“Is anybody I know in it?”
“You might’ve heard of Hugh Grant.”
“Shut up!” Gemma gawps. She setsMauricedown while I sniff the salvaged book to check that it doesn’t smell of coffee.
“I’m so checking that out.” At last, she hops off the counter. “What exactly are you doing? Did the heat get to you?”
“Sniff this.” I present her the copy ofWar and Peace.“Does it smell like coffee to you?”
She sniffs and rubs her nose. “Nope. Just dust.”
Relieved, I put the book on the back counter. It’s where we put the day’s holds or orders. I try to keep it clear for things needing immediate attention. There’re a couple of official-looking pages lying on the otherwise bare surface. I pick them up. A filming notification, date-stamped from last week, plus another notification for a location request and to contact their location manager at my earliest convenience.
“When did this arrive?” I demand.
“Dunno. When you were out. I can’t keep track of everything.” She waves a hand airily.
“I wasn’t gone that long.”
Gemma shrugs. “Their location scout dropped it off. Alice something. She came with someone and they picked up all of the green books.”
“Right.” Belatedly, I realize the back counter is free of the palette of green hardcovers we put aside. “Did they say anything?”
Gemma reflects for a moment, leaning back against the counter beside the till. “That the shop is perfectly charming and with a few small changes it’ll be perfect for their shoot. Which is true. It’s very inviting, actually.”
She gestures broadly at the shop with its oak bookcases and colorful displays neatly arranged. A couple of rugs have been placed on the floor, which adds to the effect.
I scowl.
She nods. Then, alarmingly, she reaches into the front of her black and white polka dot V-neck blouse and plucks a business card from the strap of her bra. “Yeah, I think that’s it. Here. This is for you.”
It’s my turn to gawp. “I don’t want that.”
“I put it in a safe place. Don’t be uptight. God. There’s nothing wrong with breasts for safekeeping.” She shakes her head and puts the card down on top of the notices. “She said you could ring her or just stop by the shoot and ask security for Alice. I gave her your card and said you’d love to talk about filming.”
“Gemma! You didn’t.”
She looks entirely unconcerned. “Of course I did. You could use the cash. They pay for locations, you know.”
God, has she been going through the shop accounts too while my back is turned?
“I cash out here, remember? I know what you take in.” Gemma gives me a knowing look.
Weary, I rub my face. Why isn’t today over yet?
“There’s no shame in it. Booksellers are having a tough time. You need alternative revenue streams.”
“How ghastly.”
She cracks up. “You know, cross-marketing? Maybe sell gifts too? Or even dildos? I don’t know. I mean, this is Soho, right? People expect that. The dildos could be all literary or something. Match books with sex toys. You won’t be able to keep the crowds at bay.”
It’s all horrifying talk. I’m not a prude but it’s quite something to be getting this kind of cross-marketing advice from my shop assistant.
“It’s either that orreallycool stationery. You know, like the stuff imported from places like Japan and Germany. You can even do something like have a credit for a film download with the book purchase or something like that. Or a book credit with a film purchase,” she muses.
“It’s usually the other way around.” Weary, I sigh. It’s not just the heat getting to me this afternoon.
Gemma’s unfazed as she neatens up around the till, which is a magnet for book stacks. “If you like struggling, suit yourself.”
