It was a quiet day at the library. This was completely normal. In fact Lucinda couldn’t remember a day that wasn’t quiet – even when it was busy. She liked the serenity of her working environment, but occasionally longed for a little lively distraction.. She was charmingly unaware that she herself represented just that to more than one of her regulars – dressed as she habitually was in a demure skirt and a little blouse buttoned to the throat.
The liveliness of the distractions she caused was due in no small part to the dimensions of the little blouse…. it having been sewn with a woman of more boyish proportions in mind. All the reaching, lifting, stretching and carrying which her job entailed obliged the little pearl buttons which held together Lucinda’s respectability to make an extra effort on her behalf. They clung on to their corresponding buttonholes with desperate determination, whilst the intervening fabric stretched and bowed. Total respectability was all the time being sacrificed, but each button could only do what a button can do: the gaps in between were not their concern, and if the fabric should arc away and reveal glimpses of upholstered mazumbas, they could console themselves they had each done their best.
Lucinda loved her job. Her pleasure at a working life surrounded by books left her no time to consider the fastenings of her blouse, and the numbers of downcast eyes in the faces of library users she interpreted as respect for the world of books. She would have been surprised to learn that in most cases the eyes were being drawn irresistibly to the glimpses of cleftage.
Into this subduedly-fevered atmosphere stepped a young man making his first, slightly anxious sortie into the library. It was an old building, smelling reassuringly of wood polish and musty paper. He was looking for an obscure tome – The Practical Pyromaniac by William Gurstelle (out of print) and, though not expecting to find it on the shelves, thought he might hunt down some expertise amongst the staff.
After a little wander to soak up the atmosphere of hushed cerebricity, he approached the reception desk. Lucinda was hunched over it, cross checking something against something else. As the young man approached she looked up, and smiled.
When Lucinda smiled, it was like a scene from an old cartoon in a wood: curtains of leafy branches draw back to reveal a sunlit glade of dazzling beauty. The young man, Stefan, appreciated the view and instantly wished that he could make her glow with a warm shaft.
“May I help you?” she asked, her words intruding disturbingly into his train of thought.
“I’m looking for a book” he answered
Lucinda smiled. She was confident she was on home territory here.
“We have quite a lot. Are you looking for one in particular, or just books in general?” There was a twinkle in her eye as she spoke.
Stefan chuckled. “One in particular. But I don’t think you’ll have it”
“Try me” Lucinda replied, once again releasing demons of new thoughts in Stefan’s mind.
He told her. She was unfazed. She stood for a moment, thinking, – one elbow on the desk, a finger to her lips (which were as rosebuddy as you might imagine) and then said “Come with me. We’ll have a look”
He followed her, watching her callipygous curves swaying – rolling even – with each step as she walked along the avenues of wood and paper.
Lucinda ran her finger along a shelf as she walked, apparently scanning the spines. Stefan scanned her spine (amongst other things) but felt it would be inappropriate to run his finger along HER spine.
“How do you find anything in here?” he asked. She started to explain a little about the categorisation and the systems they used, pointing at the labels glued to the spines. Stefan, who was having trouble concentrating anyway, looked baffled.
After a few moments she stopped, and turned round, her apple-cheeked face radiant in the gloom of the shelves, the fabric of her blouse on the point of conceding defeat against the heaving of her bosompities.
“You don’t GET Dewey do you?”
Overcome with confusion at the abruptness of the question, Stefan could only refute this “Er…well I do occasionally, you know how it is”
Lucinda cocked her head on one side and looked quizzically at him
“Not at the moment, anyway” she said
Stefan blushed to the roots of his hair and confessed in a whisper that, just at that moment, he was actually rather dewy.
There was a pause. Lucinda adjusted her clothing a little primly to cover her own embarrassment. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) this pushed the poor buttons right over the edge. Silently, two of them gave up. They simply let go, and the swelling splendour of Lucinda bustables hoved into view, raising the temperature in that lugubrious enclave by several degrees.
“This is the specialist section. Antique, rare, that sort of thing”
Stefan looked at the shelves. Rows of leather bindings lined up into the distance.
“I like this section the best” She reached out and took down an early edition of Palgrave’s Golden Treasury and held it out for him to admire.
Stefan took it, gently, and turned it over in his hands (which were strong and manly)
“It’s beautifully tooled” said Lucinda
“Is that important to you?” Stefan heard himself asking, and she nodded. “And you don’t mind a bit of foxing?”
She shook her head.
“On the contrary. I love it”
Stefan nodded eagerly “Me too!”
He slid the book expertly back into the slit of the shelf, pushing it firmly but tenderly home .
“What about binding?” he asked, stepping a little closer to her. At this proximity he could feel her warmth breath. “Is that an interest of yours?”
She looked up at him, taking a deep breath (which caused a few more buttons to fail)
“A good binding is a delight” she murmured. “There’s plenty to look at….and no-one else ever comes here”
“But YOU come here….”
“Not every time” she murmured, stepping so close that their bodies were touching. Only the top front bits so far, but it was enough to make the rest inevitable.
Stefan found that his search for The Practical Pyromaniac (out of print) was both fruitless, AND unnecessary. Lucinda could light his fire right here, merely by stroking the fine tooling.
“You find plenty of interest between the covers here, don’t you?” he asked her
“When it comes to covers, hard is best. It lasts so much longer” she told him.
Together they explored the literary landscapes within the aisles of the dark recesses of the old library. Stefan ran the tip of his finger down her spine. Then he gently opened her covers, pausing to admire the endpapers, before riffling tenderly through the interior, savouring the unfolding narrative as it built to a stunning climax.
They had to keep VERY quiet, but Lucinda was used to that