I wasn't sure what to expect we'd find when we got there. We drove around the block twice trying to find it before realizing this side door into one of the buildings matched the address we were looking for. It's almost like they don't want people to find it. I keep saying they, referencing "management" or owners or something. Turns out it's just one old dude that owns the place and runs it. I wouldn't be surprised to find he had an apartment in the back and that he lives there.
So yea, once we found the door, then we had to drive back around the block to find some public parking, which was convenient enough actually. Walked back around into an alley that made me think of any city horror type setting, and suspiciously made our way into the door and right down a set of stairs. And yes, they creaked the whole way down.
Once we hit the landing there was another door, this one finally announcing that we had found Westhouse Books. We weren't sure if we could just walk in, or if we needed to knock and wait for someone to answer. Hal looked back to me for guidance and I just shrugged my shoulders. So he tried the handle, and finding it wasn't locked we opened the door to a bell attached at the top.
Everything about this place just screamed old and uninviting. It was obviously a shop, bookshelves and shelves haphazardly placed, all crammed with books, artifacts, and dust. I almost felt like we'd wandered into a labyrinth among all those shelves. There wasn't a front desk to be found, no one to greet us, or prevent us from walking away with a wad of cobwebs. I'm sure the items or the books might be worth something, but caked in all that dust the only thing that looked worth grabbing was the spider silk. I can't imagine the shop does any business, and I have to wonder how it exists at all.
So we wandered around a bit, unwilling to leave each other's side lest we loose one another. Hal slowly, but surely, started paying more attention to what was on the shelves rather than where we were headed through the shelves. It didn't take long before Hal was browsing the wares as though everything were perfectly normal. I didn't want to disturb the carefully laid layer, and was worried that even breathing hard might kick up a cloud of dust that'd cover our tracks and truly leave us lost in this maze. So I would wander ahead to see around the next bend or break in our path.
I kept looking up too, hoping to find security cameras or something. I always find them a little creepy, but in this forgotten bookstore I think I'd have found them comforting. Nothing, not even those curved mirrors that would be fitting given the door bell. There was adequate lighting, I won't say good, but where the books had pressed or raised lettering, we could read the titles. Although again, it'd almost have been more fitting if at least one of the lights were flickering and threatening to go out. Especially since Halloween had just come and gone.
It was while I was wandering ahead, keeping Hal in sight, that I heard voices. I called to Hal and told him I'd be right around this corner, and he nodded absently. So having any voice to follow at all, something to wander toward, gave me hope that I wasn't lost after all. I shouldn't have left Hal, but I couldn't resist.
Thinking back on all this, I have to wonder how big the space was. I mean, it didn't feel all that big, but it seemed like we wandered for a while without circling back on ourselves. It must have been the basement to the building or something. It couldn't have been bigger.
Anyway, I followed the voices, there were two of them. Both men, one sounded older, the other confident. They were speaking quietly, like they didn't need to speak any louder. It was quiet in the store, what was surprising was that I wasn't hearing them as soon as we walked in. Even hearing their voices though, I couldn't make out what they were saying. I think they were speaking another language, but it sounded like I should understand it.
I had taken only the one turn, and about where Hal should be right on the other side of the shelving I was walking down, there was another bend that would take me away from him. I hesitated as I approached knowing I didn't want to get too far from Hal, but I could look around the corner just to see. So I did, and finally found a counter complete with cash register (a mechanical one), and clerk.
The old man was the clerk, and for a guy who had a lot of dust to show, he didn't have a speck on him. He was dressed well, if appropriately aged in tweed, and tall though I think his side of the counter was raised. Speaking with him was a guy who was entirely out of place in this store. He looked like he belonged on a basketball court or something. And not to belabor stereotypes, it was just the appearance of him that was so counter to where I was finding him. He was wearing loose fitting clothes, shorts, t-shirt, and sneakers. He was tall, I think somewhere between Sam and Hal, and he was muscular like a sportsman. Not beefy like Sam, but he had well defined muscles. If I'm being honest it was a very pleasant sight.
By now I could hear them clearly, and I was certain they were speaking another language. But it sounded so familiar. There's a song on Youtube done in a foreign country, the point of the song is to show what English sounds like to non-English speakers. When I as an English speaker listen to it, and I suspect this is true for others, it sounds like I should understand what is being said. But of course it's nonsense except for the occasional "Oh Yea." Hearing these two talk gave me the exact same sense that I should be able to understand them, and yet I couldn't. I'm not sure how better I can express it.
But to watch their gestures, they seemed amiable toward each other. I rather suspect the customer was looking more for comic books than anything one might find in this store, but then maybe he's looking for some old first printings. Those I'd bet we could find.
I stepped forward, entranced by what they were saying and trying so hard to figure it out. I wasn't trying to be quiet, but I didn't mean to make any noise. Whatever I had done, they both looked up to see me. The older man instantly became more professional and asked if he could help me, but I was watching the younger one, who just smiled and nodded toward me. His face was not unattractive, but it did appear as though he'd had a tough life. He didn't appear that old, but his face was like that of an old boxer's; flat nose, broad face, and small eyes.
The old merchant cleared his throat and asked again if he could help, startling me out of my stare. I stammered an apology and said I was looking for some books on mythology for school. The old man was clearly annoyed by my request, suggesting a library might be a better place to start. He only dealt in "specific requests." I hadn't heard Hal approach behind me, and was startled when he spoke up. He had come prepared and had a list of books that he produced from his pocket.
The old man returned his attention to his companion and asked something. I have to think he was asking if the other customer needed anything else, but of course I couldn't understand a word. The other customer shook his head no, and said something in return. Then he left with a wave and a final smile in my direction. I looked to Hal, slightly embarrassed for no good reason, but Hal was busy reading over his list for the old merchant. I looked back, hoping to wave or something, but his back was to me and he disappeared around another corner.
I want to say I don't know why I keep thinking back on him, but the reality is I know all too well. He was trouble in the way only a very attractive person can be.
I returned my attention to Hal and the old merchant, turns out the old merchant is Mr. Westhouse himself. To Hal's pleasure, Mr. Westhouse did have a couple of the books he was looking for. Sadly however Hal was hoping to find translations. Mr. Westhouse indicated that his normal clientele rarely sought anything but the originals. He could procure translations for us, for an additional fee. I asked how much of a fee, and in his most arrogant of pleasantries Mr. Westhouse answered that if I had to ask, I wouldn't be able to afford them.
We were not invited to return.
I can't believe how poorly we were treated, and even more so I can't understand why it frustrates me so much. But having time to think on it, and now going back over the experience, I think I've come to realize why I'm so frustrated. I'm frustrated because I want access. I don't want to go back knowing I was treated so poorly. I want to go back being able to afford what he has to sell, and in so doing forcing him to treat me better. How does that make any sense though?
Anyway, leaving the store was far easier than it was to find Mr. Westhouse at his counter. When it was clear we weren't going to be able to provide him any business, he simply gestured in the direction that his companion had gone. We walked toward the shelves and looked back thinking he'd tell us which way to go, but Mr. Westhouse was stepping out of sight through a door behind his counter. I looked back to Hal, who shrugged, and then turning back to where we were going we found the very door we had entered.
I don't know how we missed his counter, I could have sworn there was no other way to go.
I'm home now. Work was fine, didn't have any attacks. Tomorrow Max should join me for lunch. We do need to talk about Hal, as was brought up yesterday, but that conversation can't be had in that amount of time, nor at that location. Especially since Hal could walk up right in the middle of it. I think I'll see about us having a girls night out on Wednesday. Not sure about Max's schedule, but I don't think her last class would be that late. And then dinner with Hal afterward, which he did confirm with me as he was bringing me home.
Shit, I suddenly realized why I keep thinking back to that other customer. I've seen him before, he was the one who had been involved in the bar fight that first night Hal and I were out. I hadn't seen him then of course, but his mug shot was shown in the news story about it. He was the one who had taken on, basically the entire rest of the bar. Of course, in the mug shot he had long hair and a full beard. Seeing him today, he'd cut his hair and shaved his face clean. A change of clothes and I'm kind of amazed I can recognize him at all.
What was he doing talking to Mr. Westhouse?
Great, now I'm going to be up all night thinking about that. Better get comfortable then.
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