On My Recommendation

The phone on the desk rang again.

“Annabeth?” Lindsey called over her shoulder, “can you get that?”

The phone’s ringer was interrupted mind tone as the library’s assistant lifted the dated receiver from its cradle, stretching the tangled spirals of its cord as she pressed it to the side of her face. Lindsey dragged her finger along the spines of the books marking her progress as she scanned the white, laminated labels for “GRE”. As she did, she heard her associate say, “Yes, we do have a copy, but I’m afraid you are the third person this morning to call about it. I could put your name on the hold list if you like?”

Lindsey shook her head, What is going on today? She wondered. The woman tilted her head to read the spines of the books as she searched for the one she wanted: Sister Stardust, Paper Towns, Blame It on Paris. She shook her head with disbelief. There it was. The spine was just shy of an inch wide and made of solid navy blue cloth with silver letters inset: “That I Knew” by P. Greene. Lindsey touched her index finger to the top of the book and tilted it toward her. She noted the fine layer of dust atop its pages as she pulled it free from its place among the other tomes. 

She clutched it in both her hands, staring at it cover, which bore only a single strand of ivy pressed in the same silver ink. The dust jacket must be missing, she thought, as she wove between the stacks of books without looking up, like a mouse trained to find its way through a maze by memory alone. 

“You found it?” Annabeth looked up from the computer screen as Lindsey approached the desk. Her fingers stilled on the keyboard mid-stroke. 

“I did,” Lindsey shook her head, clearing away the flood of questions trying to pour into her brain, letting only one remain. “Who requested it first?” 

Annabeth looked back to the computer, pulling up a new tab of the library’s catalog and typed in the title. She pressed enter, and waited while the decade-old machine worked to pull up the name. “That last call also put in a hold for it.” The young woman shook her head. “That makes four this morning.” 

“What has gotten into this town?” Lindsey asked, more to herself than to her assistant. She shook her head as she pulled a yellow Post-It note free from the stack on the desk and stuck it to the top of the desk. She unclipped the blue pen from the lanyard she wore draped around her neck and clicked it, preparing the scrawl the name of the book’s recipient. 

“It’s not just our town.” Annabeth said, clicking the first name on the screen. “That last call was from Cleveland.”

BROWN, CAMILLE S shown on the screen. Lindsey jotted the name down on the Post-It as she spoke, “Why would they be calling us?”

“Inter-library loan request.” Annabeth said, taking the book from Lindsey’s outstretched hand. “Must be something in the water.” She placed it on the shelf behind the desk, next to three Bridgerton romances and the newest James Patterson novel, all of which bore a similar Post-It note label.

“I’ll say. Four calls in an hour for a book that probably hasn’t been check out in ten years.” Lindsey slid her arms free from the oversized cardigan that she wore and draped it on the hook beside the holds shelf. Annabeth stood from the desk and crossed behind her boss as she made her way toward the overnight book drop. “I’ll send Camille Brown an email that it’s ready for her.” Lindsey said, already tapping away on the computer Annabeth hand momentarily abandoned. 

When phone rang again at 12:02, just moments into the librarians’ afternoon, they both let out a sigh. Between the pre-school story hour, the senior citizen book club meeting, and a parade of homeschoolers on their weekly scour of the non-fiction section, they’d barely had time to breath on any Wednesday morning, but today’s persistent stream of phone calls and emails had them both dreaming of coffee drinks with extra espresso shots and the silence of their commutes home. 

“Ten bucks it’s another hold request.” Annabeth said under her breath to Lindsey.

Lindsey shook her head, “I know better than to take that bet today.” She answered as she reached for the phone. “Glenfield Public Library, Lindsey speaking.” 

The chipper voice on the other end spoke, “Hi Lindsey, this is Nicole Arnold from the New York Times. I was hoping you might have a moment to talk.”

“I’m sorry,” Lindsey waved her hand at Annabeth, trying to get her attention, as she said, “Did you say you were from the New York Times?” Annabeth’s eyes grew wide as she mouthed THE NEW YORK TIMES in a silent scream. The voice on the other end laughed, “I did! I actually get that response pretty often. Is now a good time to chat?” 

Lindsey tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the one not pressed to the phone’s receiver, as she spoke, “I- I’m really not sure how I can help you.”

“I’m trying to locate a copy of ‘That I Knew’ by P. Greene, and I believe that the Glenfield Public Library has a copy. Can you confirm that?”

“Yes, we do have a copy of the book. In fact, our phones have been ringing all morning about it.” Lindsey’s words travelled into the phone’s speaker, but she said them more to Annabeth than to the woman on the other end of the line. Annabeth’s mouth fell open. The book, she mouthed. Lindsey nodded as she listened.

“Do you still have the copy in your possession? Has anyone checked it out yet?” The reporter spoke quickly, a sense of desperation in her voice.

“For the moment, it’s still in the library, but we did notify the first person in line for it that it’s ready to pick up.”Annabeth watched as Lindsey wiggled the computer’s mouse, waking up the computer to display the library’s catalog that was still open to the book in question. “It looks like the waitlist is 12 people long now.” She added.

The reporter sighed, “I know this is a long shot. But is there any way that I could have you overnight it to me instead?”

“Overnight it to you?” Lindsey’s voice rang with shock.

“I know, I know,” The reporter pleaded, “Call it unethical, atypical, whatever you want.” She sighed. “To be honest, I’m a little more desperate than I’d like to admit, but I think this could be huge. I’m willing to make you a deal of course, spin the story in a way that works for you, for small town libraries?” 

Lindsey closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “Nicole was it?” She asked.

“Yes, Nicole Arnold.”

“I’m having a very weird day, and it seems to be all about his book. Why is it suddenly so important?”

“You haven’t seen the story yet?”

“What story?”

“What’s the best email for you?” Nicole asked. Lindsey could hear her typing away on a keyboard on the other end of the line. 

“I have my library inbox open right now.” Lindsey clicked from the catalog management system to the email icon on her computer screen. She rattled off her email address. 

A few moments later, Nicole spoke, “Sent.”

“Our system is slow,” she sighed into the phone. “Can I call you back in 15 minutes.”

“Just set the phone down, if you need to,” Nicole said. “I’ll wait.”

“Iswear I’ll call you right back.” Lindsey shook her head.

“Really,” Nicole insisted, “it’s no trouble. I’ll wait.”

The computer chimed with a notification of a new email’s arrival. Lindsey set the phone down on the desk, and clicked on the message. It read, 

Lindsey,

Here’s the article link. Skip down to the sixth question. It will explain it all.

-Nicole

Lindsey clicked the link, opening a new page in her computer’s browser. At the top of the page there was a photo of a man wearing glasses and a black T-shirt bearing Alice Cooper’s face. The man was reclined on a green park bench, legs stretched out in front of him crossed at the ankles. His face bore a smirk. Even without the headline Lindsey would have recognized him: Herman Willis, the nation’s, perhaps the world’s best-selling and notoriously private author. The headline under the photo read, “What Willis Wants You To Know.”

Lindsey scrolled through the in-depth article, counting the bolded questions as she went until she reached the sixth one: “What would you say was the moment that sparked your career as an author?”

Willis’s answer was this, “I had a part time gig at a publishing house the summer after I graduated college. It was a small outfit, just a handful of literary agents working for a subsidiary of one of the big guys. I took the job mainly to see if I wanted to be in the industry, but secretly, I was hoping to be an author instead. I spent the entire summer reading through the slush pile, hunting for diamonds amongst all the slop. It made me see what other people were writing, namely a bunch of sad, disillusioned men dreaming up lives of behaving badly. I was so close to giving up on it all, not just being an author, but on the publishing industry. I kept thinking, this stuff is just the same thing over and over again, and I don’t want to write anything like this.

“But then I tore open an envelope one Friday afternoon, and it changed everything. I started reading the manuscript and, my god, I’d never seen anything like it. I finished it the next day and had read it through again before I came back in on Monday morning. When I took it to the one agent’s office, I told him, if he only didn’t say yes to this one, I would quit on the spot.

“I don’t know if that was really much of a threat, but they did print it. It didn’t chart well, granted I think that was marketing’s fault and not the author’s. I mean, the book had the best twist I had ever read. It’s out of print now, but if you even come across a copy of ‘That I Knew’ by P. Greene, drop everything else you’re doing and read it. Reading that book for is what made me want to spend my whole life trying to write something that would top it. I never have though, in my opinion no one has, and it’s possible no one ever will.”

Lindsey stood from the the rolling desk chair and took the book down from the holds shelf. She reached for the phone and tucked it between her shoulder and her ear as she took her seat again and spoke. “Hi? Are you still there?”

Nicole answered, “Still here! Did you read my article.”

“You did the interview with Willis?” Lindsey blurted, setting the book down in front of her and cracked open the cover. “Sorry, I mean,” she tried to back track. “He never does interviews. How’d you get him to agree?”

The woman on the other end of the line laughed, “A lot of begging, a well-timed proposal, and a mutual love of classic rock.” Nicole cleared her throat before she continued. “Listen, I didn’t think anything of that question when I wrote it up, but now the whole world wants to read the book Willis thinks is the best there is. The editor is begging for a follow-up on ‘That I Knew’, but I can’t find a copy anywhere.”

“There isn’t one in New York City?” Lindsey raised her eyebrows and cast a glance at Annabeth, who was still trying to keep tabs on the conversation between helping the line of senior citizens returning books and checking out new ones following their book club meeting.

“It’s been out of print for nearly 35 years. I’ve been making calls all morning. It seems that every library I can find either discarded their copies decades ago or has already loaned it out.”

Lindsey flipped past the book’s flyleaf and front matter, as Nicole talked. Until she reached the front page, and sucked in a sharp, quick breath.

“Lindsey?” Nicole asked.

“You’re never going to believe this.” She whispered into the phone. 

“What? Is, is the book gone?” 

“No,” Lindsey reached across the space between her and Annabeth and tapped the other woman on the arm. “Our copy, it’s signed.”

“You have a signed copy?” Nicole whispered. 

“More than signed,” Lindsey shook her head. “It’s inscribed: To my local library, I’m honored to have my own book amongst your shelves.”

“Don’t mail me the book.” Nicole said. “I’m coming to you instead.”

The phone line clicked, leaving Lindsey listening to a dial tone. She set the phone back into its cradle.

“You okay, Linds?” Annabeth cast glance at her.

“I think,” Lindsey’s eyebrows raised. “She’s coming here.”

“What? Why?” Annabeth dropped the book she was holding. The thump of it landing on the desk turned every head in the room. 

“This book.” Lindsey held up the novel, still bearing the Post-It note with Camille’s name. “The author is local.” She shrugged. “Or at least was local at the time.” 

“Huh,” Annabeth reached for the book she had dropped and held it under the red light of the scanner once again. “I don’t know any Greenes” 

The man on the other side of the desk stared at the two women from underneath his untamed, white eyebrows. “You should ask the book club. They know everything about everyone, at least that’s what my wife says.” The man turned to look over his shoulder, “Margie, do you now any Greenes?”

The man’s wife, Margie, was standing in the door frame with another woman, but turned to look at her husband. “Greenes?” She asked, shooting a glance to the woman next to her. “Penny, wasn’t your maiden name Greene?”

Now it was the woman’s turn to look surprised. “It was.” She nodded. “Why do you need to know, Harold?” 

“Any of your family write a book?” He asked.

The woman’s cheeks colored red, standing out brightly against her pale skin and tastefully styled gray pixie-cut. “Why, yes.” She said, in nearly a whisper. “I did.”

Annabeth and Lindsey rose from their seats. Annabeth’s mouth gaped open, while Lindsey found the words to speak. “What was it called, Penny?”

“Oh no one’s ever heard of it, I’m sure.” She batted the air dismissively and rolled her eyes. “It was a long time ago, and it wasn’t very popular.”

“Please, Penny.” Lindsey whispered. 

“Well, if you must know,” she sighed. “It was called ‘That I Knew.”

Penny had been shocked when she read the article, and even more shocked when Lindsey told her that a reporter for the New York Times was on her way to Glenfield. But, now as the four women sat in a diner booth, each one with a cup of coffee in front of them, (decaf for Lindsey and Penny, full caffeine for Nicole and Annabeth), the shock seemed to have worn off.

Nicole’s phone sat out in the center of the table, the red button showing the conversation was being recorded.

“So, tell me,” she said. “Tell me about your book.”

“My first baby was a terrible sleeper.” Penny laughed. “And I was so nervous about it all, that when I did sleep, I had these wild, vivid dreams. And well,” she shrugged. “The only way I could make any sense out of them was to start writing them out and giving them different endings.”

Nicole nodded, encouraging her to keep talking, which Penny did. “After a while, one of the dreams kept coming back, over and over. So, I kept giving it different endings, but nothing seemed to help. Eventually, I just, well, I just leaned in. I went dark with it. A whole book later, I was the one giving people nightmares.”

Penny leaned forward, as if about to tell a secret. “Have you read it yet?” The three women shook their heads. Penny leaned back against the red vinyl of the booth. “Well, let’s just say then, that I wasn’t ready for the world to associate that story, with me, especially not in a small town like this.” She took a sip of her coffee then continued. “People always have so many opinions on each other. When I decided to submit it to a publisher, on a whim, I used my maiden name. I didn’t even tell my Bert, God rest his soul, never thought anything would come of it.”

“So, your husband didn’t know you published a book?” Nicole asked.

“No,” she shrugged. “He would have been supportive of course, but it was a different time, and I didn’t want to answer too many questions. It’s really got quite a bit of blood and vileness to it, you know, not what you’d expect from a young mom. I just used the advance to pay for a beach vacation, told him I got a bonus at work, and he never knew the difference. I was a bookkeeper for decades so I kept track of the family money too.”

“What do you think of Willis calling out your book?” Nicole took a sip of her own coffee.

“Honored, of course.” Penny smiled. “A bit shocked, I might add. He did always strike me as a man of good taste though.” She winked.

Annabeth cleared her throat and gave Nicole a glance before speaking. Nicole nodded, giving her permission. “Did you stop writing just because the dreams were gone?”

Penny laughed, “Who said I stopped writing?”