startled by Wendy's presence. Upon smelling his breath, Wendy knew exactly why the man was passed out.
"A bit too much, eh?" chuckled Wendy.
"I am not drunk." said the man.
"Oh, then I suppose you wash your teeth with beer then?" asked Wendy sarcastically.
"We're closed. Go away." said the man, his speech beginning to slur.
"I can't leave you like this. You're as drunk as a sailor, and you probably can't even stand." said Wendy.
The man, determined to prove Wendy wrong, stood to his feet but only collasped forward. Wendy caught him and sat him back in the chair. She knelt in front of the man and held up ten fingers.
"How many fingers do you see?" asked Wendy.
The man seemed disoriented and seemed to try to focus on Wendy's breasts rather than her hands.
"Are those real?" asked the man.
Wendy rolled her eyes and slapped the man across the face. This defintely seemed to get the man's attention.
"What was that for?" asked the man, rubbing his cheek.
"Hangover or not, I don't like being spoken to like some kind of cheap whore." said Wendy.
"Well, I have a rather strong dislike for people, but here you stand." said the man.
"Who are you anyway? An alcoholic Scrooge?"
"My name is Black. Bernard Black." said the man.
"Black? You own this store?" asked Wendy, her eyebrows raised with surprise.
"Why are you surprised?" asked Bernard.
"It's only that booksellers seemed to be a bit more social. Friendly." said Wendy, shrugging her shoulders.
"Well, clowns are suppose to be funny, but they aren't. They're damn frightening." said Bernard.
Bernard suddenly began to dig through his pockets, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. It seemed because of his current state that Bernard was having troubles lighting his cigarette. Wendy smiled and lit the cigarette for him.
"Ever had a smoke?" asked Bernard.
"Once. When I was thirteen." said Wendy, she stood to her feet.
Wendy began wondering through the shop again, scanning through at least several of the books. Bernard, finally able to stand, walked up to Wendy and rested against a nearby shelf.
"Do you like books?" asked Bernard.
Wendy closed the book she was holding and looked up at Bernard, and couldn't help but smile at his terrible ice-breaker.
"I guess you could say that. My Mum was a teacher, and my Dad was a professor. They use to give me all sorts of books to read. Mostly Dickens and Austen." said Wendy.
"So if classics are your thing, then why are you shopping for books in a second-rate store?" asked Bernard, folding his arms.
"Perhaps because I simply love books and the company that I'm in." said Wendy.
Bernard seemed surprised, nobody had ever enjoyed being around him, not even his co-worker Manny. Wendy saw a book on a top shelf that appealed to her, and she reached for it, only to find that she was too short. Bernard took the book off of the shelf and handed it to Wendy.
"Thank you." said Wendy.
Wendy held her two books in one arm and took out her purse, but Bernard shook his head.
"They're free." said Bernard.
Wendy nodded and left the shop. At that moment, a much older man entered the shop, and seemed interested when he saw Wendy leaving.
"We had a customer?" asked the older man.
"Yeah Manny, we did." said Bernard.
"So, what's our profit?" asked Manny.
"Nothing. I gave them to her for free."
"Free? Just how much did you drink last night?"
Bernard shrugged. "Only half a bottle of whisky." he said.
