Louisiana Saves the Library (13 page)

C
HAPTER
19

S
ylvia's head floated above the cubicle wall like part of a disassembled Barbie doll. “You have to come.”

“I can't dance. I told you that.” Louise straightened the stack of books she was cataloging. She hadn't danced since gym class in eighth grade, when she'd stumbled through the waltz with sweaty-palmed Danny Stuart. The bitch girls—her private name for the gang of her three most vicious tormentors—had rehashed the episode for weeks. She became Left-Foot Louise.

“You're going to be here watching the desk anyway. You might as well join in,” Sylvia said.

“I can't if we're busy,” Louise said.

“What about you, Hope?” Sylvia moved to the other cubicle wall. “Are you coming to Zumba tonight?”

Hope snorted. “Y'all are crazy. You didn't clear this with Mr. Foley, did you?”

“Nope. I'm doing it on my own time,” Sylvia said. “It's a public service.”

“Don't worry, I ain't gonna tell. But I'm just letting you know. He won't be happy when he finds out.”

“I put an announcement in the newsletter and sent a press release to the newspaper. Not to mention the sign on the front door. It's not exactly a secret.”

“Your funeral,” Hope said.

“Ahem. Good morning, ladies.”

Louise was startled at the sound of Mr. Henry's voice. Had he heard Sylvia's comments about Mr. Foley? He never said a bad word about the director. The two men behaved oddly around each other, hardly ever having a conversation and yet seeming to communicate somehow. Either they were mind readers or they secretly texted back and forth.

Sylvia showed no embarrassment at being caught discussing her boss. She turned to the assistant director. “How are you feeling today, Mr. Henry?”

“I've been better, but I'll survive.” He drank from his coffee mug and coughed before continuing. “I have a little project for y'all. We have been trying for a couple of years to get a millage increase passed so we could have more funding for the library. Not much, just a little property tax that would cost the average homeowner around a hundred dollars a year. I've asked the police jury to put it in their meeting agenda next week. I think it would be nice if we had a little presentation about the improvements y'all have made.”

“We're on it, Mr. Henry,” Sylvia said. “Don't you worry about a thing. Louise and I will make it happen.”

“I really do think y'all are doing a great job. Time was, I would have made the report myself, but I'm an old man now.”

“Don't say that. You're as young as you feel,” Sylvia said.

“I feel about a hundred and ten,” he said, shuffling in the direction of his cubicle.

Hope stood up and watched him until he went through the door to circulation. “This is it, y'all. Mr. Henry don't want to admit it, but Mrs. Gunderson wants to shut us down. I done told y'all about her, right?”

“The police juror who basically runs the parish. Ms. Trudy filled me in,” Louise said.

“The little fat lady that Mr. Foley genuflected to when she came in? She wants to close the library?” Sylvia said.

“She hates Mr. Henry because he didn't support her campaign for police juror. She's gunning to become mayor of this here town. Reckon she sees him as her enemy. She ain't overly fond of me, neither.” Hope put her hands on her hips and scowled as though Mrs. Gunderson were standing in front of her.

“She can't really shut down the library,” Sylvia said.

“Not if the dedicated tax passes. But she aims to make sure it don't and then let the library slowly bleed to death.” Hope sat back down in her cubicle.

“What do we do? How do we beat her?” Louise asked.

“I don't know. Seems like no one wins against that old bat.”

 

From her place behind the circulation desk, Louise watched the women arrive for Zumba. Sylvia had insisted that the conference room was too small, so she and Louise had moved the tables from the center of the library to clear a space. By the time the class was scheduled to start, fifteen women were standing in the middle of the library, self-consciously pretending to stretch. The B sisters' mom was there along with her oldest (Belinda?); Amber, the Piggly Wiggly clerk; Cheryl, Gina, and Tracy, mothers of little kids who often came for story time; and Jennifer, Michelle, Stacy, and Tomika, who all attended nearby Bayou Parishes Community College. Some of the others seemed familiar, but Louise couldn't remember their names.

Sylvia had badgered Louise until she changed into her workout outfit. The week before, she'd dug it out of the bottom of her dresser and signed up for a free trial membership at the local gym. She didn't want to admit that her sudden interest in getting in shape might have something to do with Sal. Or that he was the reason she'd retrieved her nearly dried-up mascara and fingernail polish from the highest cabinet in her bathroom, the one she was too short to reach without standing on a chair.

Mary walked in and regarded the Zumba women with a hint of amusement. She put her books on the counter. “What's up with this?”

“Zumba. The latest fitness craze.” Louise checked in the books. “Sylvia's trying to convince me to do it, but I can't dance.”

The girl raised one shoulder under her huge sweatshirt. “Most of them probably can't either.”

“You're right. Did you like the
Divergent
series?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

“Have you read
The Hunger Games
?”

“No.”

“I haven't either, but Sylvia says they're really good. Have you thought about joining her book club?”

Mary shook her head. “Those kids think I'm weird. I always say the wrong thing and they look at me funny. They're all into TV shows I haven't seen and makeup and stuff like that. I guess they're nice enough, but they don't get me.”

“You have to keep trying. It took me a long time to learn that. I'm giving it to you for free.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“I know. I was picked on a lot as a kid.”

Mary's eyes widened. For the first time since Louise had known her, the girl seemed completely awake. “You?”

“I guess I was different. Quiet. Dorky. Who knows? So I married the first guy who paid attention to me, got divorced, and now I'm raising two kids on my own.”

“That sucks.”

“It could be worse. I'm not scared of people anymore. I go after what I want now. All they can say is no.” That much was pretty much true. She still felt awkward sometimes, like around the Southern belles. But she was okay with that. When she was a teenager, a situation like Trish's disastrous baby shower would have left her binge eating and hating herself. These days, it was worth little more than a shrug.

“Yeah.” Mary glanced at the Zumba class again. “Can I get those books? I should go home and do my homework.”

They walked to the young adult section. Louise's story might not have made any difference to the girl. Mary had a lot more problems than she had faced as a teenager, like worrying about having enough food to eat. Getting into college would be a good first step for her to break out of her situation. Louise made a mental note to tell Sylvia they should have some college-prep programs at the library.

“All right, ladies. Let's get started!” Sylvia punched a button on her portable CD player as Louise and Mary returned to the circulation desk.

“Do it,” the girl said. “I mean, if you want to.”

“I guess.” Before checking out the books, Louise got her extra lunch out of the fridge. She'd gotten into the habit of bringing food, just in case Mary stopped by. She came back to the counter and checked out the books. “Would you like a babysitting job? I'll bet Sylvia would love a night on the town with her husband and I'd like an evening with a good book in a coffee shop.”

“That would be great. I used to watch our neighbor's kids sometimes before they moved away,” Mary said, putting the food and books in her backpack.

“How about Monday?” Louise said. “Come by at four thirty and I'll drive you to my house. You can stay overnight and I'll get you back here in time for school.”

“Yeah, that would work.” Mary zipped up her backpack and slouched toward the exit. She stopped in front of the door, raised her eyebrows, and inclined her head toward the Zumba group.

Louise shrugged.

The girl nodded, pulling her back a little straighter as she walked out the door.

Sylvia turned out most of the lights and activated a disco ball she'd hung from the ceiling. The first song was “Thriller,” which made some of the women giggle. But they gamely followed Sylvia's moves. Sylvia was not a great dancer, but her enthusiasm was infectious.

Louise came out from behind the desk and found a place at the back of the group. The women gyrated and shimmied along with Sylvia. When the song was over, the clapping and laughing was nearly as loud as Michael Jackson had been.

The next song was something in Spanish. Louise forgot to be awkward and lost herself in the music. The beat was fast, and most of the women had trouble keeping up.

“Just move,” Sylvia shouted. “Don't worry if you can't get the steps right!”

By the second verse, some of the better dancers were getting the moves down. Louise was always kicking the wrong foot or stepping right instead of left. For once, she didn't care about looking silly.

The song was almost over when the music abruptly cut off. Everyone froze. In the half-dark, Louise saw a troll-like person near the CD player. It took her a moment to recognize Mr. Foley. Hands on hips, he glared out at the crowd. “You can't do this in here! Stop right now!”

The silence following his outburst made Louise's ears ring. It seemed as if every woman in the group was holding her breath.

The library director pointed a trembling finger at Sylvia. “You did this without my permission. You can't turn my library into a dance hall!” He yanked the CD player cord out of the wall and waved the plug in the air. “Sylvia Jones, you are a menace to this community. Pushing our children to read trashy vampire novels, sullying this institution of literature with noneducational DVDs, and bringing your crazy big-city ideas to our town. This isn't New Orleans, and we don't need your kind here.”

“You can't talk to our Sylvia like that!” Brianna shouted.

“No, sir. We won't stand for it,” one of the others said.

Amber and some of the other women started to move forward, as if they might fall upon Mr. Foley in an angry mob. The director held his hands out in a gesture of surrender. A tall African American woman in a hot-pink sweat suit marched up and wagged her finger in his face. “Mr. Foley, I don't know what your problem is, but it seems to me that you're out of line. This young lady is doing a service to this community. Most of us don't get enough exercise. And if you don't mind me saying so, you could probably stand to drop a few pounds too.”

The woman's speech drained the tension from the room. There was tittering from the assembled ladies, and the ones who had advanced toward Mr. Foley went back to their original places. The director ducked his head, defeated.

Louise crept forward and tapped a short blond woman on the shoulder. “Who is that?”

“Oh, Marty Pratt. She's on the police jury. I don't guess Mr. Foley would have shut us down if he'd known she was here.” The woman laughed. “He's such an old fuddy-duddy.”

That was a nice way of putting it. Louise's own thoughts about her boss were much less charitable:
Bitter, pathetic little man.

“I'm sorry. You're right, Ms. Marty. I apologize. I just got a little carried away. Please continue.” Mr. Foley tiptoed out the emergency exit.

Sylvia cranked up the music again. Louise joined in the next number, even though her good mood had evaporated. Mr. Foley might have been thwarted this time, but he wasn't going to give up.

 

When her phone rang that night after the children were in bed, Louise contemplated smashing it against the wall. She answered it on the premise that otherwise she'd have to listen to one of her ex's interminable voice mails and then call him back.

“Did you get the check?” Brendan asked. “I wanted to make sure since you didn't write me an e-mail or anything.”

The anger in his tone was obvious. Louise pretended she didn't hear it. He might think her world still revolved around him, but it didn't. “Sorry, I just got the check yesterday and I haven't had time to e-mail you.”

“Well, the wedding is only a week away. And I gave you an advance on your child support so you could make an offer on that house.”

“I know, and I really appreciate it. They accepted the offer and we're closing at the end of this month. We also had a serious offer on the old house, so it's all coming together.” Louise had a sudden attack of acid stomach. Brendan had been uncharacteristically helpful by lending her the money, but she still didn't want to see him. Trying to act normal around him for the children's sake was going to be painful. She couldn't let Zoe and Max know how much she disliked him and Julia. They'd torn the family apart, and she wasn't sure she could ever forgive them for it.

“I assume you have the wedding clothes all taken care of,” Brendan said.

“I got Zoe a dress. I think it fits. I haven't tried it on her yet.”

“What about the tux? You have to get it fitted, you know.”

“I was going to do it last weekend, but I ran out of time.” Louise sat down on her bed and rolled her eyes at her own reflection in the mirror. Brendan didn't need to know that Max had wandered off while she was buying the dress for Zoe. By the time she'd found him mooning over Batman figurines in the mall toy store, she'd been too relieved and worn out to deal with the tux or the dress for herself. If he knew, Brendan would only conclude that she was a lousy mother. Which he probably thought anyway. “We'll go tomorrow.”