As usual when it came to Stella, I was lost. “And you have someone else’s diary because…”
She sighed. “Can we just forget you saw it?”
I shook my head slowly. “Not a chance.”
Stella rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if I tell you, you can’t make fun of me.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “This is getting more intriguing by the moment. I can’t wait to hear this story.”
“It’s not a story, really. It’s just a hobby of mine.”
“Writing in diaries?”
“No. I don’t write in them. I read them.”
My brows shot up. “How exactly do you come across these diaries? Do you steal them or something?”
“Of course not. I’m not a thief. I usually buy them on eBay.”
“You buy other people’s diaries on eBay?”
She nodded. “There’s a big market for them, actually. Some people are into watching reality TV. I prefer to read my drama. Reading someone’s diary isn’t all that different.”
“Uh-huh….”
“No, really. Millions of people watch those Real Housewives shows and Jersey Shore. It’s the same thing, if you think about it—people airing their dirty laundry and keeping secrets.”
I scratched my chin. “How exactly does one get into this hobby?”
She sighed. “When I was twelve, I went to a garage sale. I saw a brown leather book on a table, so I picked it up to smell it.”
“Of course you did.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t interrupt or I’m not going to finish my story.”
“Continue…”
For the next five minutes she rambled on about smelling a diary at a garage sale, her crush on some kid who played football, and how she’d had no idea the diary was written in when she bought it. By the time she took a breath, I even knew how much she’d paid for the damn thing fifteen years ago.
I just kept staring at her, trying to keep up and waiting for her to get to the point. Though Stella didn’t seem to notice. Then she looked at me like she wanted to make sure I was following her. So I nodded. “Okay…”
“I realized I’d bought a used diary, and I wasn’t going to read it, but my curiosity got the best of me. It turned out to be a thirty-year-old diary written by a girl a year older than I was at the time. In the first few entries, she wrote about a boy she liked and her first kiss. I was hooked and couldn’t stop. I read the entire thing in one night. After that, I checked every garage sale I went to for six months, trying to find another diary. But I never did. I’d pretty much forgotten about diaries when I stumbled upon one on eBay a few years later. That’s when I learned there was an entire market for used diaries. I’ve been buying them ever since. Most people watch a show or two before they go to bed; I like to read an entry or two a night.”
“So your friend bought you a used diary for his birthday?”
“Actually, I bought the diary. But it’s written in Italian. Fisher had it translated for me for his birthday.”
I processed that for a moment. “Out of curiosity, what does a diary like that set you back on eBay?”
“It varies. If you buy a woman’s diary, it’s usually anywhere from fifty to a hundred dollars. Some people sell photocopied diaries, and those are cheaper since they can sell it to multiple people. Original diaries from the eighteen hundreds can go for a lot more, and men’s, no matter how old they are, are always a premium.”
“Men’s? Men write in diaries?”
“Some do. But they’re rare and can get pretty expensive.”
I was dumbfounded. An entire world existed that I knew nothing about. I lifted my chin toward the drawer where she’d tucked the diary away. “Who does the one you have belong to?”
“His name is Marco. He lives in Italy.”
“What’s his story?”
“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t started reading it. But I’m really excited to. I’m going to have to be strict about only reading an entry a night, or I’ll wind up finishing it in one sitting. Italian diaries are the best. The people there are so passionate about everything.”
“If you say so. You know your hobby is a bit strange, right?”
“I do. But so what? It makes me happy.”
It struck a chord, the way something so simple could make her happy. There hadn’t been much that had done it for me the last few years since my divorce—not even the women I went out with. Maybe I was a little envious.
Regardless, we had work to do. So I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you show me what you wanted to discuss when you came to my office?”
Stella and I worked through her questions and fixed some errors the purchasing department had made while prepping product orders. I had an afternoon meeting to get to, so I told her to let me know if she needed anything else and stood to go.