I could see that there was a tiny apartment over the shop and wondered if that's where the owner lived. It was certainly a very cool location. It made me a little uneasy that the bookshop was only about a dozen blocks from the Dakota. But Tristan wasn't likely to be walking the streets of his neighborhood and I put that little coincidence down to harmless.
The wizened old man who poked his head out when the bell tinkled as I opened the door looked to be about a hundred and ten years old. He was as dusty and antique as the books lining the shelves and piled everywhere. I picked my way through the mess and introduced myself.
Crusty as he appeared, Mr. Clemson was sharp as a tack. It didn't take me long to have enormous respect for the catalog he carried around in his head. "That's the trouble, though, you see. My head isn't going to be around forever. My grandson keeps needling me about a website and computerized records for all of my friends." He swept a gnarled hand at the stacks. The skin was yellow and fragile, like much of the paper in the room. He led me to the back of the store where, to my utter surprise, he swung open a door to an immaculate modern office about the size of a walk-in closet.
"I've got all the stuff here, but I just can't face it. At my age, I don't want to have to learn all . . . this. I'd rather be reading." He looked at me through rheumy eyes that belonged on an aging spaniel. I wanted to pet his bald head and get him a cookie.
I handed him my resume and pointed out the experience working the Tanglewood system and some other computer work I had done. A couple of simple websites were listed as part of my experience also.
Mr. Clemson waved the paper away. "I'm not interested in what you've got written down on that paper, Miss Harding. Take a look around you. Tell me if you know what needs to be done and if you think you are willing and able to do it. Take all the time you need. We're not going anywhere soon."
The way he referred to his books and himself as 'we' was charming. He rattled back into the bookshelves where he nearly disappeared, so camouflaged was he by the similarity between himself and his beloved volumes.
An hour later, having taken a good look at the computers--state of the art--and the program manuals--straightforward and practical--I was sure I could accomplish what his grandson rightly thought should be done to move the shop into the 21st century.
"Mr. Clemson?" I think I startled him out of a catnap. "I'm quite sure I can do what needs to be done here."
"Miss Harding, I believe you. When can you start?"
We discussed the details of the job. He offered me a generous salary, considering the fact that the shop couldn't possibly be making a lot of money. It wouldn't be enough to get me my own apartment for a while and the commute into Manhattan wasn't something I was looking forward to especially with winter approaching, but I was thrilled to have it.
As I was getting ready to leave the shop I asked Mr. Clemson if he lived above the store.
He snorted. "You must be joking! Have you taken a look at the stairs? That's a young person's apartment. It hasn't been occupied in years. I got tired of the last tenant traipsing in and out of the shop at all hours. There's no separate entrance for it, you see." He laughed. "The young pup was always arguing with me about the utilities, too. The store and the apartment are on one meter."
"I see." I was going to go for it. A lucky day shouldn't go to waste. "Would you consider renting it to me? I could pay out of my salary. I'd never be able to claim the subway was late or get snowed in and I'd always be around." I was prattling and I knew it, but it was such an opportunity! I smiled my most charming and persuasive smile.
Mr. Clemson tried to look stern, but I could tell instantly that he liked the idea. "It gets cleaned every so often, so it isn't knee deep in dust. But some of the furniture is older than these books. You want to take a look at it?"
"Oh yes, Mr. Clemson. Yes, please."
He rooted around in his roll top desk and produced an ancient key. "Help yourself," he told me.
I sprinted up the stairs and unlocked the heavy wooden door. The tiny apartment smelled like old books, just like the shop. The living, dining and kitchen area looked out over Broadway and the bedroom and bathroom were tucked away in the back. The old oak floors creaked under my feet as I poked around. The couch could have come out of some old time gentlemen's club. The golden leather had the patina of smoke about it. With a good dose of leather conditioner, I knew it would come back to life beautifully.
The two matching wingback chairs framed a fireplace, long converted to a gas heater, but it gave some charm to the room as did the high tin ceilings and the wonderful French windows. The kitchen area was tiny and I squealed with delight when I recognized the stove as the exact same one in Rachel Ray's kitchen on TV. The refrigerator was from the fifties also and matched the curvy lines of the Chambers stove. I figured I could rise to the challenge of appliances that were that cute.
Every last piece wooden furniture looked terribly old and dry, but otherwise classic in form and function. The dropleaf dining table was a masterpiece of space saving straight out of the 1800's.
A bright rug, a few pictures and a new mattress looked like just about all I would need to set up housekeeping. In the kitchen cabinets I found a complete set of pink depression glassware, old enamel bowls, iron skillets and a couple of copper pots. I was sure Mr. Clemson didn't know the treasure trove he had in there. He was lucky the last tenant didn't make off with the dishes. It was an antique hunter's dream.
I tried to put on a poker face when I came down the stairs, but it was impossible. "I love the place! It's so perfect." I sucked in some air and braced myself. "How much will you rent it to me for?"
He seemed to have trouble with that. "I wasn't really thinking about renting it at all. How does $500 a month sound? That would include utilities. I can't be bothered with separating the bills."
Five. Hundred. Dollars. For a cute upper Westside apartment? It was a gift. I could easily afford that on what Mr. Clemson had offered me. I wanted to hug him. But instead I just said, "Thank you so much. You won't regret it."
"I've already got that internet thing, but I don't know how to get that upstairs. If you want TV you'll have to do that yourself."
"That's fine, Mr. Clemson. I can put WiFi in for next to nothing. I probably won't need cable if the internet's good. I can watch plenty on line if I want to."
"I don't know why you'd want to watch anything with all these books here waiting to be read."
"You're absolutely right. I intend to take full advantage of this wonderful library." That seemed to make the old guy happy and we settled a few more details before I was on my way. I was to start in ten days which couldn't be soon enough for me.