Prompt 233: Stonewalled
Jan. 8th, 2011 07:56 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tamingthemuseTitle: The Life and Times of G. Walsh (Part 2)
Author: tigerstriped86
Fandom/Pairing: Original
Genre: Fiction
Rating: PG
Disc.: From my brain. No, seriously. No infringement of others in intended. Let me know if it has happened, cause this is about the third time I've tried to start this story and I think I have the ability to finally start and then end it.
A/N: Part one was last week's prompt of silence is a great healer.
Summary: Gericho buried his uncle, now maybe he could bury his past. Too bad he wasn't the only one involved in it.
The bell tingled as Gericho strode through the door with just a moment of hesitancy. That smell assaulted his nostrils, the one he had tried so hard to forget. It had meant so much to him: dust and leather oil (to keep the bindings on the older books as supple as possible) and, in some ways, it was also the scent of his uncle. The first thing he noticed after that, though, was the state of the floor. A startling back page to some novel proclaiming something about the next in the series was just lying there, forgotten. Piles of dust came into focus after that and he had seen enough of the old place.
For anyone else, this dust would have seemed normal and not a big deal. But it was a big deal to Gerry. Admire his uncle or not, the old man had loved this place and Gerry tried very hard not to go find a broom in the back storage closet. His muscles tensed and gave an internal groan. He bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from yelling for Ford.
Tom Ford was one of two employees left at the old book shop. The other was Marisa, a subtly bubbly brunette who worked three times a week at the somewhat defunct “coffee shop” in the cathedral nook of the store, that nook being the reason that old Arthur had bought the place. Tom did everything else, although “everything” was in the loosest sense of the word.
Gerry waited, leaning at the glass counter near the door, the only large piece of equipment other than the long, tall bookshelves that were crammed with leftover, once loved books from every bygone era. The glass counter top was still speckled by white paint in one corner, proof that Arthur had tried to make the place look bright and clean.
Tom's head poked up amongst the back stacks against the far wall. He was sliding along on the giant ladder, what had once been Gerry's favorite hobby as a kid when Arthur had brought him here. Mack, Gerry's long-deceased father, had never spoken ill of Arthur, but Gericho imagined that Mack considered his brother to be kind of a, well, weirdo. And a financially irresponsible weirdo at that as Gerry had witnessed over the years.
“Ford!” Gerry spoke out in a repressed growl.
“Sir? Be with you in a minute!”
Gerry winced as he saw Tom's head turn and tilt backwards too far. There was a thud. And, by the disarrayed dust across his dark green apron when he appeared at the front, Gericho judged that Tom had indeed fallen.
He took Tom's hand when offered. “How you been, sir? I know things have been bad what with Arthur being laid up in the hospital and all. Sent him a card and flowers, I mean with what means I had. You know, I love this place but I will eventually need a pay raise. Heh, heh! Anyways, its great to see you here, I know that Mr. Walsh missed you being in the shop but he was always so proud of you. You know, Mr. Walsh, I've been putting out those new shipments that we got from the Borders close-out sale but they haven't been moving as we had hoped. Someone came in asking for Daniel Chapman and...”
Gerry let the boy go on. Tom was stonewalling himself and his future, and, in some ways, Gerry actually envied his ability to speak without breathing for however long you would let him go. This was going to be...bittersweet for both him and Marisa. For Gerry, it was just grim unfinished business that maybe he regretted, just a little bit. He let that hollow regret fill him up slowly, creeping like a bad rash all over his body as Tom finally took a breath.
“...that prototype for Kindle3.”
Gerry waved off whatever Tom had said. “Ford, you know how you always talked about doing other things with your life?”
That wasn't the right approach. The lines around Tom's expression of silent surprise, the first time he hadn't responded with some sort of quip or excuse in a long time, told Gerry that he had failed with his direct approach. But it was too late. By the time that Tom had slowly lowered himself down onto an old milk crate borrowed from behind the counter, Gerry realized grimly that he had to continue on.
“I thought you might have a change of heart. Arthur's just in the hospital...”
Gerry shook his head.
“Oh.”
Gericho knelt down so that he could look Tom in the eye. Tom was vacillating between stunned silence and tears. In many ways, Tom Ford was the orphan that Gerry Walsh could never be. Tom wasn't driven by a passion or a need for excellence. He was driven by the moment and maybe, Gerry thought, he was paying for that now.
“You could run the shop, hell I could run the shop!”
Gerry shook his head again. “No. This place has been in the hole for a year and I've been paying the back rent behind my uncle's back.”
Tom was trying to hold back his anger. “So that gives you the right to decide when to close?”
“Why shouldn't it?”
Tom shook his head. “It's not right. And on Marisa's birthday and all...”
Gerry rose and put his hand over Tom's shoulder in a sympathetic pat. “I'm going to give you and Marisa another month, some time to put something together for yourselves. I'm not heartless, Tom, its just business...”
“You so sure?” Tom asked as he looked up. The accusations in his eyes were evident. Tom had finally voiced something in the back of his head that he had let rattle on for years now, but Gerry felt no need to justify himself. Tom soldiered on. “Well, thats fine then. You had always had your mind made up to unload the place and now you're gonna do it just cause its not your scene. But I hope you got some better crap to tell Metrios and Vivianne than that.”
“When did you stop calling them Mr. And Mrs. Krathias?”
Tom shook his head. “I've worked here five years, Mr. Walsh. And a lot's changed in the last two years. Maybe if you hadn't have been all busy and important, you would have realized that!”
Tom had had enough. He wrenched himself away from the front of the store, speeding down into the maze of bookshelves. Gerry just stood there, no desire to follow. He didn't want to get lost in the store, not now. Tom had been right about one thing though, what would he tell Mr. And Mrs. Krathias?
Author: tigerstriped86
Fandom/Pairing: Original
Genre: Fiction
Rating: PG
Disc.: From my brain. No, seriously. No infringement of others in intended. Let me know if it has happened, cause this is about the third time I've tried to start this story and I think I have the ability to finally start and then end it.
A/N: Part one was last week's prompt of silence is a great healer.
Summary: Gericho buried his uncle, now maybe he could bury his past. Too bad he wasn't the only one involved in it.
The bell tingled as Gericho strode through the door with just a moment of hesitancy. That smell assaulted his nostrils, the one he had tried so hard to forget. It had meant so much to him: dust and leather oil (to keep the bindings on the older books as supple as possible) and, in some ways, it was also the scent of his uncle. The first thing he noticed after that, though, was the state of the floor. A startling back page to some novel proclaiming something about the next in the series was just lying there, forgotten. Piles of dust came into focus after that and he had seen enough of the old place.
For anyone else, this dust would have seemed normal and not a big deal. But it was a big deal to Gerry. Admire his uncle or not, the old man had loved this place and Gerry tried very hard not to go find a broom in the back storage closet. His muscles tensed and gave an internal groan. He bit down on the insides of his cheeks to keep from yelling for Ford.
Tom Ford was one of two employees left at the old book shop. The other was Marisa, a subtly bubbly brunette who worked three times a week at the somewhat defunct “coffee shop” in the cathedral nook of the store, that nook being the reason that old Arthur had bought the place. Tom did everything else, although “everything” was in the loosest sense of the word.
Gerry waited, leaning at the glass counter near the door, the only large piece of equipment other than the long, tall bookshelves that were crammed with leftover, once loved books from every bygone era. The glass counter top was still speckled by white paint in one corner, proof that Arthur had tried to make the place look bright and clean.
Tom's head poked up amongst the back stacks against the far wall. He was sliding along on the giant ladder, what had once been Gerry's favorite hobby as a kid when Arthur had brought him here. Mack, Gerry's long-deceased father, had never spoken ill of Arthur, but Gericho imagined that Mack considered his brother to be kind of a, well, weirdo. And a financially irresponsible weirdo at that as Gerry had witnessed over the years.
“Ford!” Gerry spoke out in a repressed growl.
“Sir? Be with you in a minute!”
Gerry winced as he saw Tom's head turn and tilt backwards too far. There was a thud. And, by the disarrayed dust across his dark green apron when he appeared at the front, Gericho judged that Tom had indeed fallen.
He took Tom's hand when offered. “How you been, sir? I know things have been bad what with Arthur being laid up in the hospital and all. Sent him a card and flowers, I mean with what means I had. You know, I love this place but I will eventually need a pay raise. Heh, heh! Anyways, its great to see you here, I know that Mr. Walsh missed you being in the shop but he was always so proud of you. You know, Mr. Walsh, I've been putting out those new shipments that we got from the Borders close-out sale but they haven't been moving as we had hoped. Someone came in asking for Daniel Chapman and...”
Gerry let the boy go on. Tom was stonewalling himself and his future, and, in some ways, Gerry actually envied his ability to speak without breathing for however long you would let him go. This was going to be...bittersweet for both him and Marisa. For Gerry, it was just grim unfinished business that maybe he regretted, just a little bit. He let that hollow regret fill him up slowly, creeping like a bad rash all over his body as Tom finally took a breath.
“...that prototype for Kindle3.”
Gerry waved off whatever Tom had said. “Ford, you know how you always talked about doing other things with your life?”
That wasn't the right approach. The lines around Tom's expression of silent surprise, the first time he hadn't responded with some sort of quip or excuse in a long time, told Gerry that he had failed with his direct approach. But it was too late. By the time that Tom had slowly lowered himself down onto an old milk crate borrowed from behind the counter, Gerry realized grimly that he had to continue on.
“I thought you might have a change of heart. Arthur's just in the hospital...”
Gerry shook his head.
“Oh.”
Gericho knelt down so that he could look Tom in the eye. Tom was vacillating between stunned silence and tears. In many ways, Tom Ford was the orphan that Gerry Walsh could never be. Tom wasn't driven by a passion or a need for excellence. He was driven by the moment and maybe, Gerry thought, he was paying for that now.
“You could run the shop, hell I could run the shop!”
Gerry shook his head again. “No. This place has been in the hole for a year and I've been paying the back rent behind my uncle's back.”
Tom was trying to hold back his anger. “So that gives you the right to decide when to close?”
“Why shouldn't it?”
Tom shook his head. “It's not right. And on Marisa's birthday and all...”
Gerry rose and put his hand over Tom's shoulder in a sympathetic pat. “I'm going to give you and Marisa another month, some time to put something together for yourselves. I'm not heartless, Tom, its just business...”
“You so sure?” Tom asked as he looked up. The accusations in his eyes were evident. Tom had finally voiced something in the back of his head that he had let rattle on for years now, but Gerry felt no need to justify himself. Tom soldiered on. “Well, thats fine then. You had always had your mind made up to unload the place and now you're gonna do it just cause its not your scene. But I hope you got some better crap to tell Metrios and Vivianne than that.”
“When did you stop calling them Mr. And Mrs. Krathias?”
Tom shook his head. “I've worked here five years, Mr. Walsh. And a lot's changed in the last two years. Maybe if you hadn't have been all busy and important, you would have realized that!”
Tom had had enough. He wrenched himself away from the front of the store, speeding down into the maze of bookshelves. Gerry just stood there, no desire to follow. He didn't want to get lost in the store, not now. Tom had been right about one thing though, what would he tell Mr. And Mrs. Krathias?
