Chapter Text
This was what desperation looked like: to stand in front of a beautiful woman about to burst into laughter because he was running out of options. Gold gripped his cane until his knuckles turned white and awaited the imminent humiliation as comprehension spread on Miss French’s face.
“I see,” she said, crossing her arms and adopting a defensive tone. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Gold, that I am not ready to resort to prostitution to pay my rent-”
“That is not what I meant,” he said, so softly that it caught her off guard. “I’m not asking for sex.”
She went quiet again. When she spoke, her voice hadn’t relaxed one bit and her arms still protected her chest. “When a man asks me to- how did you put it?”
He opened his mouth to beg her not to say it out loud.
She beat him to it.
“To ‘talk sexually’ with him…”
Gold closed his eyes in shame. This had been a terrible idea.
“…In exchange for my rent, you do understand why my mind would immediately go to the worst case scenario, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he sighed, looking anywhere but at the little librarian who was standing behind a barricade of books. She had a fierce expression on her face, as if she had nothing to be ashamed for. Yes, she was three months behind on her rent; public funds had been cut and the only thing keeping the library from closing its doors was Belle French’s stubbornness. She was still working part time, despite the fact that the Mayor was no longer paying her to do so. Without another source of income, keeping up with the bills had become a challenge and, three months ago, had finally become impossible. But still, she had done nothing wrong. Mr. Gold, on the other hand, was taking advantage of her situation to extract sexual favors from his tenant, a woman who’d rather starve than let a town go without books.
“I’ll clear my things and vacate the property by the end of the week,” Miss French announced. Without another word, she dropped back into her chair and continued to check returned books for damaged pages.
That was his cue to leave and never again come into the library. Changing towns wouldn’t have been an overreaction, come to think of it.
But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Not when he had come this far.
Mustering the little bit of courage he had left, he confessed, “It’s for my wife.”
Miss French glanced up, but focused on the books again. She had no wish to spend another minute listening to his nonsense.
He continued anyway.
“I need help talking to my wife. She’s not pl-” Gold cleared his throat. Poor choice of words. Accurate, but poor. “She’s not happy.”
Miss French didn’t say a word, leafing through books carelessly, just waiting for him to get tired and leave.
“I didn’t think you’d be… easy,” he clarified. “I didn’t- I don’t think poorly of you. Never have. I just assumed… I thought you wouldn’t mind being… It wasn’t payment. It was a compensation. For your time.”
“You should talk to your wife, not me,” she said, coldly, without looking up.
“Thank you, Miss French,” he snapped. “I never thought of that before!”
Now she put the books aside, looking at him as if demanding an apology for the shouting. And though she might have gotten one a few seconds ago, at the moment Gold wasn’t in the mood for her passing judgment on how he handled his marriage. Especially not when he was humiliating himself trying to save it.
“You are a last resort, Miss French,” he said. “Not a first choice.”
“Yes, there are women you can pay for this sort of thing, Mr. Gold,” she snapped back. “I am not one of them.”
“No,” he argued. “There are women I can pay to talk to me and stroke my ego. I don’t need that. I need someone…” he struggled for the right word for a second. He settled for, “Someone genuine, who has real limits that can’t be bought. Someone who’s not afraid to be blunt.”
“Did you choose me because of my bluntness?” she asked, doubtful.
“No,” he answered, but didn’t elaborate.
She raised her eyebrows. “Well then?”
“I thought you’d be discreet.”
“That’s it?”
Gold shrugged. “That’s enough.”
“You must have thought I’d be good at it.”
Gold didn’t answer.
Miss French grinned as she saw him turn red. “Do I just… look like it?”
“You read books,” he admitted, begrudgingly. “A lot.”
“So?”
She understood what he meant. Gold could read it on her face. She was just pushing his buttons and trying to make him snap.
Cautious, he answered, “I assume you read those kinds of books as well.”
“Those kinds of books?” she repeated, pretending to frown in confusion.
Gold narrowed his eyes at her, hating her for the first time.
“You know what I mean,” he said, with a warning tone.
“I know,” she agreed. “You still have to say it.”
Gold kept his mouth shut.
“You want my help to talk to your wife?” she asked, challenging. “Talk sexuallywith your wife, as you so skillfully put it? Well, take this as lesson number one. Say it.”
He still stared at her for a long moment, hoping she’s be the first to break eye contact and look away. People usually did when he looked at them like that. The angry landlord who could destroy your life.
Miss French, however, was not afraid of his glaring eyes.
“I meant,” he said, anger seething from each word, “that you probably readpornographic books as well.”
The word had a terrible taste in his mouth. When it was over, he was glad to have gotten rid of it.
“I do,” Miss French answered, ignoring his discomfort. “So you’re looking for a discreet woman with limits that cannot be easily swayed, who will be honest, and who is probably familiar with the literary material on the subject.”
“This is a small town, Miss French,” he said, between gritted teeth. “My options are limited.”
She still stared at him for a moment before saying, “Not for money. A favor.”
He gripped his cane even harder and could only manage a nod.
“You have influence over the Mayor,” she said. “Can you convince her to shift the funds back to the library?”
“I can promise to do my best.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
She nodded. “Alright. That works better for me.”
He couldn’t help but smirk. “A simple exchange of favors between friends.”
Miss French shrugged. “And what exactly do you have in mind?”
He thought about it. Truth was, he never thought he’d make it this far.
“I am not sure.”
She tapped on the cover of a book, looking around, as if the answer to how to deal with crazy married men lied anywhere but on his face.
“Well, think about it,” she finally said. “When you do know, tell me.”
“Right,” he nodded.
“And I’m not to blame if you’re disappointed,” she warned him. “Unlike you might think, I’m not a specialist in the art of dirty talking.”