Curious Life of Frieda Leigh
She ambled down the street with no particular place to go, a writer in search of a story, which in a sense was crazy because life was a story. Every single day, every single person lives a story, and yet she couldn’t come up with anything.
Ahead on the crossroads she came across a bookstore. A sigh of relief overcame her as if finding water in the desert. She was saved. Picking up her footsteps, she made the last few seconds of the flashing walk sign and rushed inside. The smell of books, the aura of intellects revived her. She was reborn.
She lingered for a few minutes in the Russian literature section and feeling regenerated she remembered Jess’s suggestion of exploring tantra. Unfortunately, her reality with Jai would not bring about real tantric sex, but she could research the concept.
Gingerly, she ran her fingers over the cover a book. So many titles, she wasn’t sure which one to choose and certainly didn’t have the nerve to ask a sales clerk. This is what the internet is for.
Just as she turned the corner she spotted that Tim Fields guy seated on a chair reading Jules Verne’s Master of the World. Her breath escaped her as she pressed herself back against the bookshelf. How did he find me? Is he really stalking me?
She peeked back around to watch him engrossed in the book, pausing to take a sip of coffee. He didn’t seem to have any awareness she was nearby, as he didn’t look up from his book.
Peeking around the corner with her was Sergei. “What’s the plan? Want me to take him out?”
“It’s a book store,” she said. “He’s just relaxing, reading a book.”
Sergei strong-armed his way into the aisle of books. “A book he didn’t purchase.”
She pulled him back. “Let’s just wait to see what he does.”
Hidden behind the bookshelf, they spied Tim analyzing every turn of the page, every raised eyebrow and curl of his smile while he read.
“That is one suspicious dude,” Sergei said.
“He’s reading,” Frieda replied resting her cheek of the wood of the bookshelf.
“Yeah. Okay,” Sergei said, whipping his Makarov machine gun from around his shoulder sling and aiming it at Tim. “If he makes one move, I’m going to pulverize him.”
Finally, Tim checked his watch. He downed his coffee and closed his book. Without a glance in her direction, he rose from his seat and neared the cashier to purchase the book he was reading.
Frieda walked away from her fantasy of Sergei and lingered behind yet another bookshelf, watching Tim intently. Either he had lost all interest, playing some cruel game or didn’t know she was there stalking him, as she assumed he was doing to her.
“What kind of man reads Jules Verne?” she asked herself quietly. When Tim had left the store, she purchased a copy of the same book. She had to read the book to find out.
Upon arriving home to her flat, she quickly made herself a cup of tea, plopped on the couch and instead of researching tantric sex as Jess’s advice, she delved into Jules Verne, hardly a book to inspire passionate romance, however, as the words on the page drew her in her heart melted to Tim. Her desire was not a hot and steamy one, but one of modest curiosity. Who was Tim Fields?