Winter Journeys

Chapter 9

The Bookstore Business

Joan had at first decided not to tell Luke or anybody else about getting lost. When they regrouped at the hotel, she described Old North Church and the surrounding neighborhood as if she had been exploring North End Boston on purpose. Luke hadn't paid much attention anyway; he was all wound up in what he called the 10D problem.

That night, however, Joan had an unpleasant nightmare. She was in North End Boston again, but this time she had somehow forgotten to put her clothes on before leaving the hotel. Bearded men were following her, and she couldn't run away fast enough. Adam appeared, but instead of rescuing her he started sketching her body "to remember you by, since you're away so often." When he showed it to her, the picture of her nude body somehow merged into the brief glimpse she had gotten of Grace's nakedness, back on the night she found the sleeping lovers. She awoke in a sweat.

Once the sheer nightmare feeling went away -- washing her face in cold water helped -- she could make sense of the dream. It was a bundle of anxieties, mixing up her concern of how far to go with Adam, plus terror of repeating her mother's fate, plus her recent adventure and mystery.

What finally broke her resolve was Luke's unusual display of feelings the next morning. They were eating breakfast in the hotel restaurant, in a corner where they had privacy. "I wish Grace were here."

"Is that all that you men ever think about?"

"I'm not talking about sex, Joan. I'd be delighted if she'd just kiss me. Or say she understands me. For that matter, I'd be relieved just to hear her call me a stupid dork."

"You've got your cell phone, and her number, don't you? You could call her up at any time and she'd at least call you a stupid dork."

"No. I've got to win the Polonski's respect, by refraining."

"Do you think that's possible? Once a girl's lost her virginity, it's LOST. You can't unsleep with their daughter."

"No. But it must be a soluble problem."

"Well, if you can't figure that out, I got another soiled problem that may take your mind off that one." She frankly described her previous day's incident to Luke, and voiced her deepest concern. "Why would you-know-who put me in danger?"

"Has he ever put you in danger before?" asked Luke.

It was a rhetorical question to which they both knew the answer. "Yeah. Getting stuck in a junkyard with a crazy Ramsey and a gun. But I survived without a scratch, and I suppose our friend foreknew that and thought it was worth it. The important thing was changing Ramsey's actions."

"So there must have been an important thing yesterday."

"I don't know what it is. I looked for clues. Nobody asked me for help."

"What about the guy that helped you out, Ali something?"

"Ali Musa. He didn't seem to have a problem. I was the one with the problem."

"Why would he pour out his problems to a lost girl? Maybe you're supposed to get to know him better."

"Oh, great. A metropolis of millions of people, and he's probably too new even to be in the phone book. Am I supposed to go to North End Boston and look for him, without getting lost again myself? I've already got a mission today, seeing the people who own our bookstore."

"Calm down, Joan, and think it through. We may not have to look for an individual; we can look for a group. What's the one organization a new Moslem immigrant is likely to be a part of?"

"Of course. A mosque!"

"And nowadays even a mosque will probably advertise on the web. We can do a web search tonight. Meanwhile, you can concentrate on the bookstore."

And hopefully Luke will spend the day not thinking about Grace.

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Redding and Associates had an office in a skyscraper, just one block from a subway station. Little danger of getting lost there. Joan decided to visit the office by herself and let Luke visit "Harvey" at his college. She had stopped even pretending to be Luke's chaperone.

Wearing a dress to look professional, and trying to be poised and adult-like, Joan strode into the office. "My name is Joan Girardi, and I work for your bookstore in Arcadia, Maryland. I need to talk to somebody."

"Which somebody did you have in mind?" asked the receptionist.

Joan hadn't studied the hierarchy in advance. "Um, sales manager?"

"I don't suppose you have an appointment?"

"Uh, no."

The receptionist seemed amused by Joan's awkwardness, but not particularly unfriendly. "I'll see what I can do." She got up from her desk and disappeared into the back rooms. As she did so, Joan noticed that she was wearing jeans, and probably considered Joan's skirt as hopelessly retro. Three faux pas already and she hadn't even gotten beyond the waiting room.

The receptionist came back. "Mr. Logan will see you."

Joan followed the woman into the back rooms. They weren't as dazzling as the waiting room, and that first room was probably decorated for show. The receptionist showed Joan into a corner office. An African-American man, maybe about thirty, stood up. "Pleased to meet you, Ms. Girardi. I'm Milton Logan, in charge of sales. What can I do for you?"

Joan sat down on the chair offered. "I've heard that it's possible my branch may be closed. I wanted to find out if it's true."

Mr. Logan frowned. "You know, a lot of managers would deny things, afraid that employees would bail out or sabotage their place of work. But you've come all the way here from Maryland, and deserve an honest answer. It doesn't look good."

"Oh." said Joan, trying to look philosophical. There must be something she could do here, or God wouldn't have sent her. She had to keep her cool.

"It's not YOU, it's the bookstore business. It's hard to compete with the Internet these days. If a reader can order a book with a few clicks at home, why bother driving to a store with a limited selection, which may need even have what he's looking for? It's not like when I entered the business." An emotional tone entered his speech. "I grew up in a tough neighborhood, and getting a job in a small bookstore changed my life. No bullies would bother me there, and I found myself in touch with a vast world beyond the dismal local streets. But where was I? Oh, yes."

"Savvy bookstore managers realize the competition problem," Mr. Logan went on, "and they try to introduce personal touches that the Internet can't provide. A reading room, perhaps even with refreshments. An autograph session with a favorite author. We provide funding for that, but it's up to the individual manager to take the initiative. And it looks like your boss never did."

Right. The first Sammy had been preoccupied by his sick wife. The second Sammy just wanted to sit at home and wait for the profits to roll in, which they didn't. "So my store is doomed?"

"We'll be making our decisions at year end; in other words, in about three weeks. If your boss can convince us that he can turn things around, fine. Otherwise--"

"I'm fired?"

"Not that bad. You have a good record, and we would like to keep you on, but it may be in a different capacity. If you can't beat the Internet, join it. We'll move the books to a warehouse, and notify the Internet sellers that we can fill orders. We can give you a position there. But you seem to be a "people" person, and it doesn't sound like this job is one you'd like."

"No. Well, thanks for leveling with me, Mr. Logan."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more. If your boss gets an idea, call me and I'll expedite things on this end."

"Yeah, right."

Outside the offices, Joan found a ladies' room, where she could hide for a few minutes and cry. Once she got herself under control, she got out her cell phone and called her own bookstore, hoping Sammy was there.

Sammy was surprised that she had actually taken his advice and visited Redding and Associates. She described the talk with Mr. Logan, and he started moaning: "We're doomed, we're doomed."

That reaction gave Joan an odd sense of déjà vu, which she finally resolved: Glynis had uttered those words, when she realized that her grand future career might be derailed by an unexpected pregnancy. But it hadn't been; Joan had talked Friedmann into being a man, marrying and supporting her. "We're not doomed, Sammy. Mr. Logan gave you a month to convince him that the store can still succeed. Think, Sammy, think!"

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That evening, Luke was quite happy over how his tour of Harvard had gone, and willing to help Joan with some of her own problems.

"There. The Web says that there are two mosques in the North End. If one doesn't work out, we'll try the other."

"We?"

"I'm going with you."

"Because Big Sister is too stupid to go there with out getting lost again?"

"No, for protection. Remember mother --"

Joan shuddered. "Right." And when she considered how unpromising Luke might be in a fight, she shuddered again.

-----------------

As they approached the first mosque -- actually a converted building painted with Islamic symbols -- Joan felt more confident. Professor Begh had told her about Muslim customs. "Don't go wandering around the mosque, because it's officially off-limits to unbelievers -- that's us. If you do touch sacred ground, you're supposed to take your shoes off." She herself was wearing yesterday's long dress, with a high-neckline blouse.

"As long as I get them back," said Luke.

"Huh?"

"I want to an anarchist meeting once to look for Grace, and -- oh, never mind."

She found a couple of old, bearded men in front, who looked down on the American girl invading their sacred territory. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for a guy named Ali Musa."''

"Why?"

"He helped me out Sunday when I was lost. In gratitude, I wanted to give him a gift." She displayed the wrapped present. It was a subtle touch: simply rewarding him would seem mercenary, but an exchange of gifts sounded generous.

And indeed, the Muslim seemed less on the defensive, though the next statement was a shock. "Ali Musa is not here. He has been arrested."

"Arrested. Why?"

"They think he is a terrorist."

Joan's benefactor mistaken for a terrorist? Something was very wrong, and Joan finally knew what her mission was.