Most important, she had brought me on staff to teach bookbinding classes here, and she’d also hired me privately to do restoration work on her own books. In exchange, I suppose I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt when it came to her questionable behavior. Yes, I could be bought. I wasn’t ashamed to admit it. After all, a girl’s got to make a living.

I walked through the foyer, where artists’ brochures and postcards and flyers and all the local free press papers were stacked, then entered the main gallery. The room was large with a dramatically high ceiling and skylights. Two ramps led down to the lower gallery, where glass display cases showed off the best works of the visiting bookbinders and artists. In the center was an unusual mix of ancient art and new technology, including an antique printing press and a large freestanding eighteenth-century cast-iron paper cutter with a thirty-inch blade. Next to these was BABA’s latest acquisition, a computerized guillotine that could cut cleanly through six inches of compacted paper.

The lower gallery was surrounded by the upper level, conveniently referred to as the upper gallery, which ran the perimeter of the room. Here were the main display walls and two large alcoves filled with bookshelves and comfortable seating areas.

Strolling through the upper gallery, I spied Naomi Fontaine, Layla’s niece and BABA’s facilities coordinator. She was busy assembling a new display of children’s vintage pop-up books.

To my left, on the main display wall, a number of darkly dramatic, steampunk-style wood-block prints were hung. On another wall, tall shelves of beautifully bound books were available to study or purchase.

Off the main room were three long halls that angled off like spokes on a bicycle wheel. Down these halls were classrooms, offices, mudrooms, a number of individual workrooms, the printing press room, and several smaller galleries.