Easy Innocence

Chapter 19

TWO BOOKSTORES in one day. Was this some kind of sign, Georgia wondered as she walked back to Clark Street. Sister Marion would have said "of course" and would have quoted something appropriate from Hamlet or Macbeth to prove it.

A Woman's Place was sandwiched between Ann Sathers and a Greek restaurant, but it had started out on Lincoln Park, a few miles south. Within two years, however, it outgrew its space and moved up to Andersonville. Inside was the same cramped, cheery chaos she remembered from Lincoln Park. Books crowded on shelves and counters; colored flyers were tacked on the walls, announcing everything from lost pets and want-ads to spiritual counseling and yoga for same-sex couples. The only concession to modern technology seemed to be the electronic cash register in the front which was operated by a woman who looked familiar—a little grayer, perhaps, but surely the same owner as in Lincoln Park.

Unlike the bookstore this morning, A Woman's Place was warm and welcoming, and Georgia felt the tension drain out of her as she browsed. She wound around shelves labeled by subject: cookbooks, women's issues, best-sellers, mysteries, and a gay/lesbian section. At the back was a raised platform with chairs in front. A cardboard sign in block letters said that Red Sladdick would recite poetry at seven thirty. A table with a jug of white wine, Diet Coke, and a plate of cheese squares sat nearby.

Georgia checked her watch. Seven-twenty. Six people had straggled in, five of them women. Which one was Jill Beaumont? Two women sat near the front, holding hands. Their cropped grey hair reminded Georgia of the Sisters at St. Michael's. Two rows behind was a man seated between two women. The fifth woman sat toward the back, alone, reading a paperback. Slim with blond curly hair, she wore a denim jumper over a long-sleeved tee. When she glanced up, Georgia saw deep-set eyes, prominent cheekbones, and bushy eyebrows. Dark half-moons rimmed her eyes. She looked exhausted. Was that Beaumont?

A few minutes later, another woman hurried in, trailing an exotic scent. Tall and willowy, she was dressed in a tight black sweater, short black skirt, and over the knee black leather boots. Her brown hair was tied back, and her mouth was a bright red slash. She strode to the stage, carrying a book in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other. The room suddenly seemed charged. Georgia poured herself some soda and sat in the back row.

The woman at the register came to the platform and introduced Red Sladdick. Holding a slim book, she invited the audience to purchase the author's first collection of poems, Secrets, after the reading. She dimmed the lights and took a seat.

Red straddled a stool on the dais, opened her book, and started to read. Her voice was low and lazy. Georgia scanned the room. The couple in the first row were eye-fucking each other, oblivious to everyone else. The man behind them seemed to be giving Red his full attention, but the two women with him were nattering behind his back. The woman Georgia thought was Beaumont gazed at Red dully, as if forcing herself to stay awake.

After listening to Red for a few minutes, Georgia felt sluggish, too. Whether it was the droning rhythm of Red's voice, the poetry, or just fatigue, her eyelids drooped and a series of languid images drifted through her mind: Matt's eyes when he made love to her; a brightly lit Christmas tree topped with a silver angel. She slouched in her seat, her index finger slowly circling the rim of her cup. They should have candles on the stage, she thought lazily, to chase away the shadows.

"We are one with nature... Undulating in the womb of life... So wet, so moist. I put your hand on my breast... you kiss me. I am home."

Georgia jerked her head up. Did anyone take this seriously? When her eyes focused, she saw that Red was staring directly at her, an amused smile on her face. Georgia's nerves jangled. For a split second, she was confused. Had Red spoken to her? Was she supposed to say something back?