To Read or Not to Read

voice cracked as she spoke. The two met at the counter, and began chatting.

  “Shit,” exclaimed Mrs. Huddleston.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Shelby, turning.

  “Mrs. Tinkleton goes to my church.”

  “So?”

  “She surely won’t approve of this,” said Mrs. Huddleston, holding a book out in her hand. It was one of those sappy romance novels Shelby so desperately hated. It had a cheesy title with a picture of a man and a woman on the front cover. The man was well built with long, flowing blond hair. Of course he was not wearing a shirt. He held an attractive woman in his arms.

  “It’s the third in the series,” commented Mrs. Huddleston. “Lots of juicy scenes,” she added with a grin and a wink. She quickly cast the book aside, searching frantically for another. Finally, she chose one just as the elderly woman strode near.

  “Mrs. Huddleston,” the old woman said, nodding her head.

  “Mrs. Tinkleton,” she replied.

  The old lady had a scoff on her face. Shelby guessed she was the judgmental type by the way she looked Mrs. Huddleston up and down.

  “Hi, I’m Shelby McClain,” she said with a smile.

  “Edna Tinkleton. I’ve never seen you here before,” the old woman stated, looking sourly at Shelby.

  “First time,” replied Shelby.

  The woman nodded her head, taking a few moments to stare down Shelby.

  Again, she felt uncomfortable. Shelby looked at her watch. Twenty-six minutes.

  The elderly woman looked back to Mrs. Huddleston, staring at the book in her hand. “Pride and Prejudice, eh?”

  “It’s a classic,” replied Mrs. Huddleston.

  “I would have guessed something different,” replied the elderly woman with a sneer.

  “Such as?”

  “Something filthy,” the old woman snorted.

  Before Mrs. Huddleston could retort, Herr Strauss reappeared from the kitchen, carrying yet another mug of hot tea. He offered it to the old woman, who took it from his hands, exchanging it for the novel in her own.

  He looked down at it, stating, “Gone with the Wind. A beautiful story.”

  Mrs. Tinkleton smiled at Strauss, and then turned her head, glaring at Mrs. Huddleston with a sneer. “At least it’s not smut!” she scolded.

  “Pride and Prejudice is hardly smut,” replied Mrs. Huddleston.

  “I know what you come here for. Filth. Trash. Smut!”

  Strauss cleared his throat. He realized the tension between the two women, and offered a bit of conversation to ease everyone. He took Mrs. Tinkleton by the arm, escorting her away politely.

  Shelby remained still, holding her novel in her hand. She was dumbfounded. She felt like she was in a movie. Everything around her was surreal.

  Mrs. Huddleston was insightful, though, and realized Shelby’s angst.

  “She’s an old hag,” the woman whispered. “The type of woman who judges everyone she meets. Do not worry about her.”

  “I’m not,” said Shelby. She was defensive. Ready to leave. “I don’t understand this place, and I really must get going.” She reached out to lay the book down, but Mrs. Huddleston stopped her.

  “You really must give it a try. Just five minutes. Trust me, you’ll enjoy every moment.”

  “You want me to pay to sit in a room for five minutes?”

  “Yes. Please, pick a selection you’ll like.” Mrs. Huddleston winked at her again. She leaned in close, saying, “I suggest something a bit more . . . intense. A woman can’t have too much romance, now, can she?”

  “I . . . I suppose not.”

  “This is how it works. You pay for your time. Go into the room and relax. Flip open your book to a hot scene, and presto!—you’re in the story. You’ll experience everything firsthand.”

  “In the story?”

  “Yes. Herr Strauss’ books are magical. Open up to an interesting part and start reading. The next thing you know, you’ll be inside the story. You can watch the sacking of Troy if you wish. Sail the Mississippi with Tom Sawyer. Anything is possible!”

  “I . . . I don’t understand. How can that be possible?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s true. You can meet your favorite characters. Travel through time. See other parts of the world and have great adventures. Trust me, buy some time and you’ll see.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you,” said Shelby bluntly. She couldn’t help herself. This was too bizarre to believe.

  “Oh, I didn’t believe it, either,” returned Mrs. Huddleston. “But Herr Strauss has a money back guarantee. I’m sure you have five minutes to spare.”

  Shelby looked at her watch. Eighteen minutes.

  “I suppose,” she answered.

  “Great. Now, choose a book you like, although I still recommend something erotic. Perhaps at your age, you still have romance at home. My husband could care less about romance, which is why I come here.”

  “So . . . you go into the story?” Shelby stammered, still in disbelief.

  “Yes,” responded Mrs. Huddleston eagerly. “You go into the story! Just last week I walked the beach with an Italian prince. We did other things, too.” She grinned wide. “I’ve traveled the oceans with Captain Ahab, and met Dracula—in the daylight, of course. I know it sounds strange, but you must trust me. Once you find a book you like, just give it a try.”

  Shelby nodded, but wasn’t convinced. She hesitated, and Mrs. Huddleston had to pat her on the shoulder for encouragement.

  “Go on,” she urged.

  Shelby had no interest in a romance novel. She decided what the hell, and approached the counter with the Crichton novel in hand. Herr Strauss and Mrs. Tinkleton were chatting eagerly.

  “Did you decide on anything?” he asked.

  “I . . . I suppose.”

  “What did you pick?” asked Mrs. Tinkleton. She was nosey, and stared at the book in Shelby’s hand. “I’ve never heard of that. Is it more filth?”

  “No. It’s not filth. It’s an adventure story, written by a bestselling author,” Shelby answered defensively. She was annoyed at the woman.

  “No matter what you choose . . . it is none of my business,” said Herr Strauss, realizing the tension, and giving Mrs. Tinkelton a look. “How long do you wish to read?” he asked Shelby.

  “Um, I don’t really know.”

  “Let’s start you with five minutes. That should be more than enough for your first experience.”

  “Okay.” Shelby dug in her purse, looking for cash. She pulled out a five, handing it over reluctantly.

  Herr Strauss took the money in his hand. Shelby realized his nails were painted black. They were long and pointy.

  “Room three,” he motioned to the hallway.

  “Alright,” she said. Slowly, Shelby walked to the room.

  At the same time, Mrs. Huddleston placed Pride and Prejudice back on the shelf, snagging the romance novel, keeping it hidden from Mrs. Tinkleton’s prying eyes. She handed Herr Strauss a ten dollar bill, and walked away from the counter.

  “Enjoy your read,” he responded with a grin.

  Mrs. Huddleston waddled down the hall. She smiled at Shelby before entering room two. “Trust me, you’ll enjoy it.” Then, she disappeared.

  Shelby sighed before opening the door, unsure of what to expect. The room was small, housing only a recliner and two pictures on the wall. It was dimly lit, and Shelby questioned why a reading room would be so dark. It didn’t matter, though. She wasn’t interested in reading.

  She closed the door behind her, looking around once more. The recliner seemed comfortable. Sitting down, she pulled the handle, easing back the chair. She lay there a minute, unsure of what to do. The dark room made her sleepy.

  Finally, Shelby held up the book.

  She had read it before. It was a wonderful novel and a popular movie.

  She flipped through the pages, skimming them. Shelby read a few words here, and a few words there, and noticed no pages were r
ipped out. She thought it odd, after what Strauss had said about censoring them.

  Herr Strauss had found nothing to ‘protect his patrons’ from, she thought, shrugging her shoulders with a smile.

  And she began reading. As she did, Shelby began falling—deeper and deeper into a world far different from her own.

  The chime sounded.

  Herr Strauss looked up from his book.

  “Frau Huddleston,” he remembered. Strauss gently made his way to the hallway, and rapped at the door, jiggling the handle before opening it.

  “It’s time,” he said in a soft voice.

  With that done, he went back to the counter. A minute passed and Mrs. Huddleston returned from her reading time. A blissful look was upon her face. She was relaxed—this series was indeed a good one.

  “I hope you enjoyed your time,” Strauss said pleasantly.

  “I did, Herr Strauss. Amazing book!”

  “I have a new shipment of titles coming in next week.”

  “Great. I’ll stop by, same as always.”

  “Wonderful,” he said, taking the book from her hands and placing it on a cart. He took special care to not invade her privacy, and did not look at the title. Whatever his patrons wanted to read was fine by him. He did not judge. He turned to say goodbye, accidently brushing against a pile of books. A few fell as he reached out to catch them.

  “Here, let me help,” said Mrs. Huddleston, stepping close and securing the pile. “New shipment?”

  “Thank you. Yes, I just got this in. I haven’t had time to go through them yet. It takes awhile, you know—going through all these books. Making them safe to read.”

  “I’m sure it does.”

  “Every once in awhile, I forget if I’ve checked a book or not. My memory is failing me, I admit. I’ll sometimes read one three or