The Slave World (4)

(4): Ex Libris

“So I'm looking for some of those Gor novels,” I said as I thumbed through the SF and Fantasy section of Waterstones in Tottenham Court Road. I had been approached by a middle aged sales woman who looked like she owned a lot of cats. She had seen me browsing and asked me whether she could help.

Despite what Rebecca had told me, a quick check on Amazon had shown that the whole series was in print, and yes the covers were terrible. But I was having trouble locating them in an actual bricks and mortar bookshop.

“The Norman books?” said the woman as she narrowed her eyes.

“Yeah, John Norman. Assassin of Gor, Beasts of Gor, Winged Wombats of Gor – those ones.” I was a bit worried about how thick all the fantasy novels were on the shelf I was browsing through. For fuck's sake, this one here was 848 pages! I weighed 'The Priory of the Orange Tree' by Samantha Shannon in my hand. I doubt I could have held it in a reading position for more than ten minutes before my wrist got tired. I hoped the Winged Wombats of Gor wasn't that heavy. I knew nothing much about sci-fi, though I'd been forced to sit through a Star Wars film with my last boyfriend.

One of the new ones. He told me I'd like it because 'it's really feminist' and 'women can identify with it'. I think that meant it had a female character who didn't routinely strip naked for vague plot reasons.

“We don't stock anything by John Norman,” she said with a disapproving look at me.

“Really? I'm having difficulty finding a bookshop that does.” I put the telephone directory size fantasy novel back in place with all the others. “Are they really that popular that they're always sold out?”

“No. What I mean is we don't stock anything by John Norman.”

Ah. I got it now. She didn't like them.

“They can't be worse than...” I picked a random book out from the shelf. “The Enchantress, book one of the Evermen saga.” The cover was a run of the mill photoshop paste up of a woman in a green hooded cloak with her back to you, posing with some photoshopped trees.

How original.

“That's a popular bestseller,” said the woman with another look of derision.

I ran a hand through my dark mess of curls. “Well I'm really after some Gor books.”

“You won't find them here or at any branch of Waterstones. We don't stock them. They don't reflect our values or the values of our customers.” She regarded me with the sullen disapproving look she'd normally reserve for someone asking to buy a book celebrating the Nazis.

“I'm a customer,” I said with a sweet innocent smile.

“Yes, well, we don't stock them.”

“I'll just have a cup of coffee in your in-store Costa franchise then and buy them on my Amazon app.”

Ooh, she didn't like me saying that at all.

Only I didn't. “£23.99!” I said to myself as I saw the Amazon price for the latest paperback in the series. It would actually be cheaper to buy one of those vintage second hand copies Rebecca had been hunting down in used book stores. Although thinking about it I guess I could claim it as expenses. Fuck it, I ordered the book, put down my phone and picked up my cappuccino.

It wasn't a Costa coffee bar any more though, but rather a place in the basement called 'Lucky Jim's Bar' that served artisan espresso coffee, hand-made sandwiches and small plates, and a range of sweet and savoury treats – inclusing my favourite, banoffee pie. During the evening it was open for cocktails, craft beers and Guardian reader friendly wines. Book shops had obviously changed since my student days. This one even had a curated playlist being piped through the store alongside a boutique selection of vinyl records for sale. A hand painetd sign on the wall stated the store philosophy: 'Our inclusive events programme represents the diverse interests of our customers, featuring a superb line up of the most exciting authors and poets; food and drink; and film and comedy. Through our events we champion feminism, LGBTQ+ and marginalised voices.'

Yeah, bookshops had changed a bit.

I had decided to begin with a little bit of research into the books. If there was a group of men who were inspired by the books to harass and intimidate women then a bit of background reading might be useful. I would have asked to borrow a couple of Rebecca's but I guessed she might have all sorts of conditions attached like I'd have to promise not to bend the spines and wear white cotton gloves when holding them. She didn't strike me as the sort of woman who was very easy going with her possessions.

My phone rang. I picked it up and answered the call.

“Ambrose Investigations,” I said in my best PI voice.

“Cat, hi it's Adam. I got your message. What's up? You got some work?”

“Possibly, yeah. Standard surveillance and tailing people. Thought if you and Mark were free you could make up a team with me.” I cut a small piece off my banoffee pie and popped it in my mouth as I spoke. I had known the lads for a couple of years and occasionally called them in on a job that required extra sets of boots on the ground. “One, maybe two day's work. £55 an hour. Cash in hand if I can wing it that way.”

“Sounds good. London based?”

“Hell yeah.” Adam was ex-army and Mark was, well, I don't quite know what Mark was but Adam had a lot of respect for what he could do. Just don't ask Mark about the Gulf, is what he would always say. Why the fuck would I want to ask him about the Gulf? Just don't, he'd say again. Oh-kay, okay...

“How's business generally?”

I made a snorting sound. “On and off. More off than on recently. Lots of potential clients but they always get cold feet when I give them a quote. I think they come in expecting me to charge the same as the guy who cuts their lawn.”

“We should get together for dinner one night.”

“No, Adam, we shouldn't,” I said in an amused voice.

“Why's that, Cat?”

“Because you always try to get me drunk and try to lure me into bed.” I chopped another piece of pie on the end of my fork.

“I don't do that. That must be someone else you know.” He sounded amused. “Tell me who he is and I'll warn him off.”

“I'll do that,” I said with a laugh.

“It's not my fault, Cat. You always wear those really tight fitting jeans. You're practically sinful.”

“What can I say? They shrink in the wash. Look, got things to do, I'm on the client's clock, so I'll be in touch with details later.”

“You realise I'm fucking hard here just imagining you in those tight jeans,” said Adam over the phone. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Look up the word masturbation on google,” I suggested. “It'll give you some advice.”

“I day dream about you, you know,” he said in a mock tortured way. “It's very distracting. Oh, Cat... don't do this to me, Cat...”

“Bye-bye, Adam,” I said in my sing-song voice as I ended the call. “Always lovely to hear from you. Don't be a stranger.”

I sat there at the table for a few moments with a smile on my face. One day perhaps. One day. On an impulse I got up and took a quick selfie of my ass and thighs in my tight jeans and sent it to Adam with the message 'you can look but you can't... xxx'

A few seconds later my phone pinged with a reply: 'You are such a prick tease, Cat... xxx'

Mmm. Then another thought crossed my mind. I tapped out a quick question:

'Have you ever read any of the Gor books, Adam?'

A minute later I got the guarded reply: 'is this some sort of test I can't possibly hope to pass, set by the King's Cross school of feminism?'

'Not sure what you mean,' I texted back.

'Yeah, I read some of them years ago. Sexy, but I don't think you'd approve. Hope you don't hate me now?'

Weird. Weird reply. 'Why would I hate you?' I texted back.

'Well, you know... the books...'

'No I don't know. I've never read them. I'm asking because the books may have a bearing on my current case.'

'Don't tell me, your client is a beautiful posh girl who's being watched by the wicked slavers of Gor? LOL'

I stared at that reply for a minute or so before I typed back, 'actually, joking aside, yes, that's pretty much it.'

'You're kidding, right?' Adam came right back.

'Nope. That's pretty much my case right now. What can you tell me about the books? I've ordered one from Amazon but it's 4 to 6 days delivery and I can't wait that long.' I gazed at the screen awaiting his reply.

'THAT is going to cost you dinner with me tonight, Cat. :)'

“Adam...' I typed.

'I'll even dig out a couple of the old paperbacks and give them to you. Table at Blanchette, Soho @ 8.30. Deal? Best behaviour. Promise. LOL'

I sniffed as I gazed at the message. I did like Blanchette. Oh fuck it.

I typed back. 'Okay, 8.30. Don't wear anything by Superdry or I'm walking back out the door.'

I was about to put my phone away when there was one last ping and another message from Adam. It read: 'No Superdry, okay, but you wear a skirt then. Never seen Cat Ambrose in a skirt. LOL.'

In your dreams, I thought as I shoved the phone back in my bag and got up to leave.