I found her, in all places, at the library. I was looking for a hard-to-find novel by my favourite author, Danielle Steel. And she, she was busy working.
Yes, she was a librarian, but a sexy one, dressed conservatively, with a long flannel skirt and sensible shoes. And her blouse — whiter than the teeth of Britney Spears — was neatly pressed and seemed to be buttoned up past the collar.
When I caught her eye, I smiled at her. And to my surprise, she did not turn away. Her eyes narrowed behind her thick, horn-rimmed glasses. And her brow furrowed to the point where an ass crack appeared at the center of her forehead. Needless to say, I was entranced. Even if I wanted to look away, I could not. I found myself moving towards her. Perhaps I was walking, but I could not feel the ground beneath my feet. “No riding the carts!” she squawked, and I quickly dismounted the rolling book cart, but never stopped my journey towards my destiny.
As I got closer to my librarian love, the left side of her upper lip seemed to raise just a bit more, until it finally developed into the snarl of all snarls, and soon I was face to face with the most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes upon. Not beautiful in the traditional sense of the word, or even in the nontraditional sense. No, she had a beauty all her own. The way her snow-white hair was pulled back so tightly that it made the corners of her eyes match her eyeglass frames. The way her scowling lip quivered. And that voice:
“What do you want?” It sounded like a woman’s voice, only huskier and with phlegm.
“I think I’ve found the only thing I need,” I replied.
For a moment, I could swear the right side of her mouth raised up, almost to the point were there was a hint of a smile. I was getting to her. Either that or she had indigestion.
She belched. Apparently, it was indigestion. “If you’re not here for a book, please leave the library.” I loved the way her mouth tightened up when she spoke: puckering lips, begging to be caressed by mine.
“The only thing I’ve come to check out is you.” It was a stupid pick-up line, but I couldn’t think of anything else at the moment.
“Very funny. I’m a busy woman, and –”
“And maybe you could get busy with me.” Again, I had no idea where that came from.
She picked up the phone and informed someone on the other end that there was a problem at her desk. “Send Tony and Michael over right away,” she said. I gathered this had to do with the children who had managed to sneak their way into the Adult Fiction section, perhaps hoping to get their hands on a novel by Ann Rice writing as AN Roquelaure.
“O’ what I wouldn’t do to be that phone.” At this point, I was even starting to creep myself out.
She hung up and her lips tightened yet again. Any tighter, and I was certain she would crack her dentures. “I am asking you one last time. Please leaveeee”
“Your lips say ‘please leave,’ but your eyes say ‘file me under H for Horny Librarian.” My material was getting worse.
Moments later, two large but very dorky looking men — both wearing wireframe eye glasses — approached me from either side. The geekier of the two spoke, “Is there a problem, Bernice?”
Bernice: that must’ve been her name. When I heard it for the first time, it was as if angels had come down from the heavens, smoked two packs of Luckys, shared a box or red wine and then belched out a raspy “Bernice.” The most beautiful belch in the world. It only made me want to be closer to her. And yet, I felt myself being drawn away. Well, dragged was more like it. Dork and Dorkier had me by both arms and were quickly “escorting” me to the door.
“Bernice, wait!” I shouted to her, and was quickly shushed by everyone in the library. “I love you!” I screamed in defiance, followed by an even louder, “SHHHHHH!”
How does everyone know exactly when to SHHH at the same time? Is it just an innate sense? And if so, why? What good does this do? Would it be the end of the world if people SHHH’d out of sync? I thought about this as I was brutally pushed out the doors into the warm, unconditioned air. Tony and Michael stood there stoically, arms crossed, daring me to try again.
So this was it? This was what getting thrown out of an establishment was like? I expected something more dramatic, involving broken bones and bruises that wouldn’t heal for months. I wanted to get flung through a window. Or literally picked up by the seat of my pants and tossed to the curb.
I took another look at the two dweebs standing guard and decided Bernice just wasn’t worth it. So I gave a nod to my four-eyed foes and took a step backward to signify my surrender. Alas, I had forgotten about the stairs behind me.
Before I knew what was happening, I found myself tumbling my way down the concrete steps. Head over heels. Then head over broken heels. Then bloody head over dangling limbs. With every new step, I felt another new pain. Until, finally, I was given sweet relief when my head bounced off the metal railing and I blacked out.
When I came to, I found myself in an ambulance with an oxygen mask strapped to my mangled face. The sirens blared faintly outside and the van made several aggressive maneuvers. There was an IV taped to my arm and it hurt to blink. But I knew that once my wounds had healed, I would return once again to that magnificent library. If not for Bernice, for Danielle Steel.
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