I’m good at my job. That’s what got me into trouble.
The New York State Library found a partial copy of William Blake's First Book of Urizen, and they called a team of experts to authenticate it. I was one of those experts and I was the only one to identify it as a clever fake. It turns out, I was right. That’s what made me famous in the world of rare book antiquities.
Six months later, my supervisor at the Boston Public Library, Mr. Matthews, told me that a well-preserved copy of the 1455 Gutenberg Bible may have been discovered. The collector requested for me to come to L.A. and authenticate it.
There are only forty-nine Gutenberg Bibles and just sixteen are complete. I was so excited, I agreed before I knew the name of the collector.
Michael Baptiste. Son of a bitch.
I couldn’t back out. I mean, I could, but I wasn’t going to give someone else the Gutenberg. And if anyone had one, Michael Baptiste did.
So, I flew to L.A. and took a cab from LAX to Brentwood. It was a lesson in multi-million-dollar real estate. The cab let me out on a circular drive in front of a mansion. A maid answered the door and led me to a magnificent library. The view was amazing, but the books were better.
I noted at least five early edition Shakespeare volumes. One couldn't have been produced any later than 1632. There was an edition of the Malleus Maleficarume under glass and I was reasonably sure, without inspection, that it was authentic from 1588. Emily Dickenson poems with the original binding from 1890 and Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde.
I didn’t hear anyone enter. Like always, Michael Baptiste took me off guard.
"Hello, Prudence," he said. I jumped and turned.
He was almost the same as I remembered. The tousled curls. The scruffy stubble on his face. The sharp, blue eyes that seem to look right through me.
“Hi,” I answered, hoping to keep the atmosphere light. “Small world, isn’t it?”
He took a couple of steps closer to me. “Indeed. Yet, somehow it took me eight years to find you.”
My stomach flipped. He had been looking for me.
"So, about this Bible...."
"Ah, yes. The holiest of holies."
He led me to a door and punched a code into the lock. The room was a vault, no larger than a walk-in closet. It held one glass case. I put on my cotton gloves while Michael opened the cover.
It was the most beautiful book I had ever seen. Two volumes, the binding intricate. A gold shine along the edges of the pages. Carefully, I opened the cover and inhaled the musty, bookish scent. "It's cotton paper," I said softly. "The print is offset." I estimated the proportions of the page and counted the lines of text. My heart pounded. I inspected the print; it had a sheen. "Ink with a high metal content." With my lightest fingers, I turned the pages. "I can see the watermark," I whispered. "Where did you get this?"
"A dealer in Russia."
I studied the illuminations. Every leaf would need to be inspected.
I stood and turned. Michael hovered well inside of my personal space. "I would need to make a full examination," I said softly, "but at first assessment, this is a highly promising find."
"Worth five million, then?"
"You paid five million without knowing if this is authentic?"
"I don't like to let opportunities slip away," he said insinuatingly. The heat came into my face.
"Well, if it's actually complete and none of the leaves are forged, it was a sound investment. I would recommend that you allow me to take this back to Boston--"
"No." He eased himself even closer to me. "It stays here. If you would like to authenticate it, so do you."
It would take days. I looked at him a moment to see if he was serious. Clearly, he was.
"I... I'd have to call the library. They only authorized an overnight trip."
He stepped aside.
“If it helps,” he said as I squeezed past him, “let them know that the collector might be willing to part with it."
I froze. My lips parted. "Are you?"
He brushed a lock of my hair out of my face. "Maybe."
I hesitated, but not for long. Then, I backed out of the vault.
"I’m going to go make that call."
#
I met Michael Baptiste eleven years earlier, at Brown University, when he started dating my roommate, Marcia. He talked to me while she got ready to go out, teasing me for studying antiquities. I was too shy to hold my own.
Marcia had no filter and no need for privacy.
"I’m sore,” she said one morning, sitting down with a wince. I handed her a cup of coffee. “Michael's such a gentleman. You’d never know he was so freaky in bed.”
I blushed. “Is he?”
“Girl, you have no idea. And look what he gave me." She held out her arm so I could see the gold bracelet around her wrist.
"That's gorgeous but you've only been together--" I turned her wrist and noticed red marks. "What happened to you?"
She smiled. "Handcuffs...."
My body clenched with want and shivered with fear. I knew right then that I needed to stay away from Michael. Whenever he came for Marcia, I went to my room. He started calling me a rabbit.
Their relationship only lasted a month more. Marcia was crushed. I was relieved.
Then, one evening, about a year later, when I was studying at the University library, Michael Baptiste sought me out.
"Hello, Prudence," he said in a hushed tone.
I looked up. "Michael."
"You moved."
"I know. I had to downsize."
He sat down beside me. "I’ve been looking for you."
"What for?"
He gave me a long appraisal, then shook his head.
"I miss our talks,” he said. "And I wanted to show you this.” He pulled out a book and laid it in front of me. The cover was well worn and the title obscured; it was larger than a usual book. "I bought it at auction. Have a look."
I opened it. It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at. An engraving. Four people, clearly in sixteenth century half-dress, pleasuring each other in the most lewd way. I flipped a few pages. There was another engraving of a monk bursting in on a ménage à trois at the height of its passion.
He put a hand on my knee; I closed the book quickly.
"It's Mémoires de Saturnin," I murmured. "Maybe a 1778 edition."
"Would you like to hold on to it? You know… to study it?" His voice was smooth. His hand inched up and my legs parted a little. "We could get together at my place to talk about it Friday."
I was breathless. My body pulsed. I thought of Marcia wincing as she sat.
I pushed the book back to him. "No."
He took his hand away. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Well then, thank you," he said, standing.
I watched him go. My body scolded me.
The last time he spoke to me was after graduation. Most everyone had gone home. I didn’t have many visitors but the last person I expected was Michael Baptiste.
I don’t think I even said hello. My body went from calm to heated in record time.
"Invite me in?” he said. I stepped aside. He closed the door behind him. "Are you a lesbian?"
"What? No."
"Good," he said walking towards me. "I thought that was why you were avoiding me."
"I’m not avoid--"
"Yes, you are." He stood close. I had to look up to see his face.
"Is there a reason you’re here, Michael?”
"Because I'm very attracted to you.”
I sighed.
"You knew that, though." He leaned into me and I thought he intended to kiss me. I whirled with indecision about whether or not to let him. But, he bypassed my mouth and his lips stopped at my ear. "I can’t bring myself to be subtle with you," he whispered. "I want to know what you sound like when you cum."
His bluntness shocked me.
“I’m hard every time I look at you.”
“Stop.”
His lips found my neck. It seemed like every nerve ending responded. He kissed where my pulse pounded. I made a sound somewhere between a moan and protest.
"Shh, little rabbit. Let me. I hate missed opportunities.”
Both hands went into my hair. He tilted my face back. For a moment, I accepted it. But, when he leaned in to kiss me, I thought of the marks on Marcia’s wrists.
"Enough. I mean it." I pushed on his chest, forcing him back a step. "I'm not like that. Like this. I can't just...."
"I know. You're beautiful and rare. My favorite two things."
He leaned in again. "No," I said in a stronger voice.
He cocked his head. "Are you sure?" he asked, just like he had in the library two years before.
I nodded.
"That is a real pity."
He backed away. Then he turned and left my apartment. The next time I heard his name was eight years later.
#