Clarissa's Diary Entry 01

Entry 1 – The Beginning

There was a sharp knock on Linda's door.

"Come in," she said, swinging around on her desk chair to face the invitee.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Ms. Smith," Jonathan said, pushing a book cart before him. There was just a hint of nervousness in his voice. "We have finished cleaning out the storage room and these are the items for you to review." He indicated with his right hand the selection of volumes on the cart. Then, he quickly asked, "I was supposed to bring these to your office, wasn't I?"

Linda smiled, inwardly to herself in amusement, and outwardly to Jonathan in support. He had displayed many of the signs of a beginning infatuation with her since the first week of joining the staff. While appreciating the attention on a personal level, Linda quickly set a professional atmosphere between them, so as to avoid any form of impropriety. While she admitted to herself that Jonathan was quite attractive, having just graduated from collage, she knew that a relationship would be unethical, not to mention the fact that she was twenty years his senior.

"Thank you very much, Jonathan," she said, getting up from her chair. "Yes, I did ask for all non-catalogued items to be brought to this office. Please leave the cart over here, beside my desk."

Jonathan did as he was told while Linda walked around her desk to the cart. Having a life long love of books, she immediately crouched down before the cart and began scanning the titles on the spine. Without acknowledging it, she was aware of Jonathan slowly walking out of the office, his eyes on her. He followed his set pattern of always being discreet in his purveying of her, never lingering too long or in sight of others. Because of his discreetness and modestly, Linda never brought up the subject that she knew what he was doing, and inwardly, she considered this flattering. Always professional, though, Linda never wore provocative clothing or put herself in a provocative position. Her dress suits were earthy colors, her shoes low and plain. The makeup she applied was low-key, and her hair always up in some bun-like coiffure.

Linda returned her full attention to the volumes before her. Getting ready for the upcoming renovations had taken time, and the staff would need swing space. The items before her were in a basement storage room that few, if any, librarians had entered in quite some time, herself included. The vast majority of items held in this storage room had been processed by the other staff—either integrated into another part of the collection, or weeded. These items on the cart needed her special attention.

Some volumes were easily identified—earlier editions of now-classic texts, probably put in storage to save on shelf space. The staff would want her to make the decision whether to weed these or not. For the other volumes, Linda had to pull them off the cart and skim through the pages. These appeared to be ledgers and listings of acquisitions, with annotations. Some were hand written, indicating their great age.

An old, dusty box on the bottom shelf of the cart caught her eye. She pulled the box out, stood up and placed it on the desk. Removing the cover carefully, so as not to damage the possibly brittle material, she found a set of leather bound volumes inside, tied with a black string. Linda undid the bow and picked up the first volume. It appeared to be in good shape, with no signs of damage or decay.

Despite any obvious title, the contents inside were quickly identified as a diary, due to the dated entries on each page, their structure, and their conversational manner. The "title" page simply had the name, "Clarissa White." The name jostled something in her memory. Wasn't Clarissa one of her predecessors? Linda stood up, went over to the filing cabinets and began to rummage through the files. Her hand came upon the "History of the Library" folder and withdrawing it, she quickly found the list of prior library directors. There was Clarissa, third from the top on the list. Intrigued, Linda went back to the desk, sat in her chair, and again picked up the volume.

Linda flipped through the pages, and rested her finger on the one marked, "March 13th, 1902. A day of unexpected pleasure." Curious, she read the entry:

Today was truly a beautiful spring day, in more than one way. While work was typical in its course, I was surprised by an unexpected visitor just before closing. For the sake of discretion, let me leave the kind sir's name off this account. He is a traveling salesman from a reputable publisher.

We have had occasion to meet on a professional level in the past, and so began our conversation with the usual pleasantries about the weather and new scientific discoveries. I must say I have always found him pleasant to the eye, and this day was no exception. He has, as well, graced me with more than one glance upon my being, especially to linger upon my bosom. His eyes today were especially, how shall I say it, full of hunger and anticipation. When the last of my staff reported that their time for the day was done and that they were heading homeward, I decided to be a bit more forward with our salesman.

"My good sir, I so desire to see what you have to offer me this day," I started.

He smiled, handing me the publisher's newest catalog, then adding, "I would be happy to show you the special wares we have available, upon our next trip. For your pleasure, of course."

"Why," I asked most sweetly, "Don't you usually have volumes for me to peruse? Something for me to touch?"

"As you can see from the weather outside, I was loath to bring any books with me should they get wet," says our salesman. And then he adds, with some emphasis, "It is my understanding that librarians avoid any situation where they may get wet."

"Oh, I beg to differ, kind Sir. We librarians frequently deal with wet situations. For instance, there may be times where we need to insert, say, a page into a book. In such a situation, my good Sir, we would want to ply the inseam of the book with a warm, sticky substance, such as a paste, so that the page can slide in easily and remain there until bonding is complete."

"This process sounds quite fascinating," replies my salesman. "Perchance, can you demonstrate this technique to me right now."

"I would be happy to, good Sir, but we have no such books available. However, I may be able to accommodate you. Imagine, if you will, Sir, that I am the book and that your are the page that needs inserting.

"Like any fine craftsman, you must take time to examine the item before you. Feel the material, run your fingers down its spine."

He graciously follows my lead, placing his hands on the "book," caressing it, getting a measure of the body beneath. I sign as he explores my exterior, clearly eager to examine the contents inside.

"Of course, one can only learn so much from examining the outside of a book," I continue. "Open the book a bit--make sure the spine is pliable, the pages not brittle."

I leaned back on my desk, and proceeded to open my "pages" for him. There was, indeed, and intense eagerness in his eyes that encouraged me to proceed further. To facilitate our demonstration, I pulled up the hem of my dress to just above my knees. He leans toward me, drawing up one of my legs. Warmly, ever so slowly, he caresses my ankle and the lower part of my leg with both his hands.

"This part of the book, indeed, my Lady, appears to be in good order. Perchance, I should examine more of the book, to determine, of course, if a page should, indeed, be inserted, and, if so, precisely where the best fit should be." There is a most naughty grin on his countenance. "

I nod ever so coyly and he slides his hands up over my knees, exploring further my thighs, lingering on the inner side.

"If my lady does not mind, I should like to get closer to the book, as my eyesight is, let us say, not of a perfect order."

"Please do, my good man. Make a careful study of the book. We do not want to make a mistake when inserting the page."

He draws my legs further part and in response I lean further back on the desk. The hem of the dress and the slip beneath slide down my thighs, exposing now the tops of my stockings. He quickly learns that this book is lacking certain coverings.

His fingers explore ever more of my most private areas and the pressures mount within my body. It is ever so hard to keep up this pretence, this play acting.

"I do believe your earlier statement about wet situations applies here, my good Lady. For certainly, this is the spot where the page must be inserted."

"You have good judgement and good skill, my dear Sir," I reply. "Do you feel it is time to begin the next step?" I ask.

He pauses, his fingers still engaged in their exploration. "I feel, kind Lady, that a few more minutes of preparatory work are necessary. We certainly do not wish to rush this job. Do you not agree?"

I was about to answer, but only a short moan of pleasure escaped my lips, for his fingers slipped further into the seam of my book, much deeper than I anticipated. It took all of my will at that point not to place my legs around him and draw him forward. I could also see a similar struggle of wills on his countenance. When I felt I could bear no more, his fingers withdrew.

"My sweet lady, may I ask: Would you prefer to guide my page inward, or shall I perform that duty?" He moved forward, placing himself between my opened book. Naturally demure, I deferred to his judgment.

"Very well, then. Let us begin the process of insertion."

Let me say that he took to the task with much energy and fervor, eager to practice, taking the page out and placing it in yet again--in and out, in and out. I was greatly pleased by his ardor and display of technical skill, and we both agreed to revisit...

A sudden knock at the open door caught Linda off guard. She placed the diary, still open, onto the desk before her and looked up at the man standing in the door.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"My apologies, Ms. Smith, for being late for our appointment," he began, moving forward to her desk.

Linda racked her brains and then realized she had a 4:00 o'clock appointment with a Mr. Kuzy from LSC, Inc. to discuss the furniture for the new renovation. She glanced at the clock on the wall of her office—it read 4:46 pm.

Mr. Kuzy followed her glance, then turned back to her and smiled. "Again, my apologies. My plane was late and the cab driver had no idea where to go." He offered her his hand. "My name is Christopher Kuzy." He smiled again, warm and inviting.

Linda shook his hand firmly and offered her name in official greeting. "I, too, must apologize, Mr. Kusy. With all the work going on around here, the appointment completely slipped my mind." She got up and went around the desk to better converse with him. As she did, she caught Mr. Kuzy's eyes caressing her body from her deep brown eyes to her tip of her leather shoes. He did this surreptitiously, the warm smile still on his face. Linda did not let on to what she just saw.

"And, unfortunately," Linda continued, "I must leave for an appointment in fifteen minutes."

"That is disappointing," Mr. Kuzy replied.

"Will you be here next Monday?" she asked.

"My flight leaves at 9:30 am on Monday," he replied, and quickly added, "But I am here all day tomorrow and on Sunday, should either day be possible for you. It was my fault for being late."

"Well, we can't exactly blame you for the flight and taxi cab driver, now can we." Linda was doing her best to be cordial, and while the library was not open on either Saturday or Sunday, the prospect of meeting with Mr. Kuzy tomorrow to finalize the furniture details was appealing.

"I am available to meet tomorrow morning, here at the Library, if that works for you," she offered. Her mind was filled with images of Clarissa and her salesman. Linda could feel a blush rising up her neck to her cheeks, so she quickly suppressed the images and focused on the rather dull task of the furniture selection.

"Excellent!" Mr. Kuzy sounded ecstatic, more than expected. Linda took this as a positive sign that he was interested in more than just furniture. "How about 9:30 am, here, tomorrow?" he asked.

"Perfect."

The two shook hands, and after a few professional "goodbyes" Mr. Kuzy departed. Linda began the process of locking up for the evening, and before departing, slipped the volume into her briefcase.