The Story of Belle Reeve Book Company

Sierra Kondos leaned into the mirror and blew a red kiss at her reflection for good luck before she wiped her Fenty-red lip off and replaced half her face with a mask. She tucked the straps behind her ears before adding her specs to weigh down her ears as well. She hid the growing pain under her carefully dark-brown curled-hair and gave herself one last long-look in the mirror, her dark eyes scanning over her denim long-sleeve, Levis and Red cowboy boots, before heading back into her room to gather her weapons. She had to wear something red. It was her power color and she needed to feel confident and powerful for what she was about to do.

She tossed her spare mask, hand sanitizer and disinfecting wipes inside of her messenger bag along with her voice-recorder, pen and notepad and lists of article topics she was prepared to present to her editor at Cat-5 Magazine covering the three medicine bottles that her doctor recently prescribed her for anxiety and onset nausea. She never knew when the vertigo was going to hit.

For the past ten months the world had been under quarantine due to the deadly spread of Covid-19 virus. The illness attacks the lungs and those who are vulnerable are the elderly, asthmatic and who have underlying health conditions. Sierra remembered her time struggling with the “Rona.” President Trump claimed that the virus was overseas, so she went with her best pal, Lacy, to Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and two weeks later, fell ill to a different kind of sickness.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention claimed that the virus was like the flu and should be treated as such along with two weeks of home- isolation. Sierra suffered for a week and a half with non-flu-like symptoms and that frightened her. The pain of breathing in kept her bedridden and her body curled into a fetal-like position. When she would go outside, the sun would burn her skin, cause her to sweat instantly and induce nausea. Her appearance was that of the undead, utterly pale-skin, and green and purple veins prominently showing from under the eyes.

But the virus was not that like how she suffers from the flu. The flu makes it impossible to hold down any water or food, constant vomiting, and after three weeks of torture, she goes to the hospital for the Finagrin shot to ease the vomiting and hooked up to saline bags to battle dehydration. No, the Covid-19 virus is different than the flu, but it is still deadly.

But that was ten months ago, and Sierra is still at home and facing new fears. The pandemic caused small business shutdowns during phase one in March and Sierra lost her job as a journalist for various magazines and newspapers, forcing her to live, take care of bills and feed her son on unemployment. She was one of the lucky ones to even have had that little bit of crumbs tossed her way, while many were not so lucky and depended on churches and food banks to feed their children.

“I can’t do this anymore,” She said out loud but to herself as she slung her bag over her shoulder, the pills rattling inside the bottles, reassuring her that she needed to make a change in her life. She needed something that made her happy, and writing kept her from the dark places of this new reality. She revved up her old Camry and drove an hour to the publishing company.

“I am sorry, but as of January I will not longer be the editor of the magazine,” Sid Kearney said. “I am retiring, and it is on my terms. I really loved working with you, and I wish you the best of luck on your writing.”

Even though her words were kind, they cut deeper holes of despair into Sierra.

“Well, I will reach out to the new editor as soon as I can,” Sierra responded. “And I am really glad that you are happy and leaving on your own terms,” She reiterated robotically. She wasn’t happy, but it would have been rude to say otherwise. She hugged Sid and made her way back to her car. She tossed her useless bag of weapons aside.

As she drove through the next town, a yellow sign that read, “Book Heaven,” and another sign, “Half-priced books,” caught her attention and she swung her car into the parking lot. Bookstores always made Sierra feel better and buying things when you don’t have the money was the key aspect of shop-therapy. If she had to continue the life of quarantine, books would help her laze her days away. She put on her mask and headed inside.

The room was dark even though the front of the store had large windows with the curtains pulled back. Sierra heard a polite, “Hello, dear,” and made her way to the back of the shop. A little old lady with quaffed brown and grey hair sit at a desk playing sudoku. She looked up as Sierra approached and set her pen down.

“Everything is half off, honey, let me know if you need help.” Sierra murmured a “Yes ma’am,” and walked through the stacks of old books. Each row was labeled with a genre, but the immense number of books raised her anxiety and she quickly grabbed a small novel with a shirtless cowboy plastered on the front and went back to the lady to pay for it, stepping over piles of books littered all over the ground.

“That will be four dollars and thirty-three cents, sweetie,” the lady said, and Sierra handed her a few bills, grabbed her bag, muttered her thanks again and left the shop. That was not like any bookshop she had ever seen. She was used to clean and tidy shops with charming cafes and sitting areas. This store was like a flea market.

When she got home, she dressed into her usual pajamas, made a cup of coffee, and grabbed her bag to retrieve her book. She was determined that if she could not work, she was going to read. However, she found that there were two books inside of her bag, one was her cowboy fantasy and the other was a small black hard back. She opened the cover and discovered it was a journal. Written in tiny, loopy letters were appointments that said, “Sister’s chemo appointment”, “create ad for bidding business”, and “until the end of December.”

This was the old woman’s personal journal containing important information. Sierra slid her cowboy boots over her pajamas and got back into her car.

“Oh, thank you for bringing this old thing back to me,” the old lady said with a kind smile plastered on her face.

“I did read it,” Sierra said. “That’s how I knew to bring it back so quickly. I am sorry to hear about your sister and about the bookstore. I wish I could afford something like this.” She waved her arm over the piles of books.

“Well, you can, dear,” The lady responded. “How much money do you have?” Her specs slid over the end of her nose and her blue eyes looked serious at Sierra.

“I know I don’t have much,” Sierra said truthfully. “It has been a hard year on everyone and me included. I was just commenting that this would have been a dream in another life-time.”

The old lady nodded kindly and said, “That wasn’t my question, sweetie. How much money do you have to buy a store? I will sell it for one thousand dollars to you.”

Sierra’s heart leaped and she said, “Give me a moment. I need to make a call.” She rushed out of the bookshop and called her boyfriend, Luciano. As each ring sounded, she was drawing up her plan of action to sell books quickly and to create a business so she would have income again. He was at work and she was surprised when he answered the phone.

“I know I am asking a lot but I want to know if you could loan me one thousand dollars so I can buy a bookstore,” the words rushed from her in hopes he wouldn’t have time to think but just react. “I swear I have a plan.”

“Yes, when do you need it by,” he said casually. His tone made Sierra look at her screen to make sure she dialed the right number.

“Seriously, please be serious because if you say syke I will cry and find ways to torment you,” she said as he laughed.

“Yes, I will give you the money,” he confirmed. “Just say when you need it by.”

Sierra walked back into the bookshop. This time she took her time looking around the room and accessing what she was about to get herself into. There had to be thousands of books in each genre, she thought.

“I will buy the bookstore, but I will have the money tomorrow,” she told the old lady.

The next day, the old lady placed the keys in Sierra’s hands and said, “Good luck, honey,” and she walked out of the door. The first day at the shop, Sierra had one customer and made eight dollars. The next day, an old lady came in from her church group and Sierra’s idea sprang to life.

“All books are one dollar,” she said to the old lady. “Please tell your church friends.” The old lady agreed, and Sierra made three hundred dollars that day. She called her boyfriend to tell him what she decided, and he supported her rash decision. Word of mouth was spreading quickly, and Sierra decided to reach out to the local news station. The next day, one of her old college buddies, Antonio Del Rio, arrived with his camera and they worked together on shooting scenes in the store, as well as taking photos and creating an interview. The next day, Sierra sold over thirteen hundred books. Her interviewed stirred the community. She paid her boyfriend back after owning the bookshop three days.

A week later, Sierra hired three people to help her count the store and it contained over twenty-eight thousand books. By the time they were done counting the books, she had sold seven thousand dollars. The bookshop sells on average five hundred books a day with her new store hours six days a week, eight hours a day.

Running the bookstore brought her so much joy that she no longer had to take her anxiety medication or worry about journalism and paying bills. The pandemic still poses a threat of another phase one, so she set her goals to take her bookshop online until the pandemic ended. The company, Book Heaven, ended in December of twenty-twenty. But Sierra renamed her new used bookshop, “Belle Reeve Book Company,” officially beginning January twenty twenty-one.

Yes, the store requires showing up to work, helping people find books, but once she is finished, she will have profited over twenty thousand dollars. A dream she set as a goal that she continuously works toward until she has succeeded.

And this dream came to fruition from returning a little black book.