Finding Ms. Write Read online

  Nora nodded to herself, smiling, then read on.

  And I came across this verse, and it seemed to me it said all I wanted to say at the end of this week.

  Her coming was my hope each day,

  Her parting was my pain;

  The chance that did her steps delay

  Was ice in every vein.

  Until Monday…

  Nora read it again, struggling to breathe. Oh God, who was this woman? And how could she elicit such a reaction in Nora? She prided herself on always remaining calm, rising above the nonsense of the hearts-and-flowers treatment that a lot of women seemed to think constituted the perfect romance. But if this woman presented her with a dozen red roses and another note full of wondrous words, she would literally swoon. She folded the note, slipped it into her bag with its two partners, and took a deep breath before walking on. She was going to do everything she could to work out who this admirer of hers was—if nothing else, her mystery woman would be a welcome distraction for this stupid attraction to Maggie.

  Come Monday, Nora was a woman on a mission. She was going to share the contents of the third note with David, and they were going to crack this mystery once and for all. And then she reached her desk and stopped in her tracks.

  Laying across her keyboard was another note.

  She quickly glanced around. Not a soul in sight. She snatched up the note and hungrily immersed herself in it.

  Good morning, beautiful. I hope your weekend was good. I was happy that mine passed by so quickly, as it drew me nearer to you with each minute that fled. And I decided something over the weekend, once again inspired by our Jane: ‘I would always rather be happy than dignified.’ I may lose some dignity in revealing myself and risk your rejection. But the chance that I could be immeasurably happy if you do not reject me, and you yourself take a risk in knowing me, and learning me, is worth the potential cost.

  So, come find me, if you care to. I am waiting and will wait until ten this morning. Please, come find me—I am on the bridge, and I hope you will know me when you see me.

  Nora’s breath stalled in her throat. Oh God, she was out there, waiting! She glanced at her watch. Nine fifteen, plenty of time. Was she ready? Definitely, yes. But nervous too—so many doubts about who the woman was. Still desperately hoping it was a woman, of course. But again, somehow, the way the notes were written, something just told her it had to be a woman. Oh God, what if it was all some awful prank, and she was about to make an utter fool of herself? What if the woman was in a relationship and just trying to charm her way into Nora’s pants for a quick fling? What if—?

  She stopped herself. She could do the what ifs all day, but where would that get her? Safe? Yes. But always wondering what might have been? Yes.

  Time to be bold.

  Nora stepped out of the building into a light drizzle, strong enough for an umbrella, which—of course—she had left upstairs in her mad rush to get out of the office once her decision was made. Whoever was waiting for her on the bridge would just have to take her looking a little damp and frizzy. She took a deep breath and turned left towards the bridge.

  Someone was waiting, huddled under a plain black umbrella and wrapped in a long black coat. She had her back to Nora, but the figure was unmistakably that of a woman, and Nora breathed a huge sigh of relief at having passed that first hurdle. Pushing herself onwards, despite the shakiness in her legs, she tried to calm her breathing as she reached the end of the bridge and stepped onto it. She skirted a couple of men, and then, for a few moments at least, it was just her and the other woman. The heels of Nora’s boots clicked on the bridge, and the sound was just loud enough to reach the woman because she turned her way. She lifted her umbrella, which revealed her face, and Nora froze.

  Maggie.

  It took a moment to register. It was Maggie. Maggie was standing in the centre of the bridge, waiting for her.

  Maggie smiled, tentatively, and then walked slowly towards Nora.

  It’s Maggie, thought Nora numbly. Maggie has been writing me those astonishingly wonderful notes? Maggie?

  Maggie stopped a pace or two away, her smile fading at the lack of reaction from Nora, but Nora was too stunned to get her face muscles working. They stood staring at each other for a few seconds, and then Maggie shrugged and made as if to walk past Nora.

  “Wait!” blurted Nora, finally finding her voice.

  Maggie stopped alongside her, her expression questioning, yet fearful.

  “You?” whispered Nora. “The notes…they were from you?”

  Maggie nodded and started to speak and then stopped, waiting.

  “But…I mean…really?”

  “Really what?” asked Maggie quietly. “Really they were from me, or really that’s how I feel about you?”

  “Both, I suppose.” How could it be possible that the brash, arrogant woman who’d asked her out in her first week on the job was the same woman who had, well, wooed her with such heartfelt letters and poems in the weeks since?

  “Yes, to both,” whispered Maggie as she took a step closer. She gazed into Nora’s eyes, her own filled with nothing but sincerity. Maggie took a deep breath, as if bracing herself. “I’m not the woman you met that first week.” Her voice was quiet but determined. “I fell into my usual self-protecting act, allowed my own urban myth to cloud my judgement and make me as obnoxious as everyone has come to expect me to be. I went home one Friday night, unable to get thoughts of you out of my head, and I had a good, long talk with myself. I decided it was time to be the real me, the one they”—she gestured towards the office block behind Nora—“never see. The woman I really want to be. The woman I really am. The woman who is completely and utterly captivated by you.”

  Nora’s heart did a great big thud. Maggie’s spoken words, like her written ones, left her reeling.

  “And I couldn’t just walk into the office on a Monday morning, tell you all this, and expect you to believe me. I needed you to hear me before you could see me.”

  “But, how…? You knew so much about me, what I was doing. How?”

  Maggie tilted her head. “I hope I didn’t alarm you.”

  Nora smiled ruefully.

  “Oh God, that wasn’t my intention! I just got lucky, I guess, with circumstances. That Friday night, when you went out with Joanne the first time, by sheer fluke I was out with a friend, and we sat at the table behind yours. I eavesdropped all evening—very rude, especially to the friend I was eating with.”

  Nora giggled.

  “In terms of getting into your locker—again, just luck. I was standing at the printer near the lockers when you entered your combination one morning. I…I was watching your hands.” She blushed.

  Nora found herself smiling at the implication hidden in Maggie’s words.

  “The others were easier. I only had to wait for you to be away from your desk. And this morning…” She paused, letting out a small sigh. “I knew I had to do this, to risk telling you who I was, so I got up extra early and made sure everything was in place before you arrived.”

  Nora took a moment to absorb all that Maggie had said and to work out how it fit with the events of the last few weeks.

  “What about the woman you were seeing?”

  Maggie’s face scrunched into a frown.

  “David overheard you telling Michelle you were off the market because you had found someone. How does she fit into this whole…scheme?” Nora tried to keep her voice neutral but wasn’t sure she succeeded.

  Maggie’s eyes widened, and then a blush stole across her cheeks.

  “That was you,” she whispered. “I was talking about how I felt about you. I wasn’t seeing anyone. I was just trying to put a stop to whatever gossip was doing the rounds.”

  Nora slowly shook her head. This was extraordinary
. Her mind and body whirled from the emotional onslaught of coming to terms with the resolution of the mystery. Of discovering that the beautiful woman in front of her had written the words that had set Nora alight. Of realising that the dream the notes had dangled in front her had every chance of becoming a reality. A reality she could literally grasp with both hands, if she just took one step forward.

  And so she did.

  She took Maggie’s free hand in hers and wrapped Maggie’s cold fingers in her own much warmer ones.

  Maggie’s instant smile was brilliant enough to generate its own rainbow in the drizzle around them.

  Nora smiled back and then giggled and then laughed out loud with the sheer joy of the moment. She didn’t resist when Maggie bent her head and placed the gentlest, tenderest of kisses on Nora’s lips. A kiss that stayed gentle for only moments before Nora clutched at Maggie’s coat, pulled her in closer, and urged Maggie to kiss her with a hunger that seared its way deep into Nora’s soul.

  Maggie lowered the umbrella over their joined bodies, shielding them from the rain and any onlookers, and they lost themselves in each other, with no words needed.

  ROMANCE ON A SIDE NOTE

  BY CHRIS ZETT

  Liz checked the titles on the table against several lists in her head as she went through the stacks of books. There were thousands, maybe tens of thousands of books to go through this weekend. She didn’t expect to discover anything worth a decent commission, but she never knew. She would probably find some of the items on her unpaid list, though. She sighed. That list was ever growing, but how could she refuse her grandmother and her book club? Ah, there’s one. She crouched down and reached into a box under the table.

  “No, I need that!”

  Something hard and narrow hit Liz from behind. Sharp pain shot from her lower back into her right foot, and she lost her balance and fell into the box of books. What the fuck? She struggled to free herself from the mess of books and squashed cardboard and turned to tell the rude person behind her exactly what she thought of people shoving and fighting at a library sale. This was not Black Friday after all. The scolding died on her tongue as she looked into the worried face of an elderly lady behind a walker.

  “I’m so sorry, dear! Did I hurt you? Did you break something? Let me help you up!”

  The woman’s concern convinced Liz that it had been an accident, rather than intention, that had landed her on the floor. She waved away the outstretched hand, afraid the fragile woman would break if she had to lift her weight. Not that Liz was that heavy, but even a paperback edition of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare seemed too much for her attacker. The woman clutched her walker with one hand; the other trembled at her side, and she looked pale as if she might faint any minute.

  “It’s okay. I’m not hurt.” Liz turned back to arrange the fallen books in a stack and to reclaim the book that had caused the incident. It was an illustrated edition of Little Women in good condition from 1947, if she remembered correctly. The same sketch of a woman was repeated in alternating red and white on the front and back. It was a beautiful book, but not rare and certainly nothing to fight over. She stood and turned to the woman.

  “Are you really all right? I swear it was an accident. I’m so, so sorry. I’m not yet used to this contraption.” The woman pointed at her walker and frowned.

  “I’m fine, don’t worry. I’m Elizabeth Fray, but you can call me Liz.” Liz smiled and held out her hand.

  “Oh, I’m Elizabeth too, Elizabeth London, but I go by Beth.” She took Liz’s hand, and her grip was surprisingly strong. Beth gazed at the book in Liz’s other hand but didn’t say anything.

  Liz offered the book for inspection. “Do you want it?”

  Beth hesitated. “May I have a look inside?”

  “Sure.” Liz shrugged and gave it to her.

  Beth swiftly leafed through the book, not pausing to study the illustrations or the condition of the binding as Liz would have done. Finally, she shook her head and gave it back; she sighed and grasped her walker with an unsteady hand. “You can keep it, dear. It’s not what I’m looking for.”

  Liz took a quick look at the book and put it in the shopping basket she had brought. “I saw another edition somewhere over here. Maybe that’s the one you’re looking for.”

  Beth looked down and blushed. “No, no. The edition is right, I’m sure of it. But I need a different copy.” She seemed to shrink behind her walker as she slowly turned toward the next table. “Maybe I’ll get lucky over there. Thank you.”

  Liz watched her go and debated whether she should follow her. The blush and the forlorn expression intrigued her. There was a story behind Beth’s search. Stop helping old ladies and concentrate on customers that pay the bills! Liz closed her eyes and mentally reviewed her long list of books she needed.

  A few hours later, she found what Beth was looking for. Another copy of the same edition was stuck between travel descriptions, and she nearly overlooked it because she found a book that would pay some of her bills for this month—a first edition atlas with illustrations of southern France, the region her client’s great-grandfather had immigrated from. This version of Little Women was even more worn than the first one and had obviously gone through many hands. It had been repaired several times, and the spine had been exchanged for a generic one, probably sometime in the late fifties. She carefully opened the book and checked if anything on the inside was different from the others. Several comments in two distinctive styles of handwriting filled the inner margins with lines in thin pencil. Sometimes the comments consisted of just one word or a short sentence. Sometimes there was a conversation between the two writers. One had signed with JS, the other with BL, and they not only discussed the book but life in general. It was not difficult to guess that BL stood for Beth London.

  Liz searched for Beth but couldn’t find her. Maybe she had given up.

  Liz went to the checkout counter, where a librarian was handling the sale of the books. She patiently packed each purchase in totes with the logo of the library and chatted with the customers. Liz had enough time to admire her as she waited in line. She was probably around Liz’s age, and the brown corduroy skirt, the green woolen sweater, and the neat knot of her dark hair would have looked old-fashioned on most women but it didn’t on her. Liz couldn’t pinpoint how she pulled it off. When it was Liz’s turn, the librarian’s smile made her forget what she wanted for a moment.

  “Excuse me, have you seen an elderly lady with a walker, maybe that high,” Liz motioned to somewhere beneath her shoulder, “with curly white hair?”

  The woman, Jane her name tag said, gave her a look that was the perfect mixture of incredulous and amused. It lightened up her classic stern librarian look, which Liz found cute. Jane raised her eyebrows and pointed to several women that matched the description in the near vicinity.

  Maybe she had been a little bit vague. Liz tried her best charming smile and explained the situation to Jane. She finished by handing over her card. “So, if you hear from Beth, could you please give her my number and let me know?” She searched for the right words to convey an interest in talking to Jane again. As usual, she failed to come up with a clever line and settled for something simple. “Or you could call if you have any questions.”

  Jane nodded and put the card in her pocket. “It’s not very likely, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

  Her expression had softened during the explanation, and Liz wanted to linger and chat with her, but a line had already formed, and the other customers grumbled behind her.

  Liz decided to take the book with her and see if she could find Beth herself, which should be easy. Working as a professional book finder regularly included finding people. When she was on the trail of rare first editions, she sometimes needed to find the past owners to research the current one.

  Locating Beth prove
d more difficult than finding a Gutenberg Bible. Not really, but it certainly felt like it. She wasn’t listed in the phone book and seemed to lack ties to the region. Liz’s usual sources and the Internet came up empty. After losing fifteen minutes reading about the new tube line in London that was named after Queen Elizabeth, she gave up and focused on paying customers. But the urge to find her remained for the rest of the week.

  Sunday was her regular day to visit her grandmother. She lived in a retirement home, for the social aspects more than anything. She got to see her friends every day, and they had formed a book club. Currently, they were rereading their favorite classics and planned to start Little Women next. Should she show her grandma Beth’s copy? She finally decided against it. The way Beth had blushed made it somehow seem too personal.

  Liz greeted her grandmother with a hug and a kiss.

  “What treasures have you brought me today?” Her grandmother reached for Liz’s bag even before the hug ended. Her eager smile and enthusiasm always reminded Liz of herself as a little girl on Christmas.

  Liz unpacked the stack of books she had found at the library sale and several used-book stores. “You won’t believe what happened when I found the copy of Little Women Aunt Jo requested.”

  “Did you have to fight for it?” Grandma chuckled.

  Liz wasn’t surprised. Her grandmother had fantastic intuition. “Nearly.” Liz told her about meeting Beth and finding the book she was seeking. She left out the written conversation and Jane, the cute, but sadly uninterested librarian. Liz sighed. Complaining to her grandma about the fruitless search for Beth felt good, but it didn’t alleviate her regret of failing to find her.