Beauty And The Bookworm Read Free Page B

books that no one reads anymore. I work the stacks a lot. It’s on the boring side (I know, I know, what’s the exciting side of the library?) but can be pretty interesting, too. I sit in a cubicle just outside the stacks and if a patron is looking for some old, obscure book, they bring me a little slip of paper with the book’s title and I go and find it for them. That’s where things can get a little exciting.
    One day a little old lady came and asked my name, saying she couldn’t read my nametag. I told her and reached for the little slip of paper she held, but she put it behind her back. It seemed she wanted to chat before giving it up. Fine with me. We chatted about our matching cardigans (the fact that I dress like a little old lady was not lost on me) and we chatted about how the Portland weather bothered her bones. We talked for a long while about her husband and how much she’d grown to hate him over the years. Then, since I guessed I’d earned her trust, she handed me her slip of paper. It was for a book on exotic poisons. I got her the book and spent the next few weeks scanning the obituaries for every old man that had died. So, yes, folks I may be an accomplice to murder. Don’t say there’s no excitement at the library.
    The reference desk is really the place to be, though, if you’re looking to be in the action-packed, no-holds-barred, bullet-dodging, section of the library. That’s the place everyone comes when they’ve got a question. You help them find out all about macramé, the best place to go on vacation, what the hell’s wrong with their cat, and, in a whisper, you tell the nervous looking kid where the “gay” books are found. I love the reference desk.
    I settled in for a long, lonely day in the stacks by firing up my e-reader and finishing Pole to Pole (not recommended.) Then I started Get Along, Little Doggie , a very promising book about a hot Montana rancher and a cattle dog shifter. I was a little annoyed because the author didn’t seem to know that, in this case, doggies are cows, but the romance was scorching so I ignored the lack of research. I was thoroughly engrossed by the time the sassy best friend you knew I was going to have showed up to take me to lunch.
    “Ready for lunch, lover?” Twyla asked as she glided up to my cubicle. She’s a cute little number with suspiciously nice breasts and red hair that does not exist in nature. She was wearing a very short flamingo-pink dress and a feathered headband. She looked like she was on her way to a 1920’s prom. Twyla is a librarian, too, but she’s a bit of an outcast. Librarians aren’t supposed to be sluts and Twyla is a total whore (I’m not talking behind her back, believe me, she knows and so do the good folks at the STD clinic.)
    “Ready,” I said, walking out of my cubicle without taking my eyes off my e-reader. The Little Doggie was just about to lift his tail and…
    “Put that stupid thing down, asshole! You didn’t even notice my dress.”
    I still didn’t look up. “Your dress is pink and you’re wearing a matching feather headband. You look ridiculous.”
    “Oh, sweetheart, thanks for noticing. ”
    “No problem,” I said, still not looking.
    “Leave that thing here, Mason. I’m not going to get ignored through another lunch.”
    “But…”
    “Leave it here!”
    “Okay . Jesus!” I locked the e-reader in my desk and followed Twyla to the staff lounge. We found an empty table and dug into our matching chicken salads.
    Twyla was in a bit of a huff. “I can’t believe you don’t like my dress. I bought it for you.”
    “I don’t do drag.”
    “No, but I thought you’d like it for its… fabulousness.”
    “Sorry, Twyla, but you’re barking up the wrong gay.”
    She stuck out her lower lip. “Don’t I know it? I mean, are you even really gay?”
    I sighed. “Of course I’m gay. I’ve got something up my butt right now.”
    Twyla’s eyes widened in shock and her lips spread into a