The Naughty Librarian

He had been coming for just a little more than two weeks. It was the peace and quiet that drew him. At least that's what he told his friends. "I can clear my mind there, block out every other thought and truly focus on my work." His work was writing. Or at least that's what he called his "work." In reality, he was simply a teacher. His days were spent doing little more than regurgitating information so that students could meet arbitrary standards set by the state. It was writing that was his true passion, and so his evenings found him headed off to the library to complete the next great American novel.

His friends thought he was odd, going to the public library rather than one of the university branches. "But aren't there lots of other people just hanging out? Kids running around?" "And aren't their homeless people there? My God, it has to be worse than the local Starbucks!" Many a laugh was shared at his expense.

"I only go in the evenings, long after the kids have gone home for dinner and bedtime. Just a few hours before closing. And no, the homeless are nowhere to be found. I imagine they would much rather spend their evenings at the local shelter. There's really not that many people and the staff can be helpful."

It wasn't that he was completely lying. He did need to focus on his work. But it wasn't really the quiet atmosphere that kept him coming back. It was her.

In the evenings the public library was a bit on the eery side. With no patrons browsing the stacks, the automatic control lighting made sure the majority of the library was dark and shadowy. The few remaining patrons found themselves hunched over dimly lit tables and cubicles, furiously scribbling their remaining thoughts of the day. Everyone seemed eager to pack up and head home. It was this sense of "winding down" that helped his thinking settle after a busy day. As the rest of the world retreated, he could step forward. The library was his, an empty space calling out to be filled with grandiose ideas and fanciful storylines. It was a blank canvas. It was his fortress of solitude.

Besides, there was something about the smell of old books that he found soothing, and his imagination ran wild. It was as if centuries of authors were calling out, beckoning him to join their ranks and find a place along side them on the shelves. He could smell greatness and imagined his own name living on in posterity with the likes of Dostoyevsky and Nietzsche.

But while greatness may have been beckoning, it was the lone desk at the entrance of the main hall that became the focal point of his creativity. There sat the evening shift librarian, and she quickly became his muse.

She had caught his attention on his first visit and he was immediately captivated. While it truly was his work that brought him back that second time, she had quickly supplanted all other motivation. No longer was he contemplating grand narratives and conflicts between heroes and antiheroes. He was writing a story far different than that which had originally brought him to the library. His thoughts had taken a romantic turn. In his mind he played the role of a swashbuckling rogue, swooping in to rescue the fair maiden from a ravenous gang of pirates. He was the chivalrous knight driving out the barbarous vandals and capturing the heart of the parson's daughter. He found himself writing storyline after storyline, all involving this mysterious vision that seemed to glow like a beacon on a dark night.

He wondered if anyone else had noticed her. It didn't seem typical for the librarian to be so breathtaking. And yet, she had the kind of beauty that was ethereal. He laughed at how trivial all the books surrounding him had quickly become. Not a single page was written about her, and to him that seemed a great waste. How could Keats and Byron claim to have known love, having never met this angel? How could the adventures of Casanova be anything but unremarkable in the absence of this perfect woman? No, to him she seemed a far more worthy topic than any the library had to offer.

He knew he needed to talk to her, to have a voice that could go along with the vision he kept in his thoughts at night. And so he nervously approached her desk, desperately searching for the right combination of words that would provide an entrance into her world.

And just like that he found himself standing in front of her. She looked up, briefly puzzled by his presence, then flashed a smile that sent his heart soaring. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Uh, yes. I was wondering if you could tell me where I could find information on the French countryside, immediately following World War II."

"Interesting. Actually there are probably more places for you to look than you might have expected. Let me write a few reference numbers down pointing you to the right sections of the library. I think you'll find what your looking for under customs, geography . . . travel . . . Oh, and the historical arts section as well."

He wasn't sure why he had asked about the French countryside. He didn't have any particular interest in it. He certainly didn't expect her to know so much, so quickly. He had hoped this would be a lengthy conversation, with her checking multiple databases and maybe even taking him on a lengthy search through the stacks. But as quickly as he had asked, she was handing him a slip of paper with at least a dozen reference numbers.

"Here, this should keep you busy for the next hour."

"Thanks. I'm sure this will." And just like that it was over.

"Wait. I have to ask. What is sparking your interest in the French countryside?"

"I'm attempting to write a novel. I was thinking of using that period of time as the setting. At least for a portion of the story."

"Fascinating. That's sounds like the perfect backdrop for post war espionage and romance. I hope it is going well for you. Let me know if you need anything else."

"I'll definitely do that, Allison."

"I'm sorry, have we met before?"

"Oh, no. I just saw your name on the desk. Allison. I didn't mean to presume. I'll just leave."

"No, that's perfectly alright. I always forget that my name is there. But please, call me Ally."

"I will. And please, call me Michael. Thank you for your help . . . Ally. I really appreciate this."

"Glad I could help . . . Michael."

He found himself floating back to his desk in a dreamlike state. Her words. Her smile. Those sparkling eyes. He was overcome with excitement. At that moment he was sure he could effortlessly write a novel, sentence after sentence spilling out in an unending flow. She had given him the seed with her words, "Espionage and romance." And now he would plant that seed. How could he write anything but romance? And how could it involve anyone but her? Yes, he would take his place alongside these great authors, surpassing them even, because his subject matter would be far greater. Allison. Ally the Librarian.

His heart was beating heavily within his chest as he collapsed into his chair. Her name continued to repeat over and over in his mind. He would be useless for the rest of the evening, but he wasn't going anywhere. He would stay until closing and then count the hours until he could return to see his Ally.

He remained like that for quite some time, so lost in a dream like state that he never even saw her approach.

"Michael? We're closing now. I'm afraid you'll have to come back tomorrow."

The words startled him, quickly bringing him back to reality. He found himself staring up into her eyes as she hovered closely over his table. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I guess I was lost in my own thoughts." He tried to compose himself, afraid that his heavy breathing would give away the erotic nature of those thoughts.

"That must be some story you're writing."

"Yes, the plot seems to have taken an exhilarating turn."

She looked over her shoulder and then quickly back to him. He thought he discerned a slight blush. "Oh, well. We'll be closing in about five minutes. So . . ."

"Of course, thank you. I'll just gather my things and be on my way." And with that she gave him one last penetrating look before turning back towards her desk.

"Excuse me, Ally. Did you say that I could come back tomorrow?"

"Yes, were open every evening until 10 p.m. Everyone is welcome to visit as often as they like."

"Oh, yes. That makes sense." He nervously started stuffing papers into his backpack, embarrassed that he thought her invitation implied more.

But then she spoke again. "If you come back tomorrow, maybe you could tell me a little bit about that story your writing. I'm always up for an exhilarating tale. Besides, I wrote my master's thesis on French pastoral literature and I'd love to hear how your incorporating the country landscape and culture."

And for a moment he stood there frozen, staring into those sparkling eyes. "Yes. I would very much like that. I would be happy to share some of it with you." And with one last smile she turned and walked away.

There was no question that he would return tomorrow evening, just as he had been there every night for the past few weeks. He would be back at his table, back at the library. Only this time he would have the opportunity to share his world with her, to let her into his imagination. He had to chuckle at the thought of that. He slowly pulled his papers out of his back pack. They were blank. All of them were blank. He hadn't written a single thing since seeing her.

Sighing, he quickly packed everything up and headed out to his car. It would be a long night, and he would probably need to call in sick tomorrow. After all, he needed to study up on French country living.

—————————————-

"So that's why you're spending so much time at the library! I knew it wasn't because you were actually doing any work."

"No. I go there to work, it's just that this woman is so beautiful I haven't been able to get anything accomplished." He placed his head in his hands and let out a heavy sigh. "Rob, believe me, this librarian is incredible. I can't get her out of my mind. Plus, she's brilliant. We talked several times about French culture and landscape. You know she did her master's thesis on French pastoral literature. I could listen to her talk for hours."

His friend chuckled as he shook his head from side to side. "You talked, or you just sat there like a puppy with your tongue out as she went on and on about her favorite books. What the hell do you know about French literature, anyway? You're a high school Science teacher, for Christ's sake."

"Hey, I'll have you know, I took a few literature classes in college. I know how to read fancy books." They both laughed.

"Yes, but I'm not sure you're going to get anywhere with this girl. She might be too much for you. Maybe I'll come with you some evening and you can introduce me to her. Show her what a real man of books is like." Rob was an English teacher and Mike's oldest friend. He was single, good looking and had a reputation with the ladies. He knew how to use words and could make just about any woman swoon.

Mike quickly held up a finger and sternly pointed it at his friend. "Listen, you step one foot in that library and I will take you out. You understand? Just because we've been friends since the third grade doesn't mean I wont slap the shit out of you if you try to steal my girl. You remember Shelly from high school? Yeah, stay away if you know what's good for you. She's mine!"

Rob grimaced at the memory of Shelly and threw his hands up in surrender. Then they both broke out in laughter. "Oh, Shelly Pearson. Why you loved that girl I'll never understand. You didn't had to worry about me Mike, it was all the guys on the football team that she was making the rounds with."

Mike smiled as he stared out the window of the coffee shop. "Yeah, but she really knew how to give a mean blowjob."

"Tell me something I don't know." Mike waded up his napkin and threw it at Rob.

"So, this Ally, have you asked her on a date yet?"

"No! Of course I haven't. I'm still trying to get to know her. You know, take my time, build up the momentum and then wait for the perfect opportunity."

"Oh, you mean you're going to blow your opportunity."

"No! I just have a slightly different approach than you would."

"You mean you're going to sit back and wait for some other guy to come along and swoop her up as you try the same old approach that you've always used? Tell me, Mike, how has that been working for you?"

"I know. But she's so perfect. I don't want to screw this up. I suck when it comes to saying the right things around beautiful women. In fact, the reason I asked you to meet me here for coffee . . . . "

"Yes . . . "

"Well, maybe you could help me in that department. You know, give me some ideas about things to say. I really want to make a good impression on her."

"You want me to play the role of Cyrano so that you can woo the beautiful Roxane? Hmm. Look, Mike. If you like her, just go for it. She's obviously been taking the time to talk to you, which means she's not entirely repulsed."

"Gee, thanks."

"You know what I mean. She probably already likes you. Just ask if she would like to get together some time for lunch. You could tell her that you're very thankful for all the help she's been giving you on your . . . book." He used air quotes to highlight the last word. They both laughed.

She really had been a tremendous help. The first time they spoke about his book he tried to impress her with everything he had come across during his one night of research. He mispronounced most of the names, but she still found him charming. Any man that would take the time to learn about Rene Rapin and Pierre de Ronsard was worth getting to know. She knew he was interested in her, but she was willing to let him make the first move.

An idea quickly popped into Mike's head. "Hey, you remember that production of Shakespeare we did back in high school? You played Hamlet and I was the stage manager."

"Yeah, I remember that very well. Gloria parker. She was Ophelia. Man that girl was hot." Rob flashed a playful grin. "Turned out she really did like country matters after all."

"What do you mean?"

"Let's just say I got lucky in the costume room one night after dress rehearsal." He gave Mike a wink.

Mike raised his mug as if giving a toast. "To my friend. Our high school's most notorious lothario."

"Here, here!" They clinched mugs and downed the last of their morning coffee.

"So, what does Hamlet have to do with your librarian?"

"I don't know. I'm just thinking there might be some lines from it that I could recite to impress her." Mike was beginning to sound frustrated.

"Look, you're trying too hard man. You don't need to quote any lines from Shakespeare. Just let her know you're interested and ask her out. Trust me. You don't give yourself enough credit. After all, you did manage to score with Shelly Pearson."

"Yeah, that's a real feather in my cap."

"Hey, don't sell yourself short. You may not have been her first, or twentieth for that matter, but at least you got in there eventually." Rob gave a quick thumbs up.

Mike rolled his eyes. "I think after me she took up with Booger Hanson."

"Well, don't allow that to diminish your accomplishment," Rob said as he stood and threw a twenty on the table. "Booger may have been uglier than shit, but I hear he was hung like a horse." The two broke out in laughter as they headed for the door.

_________________________________________

That evening Mike took his usual spot in the library. Glancing around Ally was nowhere to be found. He hoped it wasn't her night off or that she wasn't home sick. He looked forward to their conversations and tonight he had decided to take Rob's advice and finally ask her out. His hands were sweaty and he found himself constantly fidgeting with his pencil. When he saw a stern older woman take her place at the librarian's desk he decided he would call it a night and try again tomorrow.

As he stood to pack up he felt a hand touch his shoulder and he turned. It was her. Immediately he brightened. "Ally, what a pleasant surprise."

"Michael, I'm sorry to interrupt you. Were you heading out?"

"Oh, no. I was just thinking of moving to another table." Now that she was here there was no way he would be leaving.

"Good. I was thinking some more about your research topic and thought of some reference works that might be helpful. There in the special reserve collection on the third floor. I'm afraid they don't let anyone in there unaccompanied, so I've asked one of the other librarians to cover the main floor while I escort you to look them over. Do you have a few moments to come with me?"

"Absolutely."

As he followed her up the staircase he couldn't remove his eyes from her. The pencil black skirt she wore perfectly hugged her curves, her hips swaying back and forth with each step. The smell of her perfume formed a trail that had him sniffing the air as he climbed the stairs behind her. It was as if he was trying to inhale every scent that escaped her body.

He had never been to this part of the library and it seemed they were the only two on the entire floor. She used a key around her neck and unlocked the big wooden doors that led to what was identified as the Johnson Collection. Michael was immediately taken in by the warn glow of the room. A fireplace was burning at the far end providing the only source of light. He quickly looked around noticing the leather chairs and sofa arranged in the center, surrounding a table that had several books laid out upon it. It was the kind of library one might find in an old castle. The walls were filled with shelves containing books clearly centuries old. Now he understood why this room was locked and why no one was admitted without supervision. These books were priceless.

He heard the door close behind him and turned to see Ally moving slowly around the outskirts of the room. She was in and out of the shadows as the light from the fireplace flickered around the room. Her left hand was outstretched, lightly brushing across the books as she walked. He could see her smiling as she gazed longingly at them.

"I love coming up here. There's just something about the smell and feel of these old books that fires my imagination. I can escape all of the madness of the outside world, kick off my shoes, lay back on the sofa and read some ancient tale of love and heroism."

He gulped as his eyes continued to follow her. She now turned her gaze to him.

"I hope you don't mind, but I came up here earlier to light the fire and pull out some of my favorite books for you." She let out a brief giggle. He quickly glanced at the books on the table. He could see the names Austen, Brontë and Falubert, as well as The Decameron and Les Liaisons Dangereuses.

"Oh, no. I don't mind at all. This is breathtaking. I feel like I'm getting to see something that few do."

"Yes. Not many get to see what you're seeing tonight." She stopped next to a rolling wooden ladder that was attached to the shelves and rested her left arm against it. "Michael, I've been noticing how you look at me when I'm sitting at my desk."

He wasn't sure if it was the fire or the sultriness of her voice, but the room was growing warmer and sweat began to form across his brow. "You have?" The words stumbled nervously out of his mouth. He was trembling.

"Yes. It's hard not to notice when a man is staring at me. Especially when I can tell that they like what they see. You do like me, don't you Michael?

"Umm, yes, Ally. I do like you." He struggled to get the words to come out, but he couldn't deny how he felt about her.

"Hmph. Then why haven't you done anything about it? I mean, you've been coming here for over a month now. It hasn't taken you that long to figure out that you like me, has it?"