Adulthood isn’t like the games we played when we were kids. Remember staring into someone’s eyes to see who blinked first? They lost, but what exactly did the winner win? I never gave that question much thought until today. Sometimes we need to know when to blink and cut our losses, but I never blink. I’ve always believed it made me look tough, but now I’m praying for a royal flush in my underwear.
It all started innocently enough. I was trying to buy a birthday present for my mom, a special travel book, Finding the Soul of Tuscany.
Full disclosure, she has never made gift-giving easy. Her wish list is a scavenger hunt. She selects three items she wants for her birthday, and my siblings and I go on the hunt. This year, Margo and Jim find the first two which leaves me with the book, an obscure out of print English translation of a once popular travel book.
I search local bookstores, scour the internet, and call around leaving messages. A day and a half before her big Six – O, I receive a message from The Reader’s Nook, a little shop in Philadelphia. They have one copy, used, but in excellent condition. Do I want it?
I don’t want the two-hour drive, but I also don’t want to be the first child who fails to find one of her desired gifts.
I call the shop and ask them to hold it for me. I offer to pay in advance, but their system is down.
The next day, I leave work at noon, enter the address in my car’s GPS, and head east as gray storm clouds gather overhead.
I arrive at my destination and find a parking spot. The wind blows rain sideways instigating a wrestling match between me and my umbrella as I exit the vehicle. I step inside the shop behind a man in an expensive overcoat, remove my raincoat, and leave my sodden umbrella at the door. He’s barely damp, so he must have stepped out of the limousine taking up two coveted spaces out front.
We are the only customers in the tiny shop. As I walk toward the counter, I hear him address the man at the register in Italian.
He inspects a copy of Finding the Soul of Tuscany and nods. After completing his purchase, he removes his coat and sits down in a leather wingback chair. The salesperson disappears into the backroom and returns with an espresso. I wait patiently while he delivers it to the other customer.
“Must be a small world.” I say recounting the message I received about Finding the Soul of Tuscany and the copy on hold for me. He seems genuinely confused.
“No more” he says in hesitant English.
“The woman I spoke with yesterday promised to hold it for me.” I say slowly and calmly.
“Ah, my daughter.” He points to his chest, “Owner.” Then he begins speaking rapidly in Italian.
The customer gets up from his chair and begins translating. “I’m Giovanni. This is Bruno, he owns this shop. He says you must have spoken with his daughter. Unfortunately, he promised the book to me, and it’s the only one.” His English is as flawless as his Italian. He’s tall with cat-like green eyes and wavy brown hair perfectly suited to his chiseled features and olive skin.
“His daughter promised it to me.” I try hard not to sound as whiny as I feel. “It’s for my mother’s 60th birthday tomorrow. I’ll buy it from you.”
“Come, sit, we’ll talk.” Giovanni motions toward the two reading chairs. “I would like to be a gentleman and give it to you, but this book is also a gift, so I cannot.”
He laughs when I offer him $200.00. A man in an Armani suit who just stepped out of a limousine obviously has no need for extra cash. I look him in the eyes and try to charm him, but he holds my gaze without blinking. He listens politely while I describe my mother and her passion for travel since my father’s untimely death. As I speak, the prospect of leaving that shop without the book becomes unthinkable.
“What do I have to do to persuade you to sell me that book?” I ask.
He whispers something shocking in my ear, but I think he’s bluffing, so I decide to play along. His eyes never blink as he addresses Bruno. The owner reappears with a deck of playing cards. He switches off the lights, flips the sign to “closed,” and locks the door on his way out. I hear the security gate being lowered in front of the store.
Giovanni opens the curtains to the backroom and holds out his hand. I swallow nervously and move toward him. When our fingers touch I feel a sensation like static shock.
I take my seat at a small table in what looks like the break room. He opens a cabinet and removes two glasses and a bottle of Sambuca. He deals the first hand. I win and he removes his suit jacket. Two more hands and his shoes are off. Suddenly, luck shifts and he starts winning. In no time, I’m down to my last two pieces of clothing, my bra, and panties.
He smiles as he rearranges the cards in his hand, and I have no idea if he’s bluffing. I glance at the book sitting on the table. He ups the ante to two pieces of clothing which he can still afford to lose. My only play is to call. Why didn’t I blink when I had the chance?