Grace had always wanted to have a shop just like this. Well, almost always. What she really wanted was to make movies. But life, and the need for an income, had altered her plans somewhat. Grace could remember how she and Kate had thought about having a shop for sweets and treats as children. It may have even started out as Kate’s idea, Grace couldn’t quite say. But here it was: Sweet Girls Café. Grace smelled the coffee brewing. The refrigeration unit gave off a slight ozone scent as the day’s gelato flavors firmed up in the display case. She had made some coffee cakes and little pecan tarts with pecans from her auntie’s pecan trees. She liked to use local fresh ingredients in her cooking. She would have loved to have a kitchen garden or test farm be part of her empire. However, her loans would only allow her this small shop. For now. Grace was still somewhat surprised to see that her shop, in the small cluster of storefronts in the shopping center, had become a hip place to be. Many of her friends in the arts community had started hanging out there. She was sure that at first it was the free food. But soon even her friends were paying customers. It gave her a sense of profound satisfaction to see people enjoying her food. Her uncle Ahmad had helped create her business plan. With his help, Grace was becoming quite the successful businesswoman.
And then there were the books. What had started out as a funky decorating idea had taken on a life of its own. Her shop was filled with books. Grace loved books. She always had. As far back as she could remember, books had been a constant companion. Daily reading had been part of her routine during the happiest and worst times of her life. She had read and collected books since her childhood. Her grandfather had made some of the bookcases that now displayed a vast array of books in her shop. The books gave her shop an intellectual atmosphere, she believed. She had even started to incorporate book sales into her revenue stream (those books she could bear to part with, that is). When a customer first asked if the books were for sale, Grace was horrified. The thought of getting rid of any of her books was unthinkable. Then she had discovered auctions. Grace had always liked antiques. One day, by sheer accident, she stumbled onto an estate auction in a neighborhood where one of her friends lived. She saw a crowd of people at a home and thought there was a party but soon noticed signs for the auction. She had nothing else to do so she pulled her car to the side of the road and got out. She wandered around for a few minutes, her curiosity piqued. She saw a mobile van with a table set up, looking official. She went to ask the person behind the table what was happening.
“The auction starts at 10 AM” she stated. “Would you like to register?”
“What do I have to do?” Grace said with a grin.
“Just fill out this form and I’ll get you a number.” Grace filled out the required information and was handed a cardboard placard with the number 81. She had never been to an auction before. She was unsure of how they worked or what the etiquette was. She wasn’t really expecting to do anything but observe. Grace wandered around and looked at the household items, furniture, appliances, and some objets d’ art. She wondered what had happened that these things were being sold. Had there been a divorce or bankruptcy or death? She felt a slight sadness to think that this person or family was in the position to lose all of their things. Grace herself loved her personal things and had a hard time parting with much of anything. The thought of having strangers bidding for and taking her things home with them was unnerving. Then she saw the books. Off to the side, with little notice from the rest of the attendees, was an old bookcase filled about 2/3 of the way with books. The bookcase looked as if it might have belonged to a child. It was about 4 feet tall and well worn. It was made of wood and had been painted many times it would appear. Grace noticed that some of the white paint had chipped off and a pepto bismol shade of lime green was underneath. The green color screamed of the 1970s. The books were of various things. They were old. The paper covers were torn in places and faded. There were groovy nature books with the psychedelic fonts of the Yellow Submarine era. There were some black Good Housekeeping cookbooks like her Nanny had used decades before. But there were classics here too: Ivanhoe. Tarzan of the Apes. Sherlock Homes. Dracula. The Story of Doctor Doolittle, and The Count of Monte Cristo. They probably belonged to the little boy who sat in front of this bookcase, lost in the world of his books. Grace felt an immediate kinship and knew, almost by clairvoyance, what this child had been like. He had been a dreamer. Grace touched the bookcase. She felt an odd, almost hungry, thrill. She wanted these books. Just then, attention was called. The auction had started.
Grace looked at the other participants. She guessed that some of these people were dealers of some type, looking to buy things for resale, perhaps in second hand or antique shops. There were some pieces of furniture that could be considered antique. The big pieces attracted the most attention. The dining room set of table and chairs sold. A sideboard sold. Mirrors and wall decorations sold. Grace was shocked to see a large iron bed frame sell for $5 until she noticed that it was broken and would have to be repaired. Still, the buyer looked as if he had won the lottery. He was a large man with thick calloused hands. A welder Grace guessed. The atmosphere quickly took on the feeling of a party. The auctioneer stroked and cajoled the crowd with his infectious enthusiasm. A blender, an old blender at that, came up for bidding. The bidding started at one dollar. A giddy woman lustily waded into the bidding. Another bidder, a determined man with a sour looking woman at his side who was obviously his significant other, stood resolutely holding his number. The auctioneer started to grin. He knew what was about to happen. The price began to rise. The giddy woman trumped every effort that the unhappy couple made. Soon the bidding had risen to such a level that one could have bought two identical blenders brand new for the same price. This was now war. The auctioneer was beside himself with joy. The crowd observed with fascination the car accident that was unfolding before them. It was almost as if everyone knew what was happening but no one could stop it. The bidding continued until the unhappy man, his manhood destroyed, shook his head at the final bid. His companion gave him a sideways look of disgust.
“Going once, going twice, sold to number 121!” The auctioneer called. “I’m going to need a cup of water after that one. Lordy!” He grinned broadly as he wiped his face with a handkerchief. The crowd visibly exhaled as the tension released. After a break the bidding resumed. The bookcase came up for bidding.
“I’ll start this item, bookcase and books, at $100. Do I have $100?” The auctioneer asked. No one responded. “How about $50? Can I get $50?”
Again no one responded. “Come on folks. How about $25? Will anyone start us out at $25?”
Grace felt her heart rate increase. She felt silly but her mouth was getting dry. She looked around and saw that no one seemed interested in the books.
“$10?” The auctioneer said. Someone in the crowd said “$5”
“Thanks goodness!” the auctioneer said. “$5 is bid can I get $10?”
Grace looked at the auctioneer and slowly raised number 81.
Grace looked with pride at the tables intermittently filled with people sipping coffee or eating gelato treats. Some of these patrons she knew from her days at University. Many were young professionals just starting their careers, as she was. Some of them, who were her friends, were artists and musicians. Grace greatly admired their creativity. She chatted briefly with them as they got up to leave. As she walked them out, Grace rested her hand on a small bookcase at the entrance of her shop. The bookcase was filled with books. It’s chipped white paint showed hints of green underneath. She thought briefly of a little boy sitting before the bookcase. Grace wondered what stories she could tell about him. Perhaps even on film.
