Everett tentatively pushed open the door. He stepped in the door, looked around, and wondered if there was some proper etiquette for a Root Emporium. A man behind the counter looked up at him, seemingly shocked by the presence of another in his store. He practically leapt from his chair to greet Everett.
"Roots! Welcome! Can I help you, what's your name?" the man said making wild gestures with his arms.
"Ah, Everett's my name. Just wandered in...out of curiosity I guess," Everett replied, carefully shaking his hand. "I uh, I don't think I caught your name."
"Roots."
No, your name."
"Yes, confusing I know. Roots is my name." Everett looked puzzled and nodded.
"So, do you have anything in mind?" the man said, continuing his bizarre, jittery movements.
"No, no roots for me please. I really just wanted to familiarize myself with some of the additions to the neighborhood." In his hands, Everett had a container of cous cous from Ya-ya's and Madame Fouquois' business card. On this particular afternoon, having read the entire newspaper and completed all the crossword puzzles inside his apartment, he decided to go browse the root shop for some variety. Everywhere he went, the people were friendlier and far more open than he expected. All and all he felt it was a successful afternoon.
As Roots chatted with Everett about his interests and any ailments of his, Roots gave him something brown for his achey joints and sent him on his way.
"Yes, I promise, I will come straight to you for all of my roots needs." Everett left the shop, smiling, glad he had ventured from his usual stops in town.
Returning to his apartment, he opened his mail box and inside was a thick envelope. He opened it on the spot. It was a bound copy of one of his manuscripts from the publishing company he'd sent it to. He chuckled out loud and trotted up the stairs.
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That girl – that crying girl, the younger one – Eros couldn’t get her out of his head. He usually didn’t like children, they were so immature, lacking in taste and refinement. They were petty and lacking direction, exactly the sort of people Eros couldn’t stand.
But that girl, there was something about her. True, she was hardly a child any more. Eros assumed she had to be at least 18 years of age, perhaps a little older. So she had to be here with her parents, or perhaps she was on her own already. That was a sad thought, the notion that a girl so young was already on her own. But it was now hardly any of his concern – he hadn’t seen the girl since that day. She really didn’t have any bearing on what Eros was trying to accomplish.
Today Eros would be taking steps to secure the rights to the lot, his lot, from Mamet. The old man had been very obstinate and he insisted that the lot had to be “preserved in its current state for the pleasure of future generations.” Eros hadn’t dared ask permission to merely excavate the site, as that might arouse Mamet’s suspicions.
But there had to be a way. Eros had not come this far to be beaten by circumstance. In Italy, when Jennifer had told him everything, the treasure had seemed so close. Eros felt he would only need to reach out and touch it. Now, his destiny was just meters away but he was powerless to achieve it.
But this obsessing was getting to Eros. He decided a good distraction would be in order. For Eros, this meant a good book. He’d taken several dozen books with him from Italy, but they were his favorites that he had read over and over again. Most were Italian and Venetian histories, but he also had several works of classic fiction: The Inferno, Queen Margot, Treasure Island and The Count of Monte Cristo. He also had the poetry collections of Andrew Marvell and several art histories. Eros, however, had already read all those books several times from cover to cover. He decided it would a good idea to try to read something new for a change.
He’d noticed a rare book store just down the way from the apartments and he thought that just such a place would have the tome he was looking for.
Eros left his apartment, being sure to turn out all the lights and to securely lock the door on his way out. On his way down the stairs, Eros always took the stairs, as he found them far more pragmatic than having to wait for the dilapidated elevator, he passed that girl he’d met early, Karen. She was talking with some man in greasy overall who smelled of gasoline and exhaust. Eros inclined his head to Karen as he passed her and she smiled radiantly in reply. The man she was with also greeted Eros, but with a solid upward tilt of his head.
Outside, the fiery sun had yet to burn off the chill of the morning. Eros began to regret not bringing his leather jacket but at this point he decided returning to fetch it simply wasn’t merited.
The book store was a couple blocks away but Eros didn’t mind the trek. In Venice, he’d grown accustomed to walking several miles of day, so this charming little jaunt was nothing. When he arrived at his destination, he strode through the door with a confidant swagger he assumed whenever he was in public.
Inside the small store, which was positively swamped with books, Eros saw an alluring younger woman casually striding through past the many shelves. She would gracefully extend her hand and run it over the tops of the leather tomes, placed neatly, side-by-side, gently caressing each book with the tips of her fingers.
She rounded a corner and stopped before an older gentleman who was flipping through a novel. She said “Hello, Everett.”
The man, Everett, looked up from his book and smiled at her. His gray hair framed his square, masculine face well. His eyes were alive amongst the weathered, yet supple, folds of his skin. He said, “Hello, Mirela. How’re you?”
“Busy,” she said. “I’ve had divinations all day – this was my only free hour. So I came down here to look around. How about yourself? How’s your next novel progressing?”
“Well, I suppose.”
“That last chapter was difficult for you?”
Everett looked suddenly and quizzically asked “Yes…how did you know?”
“A feeling.”
“Oh. I see.” Everett smiled weakly but looked almost uncomfortable. Eros wandered what ‘a feeling’ could possibly mean.
Mirela smiled softly and said “But I’m sure when you’re finished with it, it’ll be great.”
Her smile completely changed Everett’s expression as he chuckled and said “Another feeling?”
“Yes,” Mirela replied, giggling slightly. She glanced at a small wrist watch on her tanned, elegant arm and said “But I need to go back upstairs and prepare. I have another divination at 2:30 and I need to prepare.”
“Then good day, Mirela,” Everett said, nodding.
“Bye,” she said, casually waving as she exited up a flight of steps near the back of the store.
Everett returned to glancing over the books on the shelf in front of him. Eros approached and slowly turned towards the books, standing next to the man, who smelt of a charming sandalwood cologne. Eros picked a book off the shelf at random and began to glance through it. He could feel Everett’s casual glance on him.
“You like court dramas?” Everett suddenly asked.
Eros revolved slightly on his heels and looked at the man, saying “Not really. I go more for the European classics. I’m not a denizen of modern literature. Modern anything, for that matter.”
Everett chuckled robustly and said “I feel the exactly the same way sometimes.” He extended his hand and said “Everett Carson.”
“Eros Dandolo,” Eros replied, accepting the handshake. Everett had a firm grip which spoke of vigor even in his advanced years.
“Dandolo? That’s an Italian name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I’m from Italy.”
“Tu da dove e?
“Sono Veneziano. Parle Italiano?
Everett chuckled and said “No, no, I’ve just spent a lot of time working with Italian Americans and I picked up the language from some of them.”
“What do you do?”
“Well, used to do, technically – I’m a retired trial lawyer. My specialty was organized crime, so I met up with a lot of Sicilian, Calabrian and Neapolitan Americans.”
“Oh, southern Italians, naturally. Yes, the Mafia. Well, I am from the North of Italy and we do not like people from the South so much.”
“Oh. Well.” They stood in silence for a moment. “So how long have you been in the States?”
“A few weeks. I was staying in a motel now for a while but now I’ve got an apartment. It’s a little ways away from here – the Thallow Flats.”
“The Thallow Flats? Really? That’s where I live! What a coincidence!”
Eros nodded and smiled but didn’t mention that he didn’t believe in coincidences. “It’s a nice enough place to live.”
“Yes, a little old, but rather charming,” Everett agreed. “They’re just the right place for me, though. And the people are very friendly. In fact, we have a little game of cards in the back room of the Tavern bar. You should drop by – it would be a great chance to meet the other tenets and maybe earn a little cash.”
“No, I don’t think,” Eros replied softy. “I don’t like gambling, I prefer sure-things.”
“Ah, well, suit yourself,” Everett replied, not unkindly. “Still, its fun to just sit and watch the game, anyway.”
“I may do that some time.”
“Great. Here, let me give you my card.” Everett dug around in his pocket and extracted a neat stack of business cards bound with a rubber band. “I had all these in a little holder on my desk when I was practicing and I’ve still got hundreds of them.” He handed over the piece of stiff paper. “Be sure to give me a call sometime. There’s always one for one more.”
“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you.”
The two men parted company as Eros moved off to peruse some of the older books in the back. In the “History” section he saw a special grouping of books about World War II. He was glancing past a few biographies of the great American generals and a dusty copy of Mien Kampf when he spotted a large tome bound in black leather that was lying under the shelf. Eros picked it up off the floor read the title, worked out in gold letters on the spine: The Italian Theatre – 1943-1945: From Monte Cassino to Rome. The cover of the book was completely blank, leading Eros to discern that the book had once had a dust jacket that was now lost. He flipped through the table of contents. The chapters alternated between the Allied and Axis perspective of the battles in Italy during each skirmish. The pages themselves were thin and yellowed, which was strange, since the cover was still a slick, inky black, in almost excellent condition. Perhaps the missing dust jacket had done its job very well.
World War II had always fascinated Eros, unlike it did many Italians, and this was one of the few major histories of Italy during the War that he had ever seen. He quickly bought it and prepared to left the bookstore, waving to Everett as he left and saying “Good day, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
Back in the Flats, Eros was mounted the steps to get back to his rooms when, on one of the landings, he paused because a thin, mousey man with wild tufts of hair was standing, completely still, staring at him. Eros looked at the man, whose piercing blue eyes were wide with terror, and said “Excuse me? Can I help you with something?”
The wild man just kept starting and then slowly began to creep backwards. Eros took a step forward and said “See here, what’s the matter?”
Giving a little shriek, the man fell backwards as though in shock. Eros advanced to help the man up, but he only screamed and jolted away, kicking wildly, with his eyes still bulging out his sockets and he scuttled backwards. He extended his harm and pointed at Eros. No, Eros realized, not at him, but at the black leather book.
“Sir, please, what is the matter? Let me help you!” Eros cried, completely exasperated, but the little man just gave one final yelp then darted, on all fours, then rising to his up on his legs, to flee down the hall.
Eros stood in the now empty hallway and glanced casually at the black book in his hands. Why does he fear this book? Eros though to himself.
Tense, for no real reason, Eros turned and proceeded back up the stairs, but not before taking note of that floor this strange event had taken place on – floor 300.
oh me oh my, indeed, only everett would trot up the stairs.
I like how Everett is going to all of the different shops! It's cute to hear that he's exploring.
As Karen searched intently amongst the stacks of books in the used book store she accidentally bumped into someone next to her. She glanced up and noticed an older man in a sweater vest looking back at her, slightly startled.
As soon as Karen realized she had bumped into the man she quickly said, "Oh, excuse me! I didn't even see you there. I was so engrossed in finding a particular book."
"Don't worry about it," the man replied, "I often lose myself in the books also. I try to come here once every few weeks. You never know what you'll find."
"I know, I love the treasure hunt in used book stores. It's always a mystery what you'll go home with." Karen paused and saw that the man had a serene smile on his face as he nodded with agreement. "You look so familiar," Karen continued, "You come into the gift shop every now and then, don't you?"
"Ah, yes, I do. It's the only place nearby where I can find quality stationery and greeting cards."
"That's so great to hear. It's what I was aiming for!" Karen said enthusiastically.
"So what book were you looking for? I've spent so much time here that I know the place pretty well," the man said kindly.
"Actually, I'm looking for To Kill a Mockingbird. It's one of my favorites and I wanted to find a copy for someone who I think would like it."
"Oh that one is right around the corner on the far wall. There should be a couple copies to choose from."
"Thanks so much! It was nice running into you. By the way, I'm Karen," Karen said as she extended her hand to the man.
"I'm Everett. It's very nice to meet you and keep up the good work in the gift shop!"
"Have a good day and feel free to come by the shop anytime!"
After Karen got home from the used book store she wrapped To Kill a Mockingbird in polka dot gift wrap from the gift shop and wrote a little note on her stationery "Dear Jimmy, This book is one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Love, Karen" Karen left the gift on the floor by Jimmy's door so it would be there when he got home from work. Jimmy had been down lately and she thought a little surprise might brighten his day, even if it helped just a bit.
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