Frederick Laughton
Bookstore for boys

CHAPTER ONE

Jennifer Watson drummed her fingers impatiently on the counter and with a sour expression regarded the expensively bound hardback book, featuring on the cover a statue of Aphrodite, that lay out before her. Then she lifted her eyes to the swarthy and somewhat shifty-eyed distributor who stood waiting before her. She was briefly but acutely aware that his attention had been focused not on the book, nor on leer face even. He'd been leering lasciviously at the fully upthrust mounds of her breasts, breasts whose inviting shape could not be concealed even in the most modest of blouses.

The twenty-four-year-old blonde scowled in irritation, and across from her Lou Kelly smiled.

"I've told you, Lou," Jennifer began tiredly. "I don't know how many times I've told you. I'm not turning this bookstore into some kind of Scandinavian sex shop. And that's that."

"Honey," Lou said, slurring the word slightly to reveal not surprisingly that he'd done more drinking than eating during his lunch. "This is different. This is the hottest selling item in town right now."

"I don't care. And don't call me 'honey'. Moby Dick hardly even sold while Melville was alive and it's the American classic. Sales mean nothing. I mean, there's no relation between appeal and quality. I opened this shop because I wanted to offer good literature to this neighborhood, and God must know as well as you that that's something these people have rarely been subjected to. There's a junior high school a block down the street and this store is full of those kids every afternoon. That's not the kind of book I want them to find here."

"It's not that kind of book," Lou said with conviction. Then he grinned, wickedly, lecherously. "And anyway, if you think those little fuckers come in here because they're interested in high class literature…"

"Lou!" Jennifer hissed, again conscious of the man's eyes roving over her voluptuous young body as though to illustrate the meaning of his remark. But the telltale flush that heated her cheeks would have been enough to let him know that she recognized the truth in what he'd said. And it was true. She'd grudgingly admitted that some time ago. Evidence made the fact inescapable. Every afternoon around three, the shop was flooded with thirteen and fourteen-year-olds. Most of them were boys. They rarely bought books, and many of them displayed little interest in even looking at them. But they did look at Jennifer. Sometimes she even overheard their crass remarks. It was at times embarrassing, at times infuriating, and commonly the young owner felt almost like a piece of meat on display in a butcher's showcase.

But ever since she was a young girl, devouring everything of taste and quality she could find to read, Jennifer had regarded good writing almost with a reverence. And she told herself that if, as a result of their prurient interest and curiosity in her, even one of these generally lower-middle class youngsters was able to develop an appreciation for literature, all the discomfort she suffered would be worth it. She carried out this rationalization somewhat as a stern missionary's sexy looking wife might allow herself to be goggle-eyed by a band of heathen savages, rationalizing her becoming the object of their impure thoughts and desires with the trust that their proximity to her scripture-touting husband would lead eventually to the saving of their eternal souls.

Yes, Jennifer realized, it was with a reverence that she regarded great writing. It was indeed partly that reverence that had lead her to marry a young man considered by many critics to be the most promising American fiction writer to appear on the scene since the 1920's. And though this was something she'd tried to avoid admitting to herself, it was to some extent her feeling that by commercializing his last and most successful novel he'd violated the trust of his God-given talent and had precipitated the two of them into a premature divorce.

"Hit a little too close to home with that one, huh?" Lou Kelly asked to interrupt her reverie.

"No, Lou, you did not hit close to home. I was thinking about something else."

"Stephan, maybe. You know, there's some pretty sexy stuff in his book."

Again Jennifer's face flushed. She followed the distributor's gaze to the display of her ex-husband's latest novel, and as she did so she remembered something that caused a little flutter of nausea to begin deep in the pit of her stomach. That, she thought. My God, I wonder if I will ever be able to forget that.

"Look, baby," Lou said, reaching across the counter to put his hand on Jennifer's bare arm below the sleeve of her blouse. "I've got a big nice display poster for The Joy of Sex. Let me set it up for you in the front window, with six sample copies. Just see how it goes. Then next week you can place your order. If you're going to keep this place open you've got to sell something every once in a while. Okay?"

There was a certain truth in that, Jennifer remarked mentally to herself. But that had nothing to do with her answer. She was just tired of arguing, and now she had something else on her mind anyway. "All right, Lou. Set up the display. I guess if my adult readers want to read that stuff I have no right to say they can't."

"Thatta girl," Lou said.

But the man made no move toward the task. He stood where he was, his eyes again roving hungrily over Jennifer's young shapely body.

"Well?" she said after a moment, her irritation showing in her voice.

"Let me treat you for dinner and… uh… you know, a good time."

"No! Can't you get that through your thick skull?"

"You'll come around. You're just playing hard to get," Lou paused, smiling lecherously. "What's the use of starving yourself for what every woman needs? Your ex-hubby's sure not missing out on any fun with those movie starlets hanging all over him."

"Set up that damned display of yours and get out of here!" Jennifer hissed. Then, to the raucous laughter echoing behind her, she turned and stalked through the door into the back of the shop, where she maintained a little living room-kitchenette in which she could cook or even sleep on the fold-out couch, should the impulse strike her. She passed on through into the bathroom, seizing a brush from the cabinet and beginning to tear almost viciously at her long blond hair.

Damn that creep, Jennifer thought bitterly. But it was true, what he'd said about the movie starlets. She knew that only too well. She'd seen it with her own eyes and even now she trembled to recall the shocking scene she'd encountered the night she'd come back to their suite in the Ambassador, where Stephan was negotiating the sale of his second novel to the movies, and found him in bed with the two young screen hopefuls. It hung now before her eyes, a stark and shattering vision of squirming naked bodies, trembling breasts and waggling buttocks and wildly scissoring thighs.

And that had been the catalyst. That had been the last straw that had driven her to leave, to break off their marriage.

"Sure you won't reconsider dinner?"

Jennifer started at hearing the voice behind her. She turned and peered through the open door to the curtained entrance of the bookstore proper, where she could see that Lou Kelly had come behind the counter and stood again leering at her, seeming to relish the glistening tears that streaked her cheeks.

"Get out of here, Lou," Jennifer said in a low, cracked voice. "Just get out of lore and leave me alone."

Kelly shrugged and turned and left. Seething with bitterness, Jennifer pivoted back to the mirror. She took a towel from the rack beside the washbasin and carefully dabbed the tears from her cheeks, then applied just the most conservative amount of make-up to mask her red eyes. As she was finishing, she heard the jangling of the bell that warned the front door of the shop was opening. The following chatter of young male voices informed her that the first of the afternoon school crowd had arrived.

Jennifer took a deep breath, then walked through back into the shop, frowning as she saw that a number of young boys had gathered outside on the street to look through the window at the advertising display for The Joy of Sex. But she knew she shouldn't have expected different. Managing to regain some of the composure she'd lost during her conversation with the book's distributor, Jennifer walked briskly across the store to the front entrance and emerged into the street. She paused, hands on her hips, staring sternly at the boys gathered there. The little group fell silent and several of the youngsters looked at her somewhat resentfully. Then they moved on away down the street.

The voluptuous blonde divorcee waited until they reached the corner, then moved up to take a look at Kelly's display for herself, blushing as she saw that the six copies of the book were accompanied by a tall cardboard full-color poster of a naked man and woman, locked in warm embrace. They were photographed in profile and it was only the tight fit of their naked bodies that served to partially conceal the woman's lusciously rounded breasts and the forbidden little nipples that crowned them.

For an extended moment Jennifer stared through the glass at the photograph. In spite of her indignation at finding it displayed in her own showcase, she had to admit that it was tastefully done. And the taste wasn't in the appeal of two extremely attractive models who'd posed for it, nor in the fact that it did not go out of its way to be vulgar or more revealing. The taste lay in the fact that a moment seemed to have been captured, revealed in the look of warm satisfaction in the man's eyes and the loving gratitude of the woman's. It was intended to depict a man and woman who had just made love, Jennifer realized with a sudden intensification of her breathing, and they had made love very well together, each to the other's satisfaction. And that was something she hadn't known for so long. She could hardly even remember that feeling. But she had experienced it. She had experienced it exquisitely and wonderfully, but oh so long ago.

But this still wasn't the kind of display she wanted in her show window, the young woman reminded herself, snapping out of her wistful reverie, and suddenly she turned and walked back into the shop, down along the bookracks to the window. To the astonishment of several of the young boy's gathered around, she reached over into the display window and retrieved the poster. To the half playful protests of the youngsters she carried it back through the curtain to the rear of the shop. Then she paused for a moment, a wave of nostalgia passing over her as she looked at it again and remembered. With a sigh she turned and moved back into the shop.

Most of the rest of the afternoon passed in comparative peace. The schoolboys lingered for a half hour or so and gradually filtered out. A few adult customers came and left. She sold two copies of her ex-husband's new novel and an elderly spinster bought a copy of The Joy of Sex. It was almost closing time when the lone and somewhat nervous young boy came in.

"Hello," Jennifer said cheerfully. "Can I help you with something?"

The boy stopped just inside the door and for a moment Jennifer thought he was going to retreat. He was cute and dark-headed, thirteen or fourteen, she would have guessed. In his hand he was carrying a small brown paper sack.

"Oh… no, ma'am," he said after a moment. "I just want to look… around."

"Please do," Jennifer said, returning her attention to the order list she'd been examining before the boy arrived.

A moment later the attractive blonde was disturbed again by the shy-looking youngster. He had approached the counter and he was staring at her almost fearfully. As she leaned over to look down at him Jennifer noticed that he was holding something behind his back.

"Yes?" she asked with a slight frown.

"Seven dollars and ninety-five cents?" the boy blurted, plopping the paper sack onto the counter with a jangling that indicated it was filled with coins, and producing from behind his back a copy of The Joy of Sex.

Jennifer's mouth dropped open with surprise and for a moment she could think of not a word to say. Before her the young boy's face gradually reddened and again she had the feeling he was on the verge of fearful flight.

"What is your name?" she finally croaked, realizing as she asked it how stupid the question sounded.

"Skip."

"Skip who?"

"Skip… Palmer," the boy said, fidgeting nervously. "You can… you can count it. I broke a piggy bank I've had since I was a… a kid and there was over eighteen dollars in it."

Almost absently Jennifer weighed the sack of coins. "I wasn't doubting your honesty. I just wonder why a boy your age would want to spend that much money for a book like this."

"Because… because… I…" the cute teenager's voice faltered.

"How old are you?" Jennifer persisted.

"Fifteen. Well… fourteen and a half."

"And what do you think your parents would say if they knew you were buying a book like this?"

"They wouldn't… they wouldn't say anything," the boy replied even more defensively and nervously than before.

"Would they disapprove?"

"No."

"You mean to say they would approve?"

"No. I… I didn't say that either."

"Then what do you mean exactly?"

Skip Palmer swallowed hard. "They're dead."

Jennifer felt the color drain from her face. Her throat was dry and her heart was pounding furiously and before her the young boy was almost visibly squirming. "I'm sorry," she managed at last. "I'm sorry, I couldn't have guessed."

"They got killed in a car wreck last year. Down in New Mexico where we lived. Then I was sent here to San Francisco to live with my grandmother. And that… that's why I want the book."

Jennifer blinked. "I don't know if I see the connection." Then the story came flooding out, as if the boy thought he could win her consent by keeping up a steady conversation.

"See, I'm sort of… sort of a freak in school here, because these kids grow up a lot faster than we grew up back there. Most of the guys in my class know everything about… about what's in that book. And I don't know anything. I don't even know where to start with… you know, with a girl. And if I try to ask some of the other guys they think I'm a queer or something."

Even Jennifer blushed at hearing the innocent-looking teenager use that crude word. But at the same time her heart went out to him. She was almost running over with empathy and compassion.

"And I can't ask my grandmother. She doesn't talk about anything but sin and hellfire and ever-lasting damnation. So I've got to have the book, don't you see?"

"But… Skip. This book was not intended for boys your age." Jennifer leaned forward and took the book gently from the young boy's hands. "This was designed for married couples. To help them… get more out of their lives with each other."

"But that's what I want to know about. What married people do. That's what the other boys talk about and even some of them… do it sometimes."

"Oh Skip!" Jennifer gasped. "Don't talk like that." She paused, observing the youngster's desperately pleading face. Then she pushed the sack of coins slowly back across the counter. "And I can't take your money. I can't sell you this book. Can't you imagine what your grandmother would say if she found it?"

"But I won't let her find it."

"That's not the point!" Jennifer snapped, surprised at the irritation in her voice.

But the edge to her tone was enough to take Skip aback. He retreated a step from the table, hanging his head sadly, blinking fast as though he would cry. Then he seized the paper sack and turned and stumbled hurriedly for the door. He was about to go out when Jennifer stopped him, hardly able to even believe the words as they burst spontaneously to her own lips: "Skip. Come back tomorrow about the same time. I'll look through the book tonight and select some passages I think will be suitable for a boy your age, if there are any. The material you need to know. We can go over it together, and I'll do my best to answer whatever questions you have."