Read Online The Bookstore Clerk by Mykola Dementiuk - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mykola Dementiuk
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“Nope,” and watched them walk away, annoyed by my response. I shrugged. I was in a better place, having Timmy. But Maryann was a puzzle to me, trying to appear happily married when she wasn’t, but still holding on to her dream. I suppose there were millions like her in New York City, struggling through their days and still spending their nights dreaming, but arguing bitterly with their spouse. I sighed. What could I do about it? Again, absolutely nothing! They were married and I wasn’t, at least not like them.
As the afternoon drew near its close, the evening clerks appeared on the floor. A few, I noticed, were like Timmy and me, obviously homosexual men, actors and dreamers. I instantly felt close to them, but Timmy later told me, “You have to be careful. Just because they’re like us doesn’t mean they can be close to us. Man, they’ll eat you up and spit you out as easily as anybody else can. You have to watch it with foolish queers just as you have to watch it with bitter lesbians.” He shook his head. “But we have us,” he winked. “That’s more than enough.”
Near 4:30 I saw Miss Terri on the floor, heading directly over to Connie, who was near the stairway, chatting with an evening clerk. Almost instantly you could feel the tension. The evening clerk instantly disappeared as Miss Terri said something to Connie, who lowered her head but said nothing. Miss Terri gripped her arm and forced to look up; she saw me looking at them. I turned away. Connie said something to Miss Terri, who listened. Then she came in my direction.
“I’m very disappointed in you,” Miss Terri said. “The customer was here this afternoon for his book and we didn’t have it because you purposely sold it off. You made us look ridiculous. Do you take pleasure in doing that?” I looked at her. “Answer me!”
“It’s not my fault he didn’t come sooner. Our policy is to hold the book for seven days, then it goes on the shelves again.”
“It was not on the shelves because it was being held in the basement. It should have remained there until he picked it up!”
I shook my head and shrugged.
“A customer asked for the book. I called the stockroom and was told we have it. It came up and I sold it. Just doing my job.” I hesitated, then added, “Ma’am,” and I turned away and went back to my rows of books.
My workday was over; I’d done pretty well, I thought. I removed my name tag, smiled at the remaining evening clerks and headed down the stairs, where I met Timmy about to come upstairs. We smiled at each other and he put his arm around my shoulder.
“You did well, sport,” he winked at me. “I’m very proud.”
I grinned back at him, wishing we could do more than just having his arm around me. Kissing would be nice, I thought, blushing. He removed his arm from my shoulder and we crossed busy 5 th Avenue, making our way to Broadway and the subway.
“Bet you’re tired,” he said on the subway. At that time of day it was packed.
“Nope, I feel very much alive. The work didn’t take anything from me. I feel wonderful!”
He laughed.
“First-day excitement, that’s all it is. Wait a few days, then you’ll see. It’ll become a boring, tiresome affair,” he nodded.
I grinned.
“Sure hope not.”
I glanced around the subway car. The majority of people were reading newspapers or paperback books; a few even held up hardcovers. I looked at Timmy reading, and I was happy. But where did this notion of his being my helper come from, because that’s what he certainly was—coming upon me in Times Square and taking me into his home. I wonder if people meet that way and somehow know that this person is someone they’ve just been dying to meet, just as that person was doing the same, dying to meet them as well. Do they feel it in the slowness of the subway train as it crawls uptown? Do they feel just how near their destiny is? Or do they just arrive at their stop, take their things and just get up and leave?
I
As the afternoon drew near its close, the evening clerks appeared on the floor. A few, I noticed, were like Timmy and me, obviously homosexual men, actors and dreamers. I instantly felt close to them, but Timmy later told me, “You have to be careful. Just because they’re like us doesn’t mean they can be close to us. Man, they’ll eat you up and spit you out as easily as anybody else can. You have to watch it with foolish queers just as you have to watch it with bitter lesbians.” He shook his head. “But we have us,” he winked. “That’s more than enough.”
Near 4:30 I saw Miss Terri on the floor, heading directly over to Connie, who was near the stairway, chatting with an evening clerk. Almost instantly you could feel the tension. The evening clerk instantly disappeared as Miss Terri said something to Connie, who lowered her head but said nothing. Miss Terri gripped her arm and forced to look up; she saw me looking at them. I turned away. Connie said something to Miss Terri, who listened. Then she came in my direction.
“I’m very disappointed in you,” Miss Terri said. “The customer was here this afternoon for his book and we didn’t have it because you purposely sold it off. You made us look ridiculous. Do you take pleasure in doing that?” I looked at her. “Answer me!”
“It’s not my fault he didn’t come sooner. Our policy is to hold the book for seven days, then it goes on the shelves again.”
“It was not on the shelves because it was being held in the basement. It should have remained there until he picked it up!”
I shook my head and shrugged.
“A customer asked for the book. I called the stockroom and was told we have it. It came up and I sold it. Just doing my job.” I hesitated, then added, “Ma’am,” and I turned away and went back to my rows of books.
My workday was over; I’d done pretty well, I thought. I removed my name tag, smiled at the remaining evening clerks and headed down the stairs, where I met Timmy about to come upstairs. We smiled at each other and he put his arm around my shoulder.
“You did well, sport,” he winked at me. “I’m very proud.”
I grinned back at him, wishing we could do more than just having his arm around me. Kissing would be nice, I thought, blushing. He removed his arm from my shoulder and we crossed busy 5 th Avenue, making our way to Broadway and the subway.
“Bet you’re tired,” he said on the subway. At that time of day it was packed.
“Nope, I feel very much alive. The work didn’t take anything from me. I feel wonderful!”
He laughed.
“First-day excitement, that’s all it is. Wait a few days, then you’ll see. It’ll become a boring, tiresome affair,” he nodded.
I grinned.
“Sure hope not.”
I glanced around the subway car. The majority of people were reading newspapers or paperback books; a few even held up hardcovers. I looked at Timmy reading, and I was happy. But where did this notion of his being my helper come from, because that’s what he certainly was—coming upon me in Times Square and taking me into his home. I wonder if people meet that way and somehow know that this person is someone they’ve just been dying to meet, just as that person was doing the same, dying to meet them as well. Do they feel it in the slowness of the subway train as it crawls uptown? Do they feel just how near their destiny is? Or do they just arrive at their stop, take their things and just get up and leave?
I
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