Little Black Book

I was awakened suddenly by the piercing cold in my home. I sat up in bed and looked around, there was total darkness except for the light peering through my window from the neighbor’s back porch. As I let out a sigh, I saw the cold cloud of condensation right in front of my lips. It happened again I thought, they turned off the electricity. I was positive I would make it to the next payday. Yet here I am in this icebox house because I NEEDED to buy that dress, and that purse and those shoes too. Eight more days until I get paid and freezing temperatures on the horizon. I have no idea what I’m going to do. Last time I tried returning the items I bought I was so enamored by the beauty in the windows I walked out with more things! There is just something about those snow globe like windows that makes me want to swipe my credit card! “I’ll take one of those, that one too, and ohhhh that one in pink” I said to the saleswoman. She must have thought I was one of those fancy foreigners that comes to shop without looking at price tags.

Except I wasn’t, I was a barista barely making ends meet trapped in the body of a wealthy woman. I needed to be creative! I needed to think of the quickest and easiest way to legally make some money. I could be flexible on the legal part. Dad said he would not give me another dime and I know he meant it this time. Six months ago, he gave me his credit card to pay my rent and I may or may not have added on a pair of Jimmy Choo pumps before returning it. He is still disputing the charge with the credit card company and refused to speak to me for weeks. At twenty-eight my charm had dwindled, and it was not so easy to get money from family and friends anymore.

I was not opposed to a Fans Only account. However, I would need time to build a fan base. Which is what I don’t have – time and money. I wondered how raunchy I would need to be to get people sending me tips in a matter of hours. As I racked my brain for a few minutes I imagined myself bent over with a carrot and my dog Leroy as my suitor. I quickly snapped back to reality and chuckled at the thought of what the headline would be on my page “Non-Virgin Vegetable and Animal Lover here for Tricks and Kicks. Turning them and doing them at one low price!” Okay, I was desperate but not desperate enough to consider bestiality as a side job. Then, it hit me! Mr. Jenkins!

Mr. Jenkins was an older man that lived across the street. He lived alone, kept his lawn mowed and to himself. Simply put, he was the perfect neighbor. I would wave “hi,” any time I saw him and sometimes I even crossed the street for small talk. I’ll be honest, I did the latter mostly to annoy him because I saw how uncomfortable it made him the first time I did it. Conversation through a clenched jaw, beads of sweat on his forehead and always a tight grip of his left hand on that small black notebook. After each encounter I imagined what was written inside that caused him to hold it so tightly. Mr. Jenkins, what is it that I don’t know about you? The notebook could contain anything, pages and pages of art. Objects, people, landscapes, all the things he saw day to day that made him sketch away. Poems, each word carefully written to describe what he felt, heartache, grief, exhaustion. Are you an architect drawing up the next design plan for the gentrified South Town that went from crack houses to overpriced restaurants and condos in a span of ten years? Is there a story about a love lost written in those pages? Nope, I must be wrong. Thinking way too small because nobody holds a notebook that tightly unless it has something extremely good inside!

I was positive that Mr. Jenkins’ notebook was holding something that involved money. Bank account passwords, insider trading tips, lucky numbers, the possibilities were endless! But you know what was not, my money woes! I needed a plan to get over to his house and claim that notebook as mine! With my newfound fortune I would pay my electric bill and rent for the rest of the year. Then I would go on a shopping spree and because I like to consider myself as charitable, I would buy sandwiches for the homeless people that congregate downtown. I was already in a good mood, skipping down the hallway of my house as if it were 72 degrees inside instead of 40.

I knocked softly and thought to myself “you got this.” I heard shuffling of papers and then swift footsteps through the house to the door. Mr. Jenkins pulled back the curtain to see who was outside. I smiled and waved “Hi Mr. Jenkins, it’s me, Nina from across the street!” He opened the door and barely peaked his head out, “Yes Nina, how are you?” It was the first time I had seen him in weeks, he must be cooking up something good in that notebook of his I said to myself! “I’m doing well, is it okay if I come in for a minute?” He reluctantly stepped away from the door and pulled it back, allowing me to enter his home. It was not anything I would have imagined; it was practically empty. There was a table, one chair, and a desk. No pictures donned the walls, there were fast food wrappers on the floor, it was dusty and eerily dark. He asked again “How are you?” I began to ramble as I normally do when I’m nervous and then I started with the lying. “You see, I gave the money to my roommate and now I have no idea where she is, she must have skipped town and now I don’t have electricity or water and I need to get ready for a big interview. Is it okay if I bring a bag over and get ready at your house? It would only be 2 hours max!” The silence seemed to last for minutes, I’m sure he was thinking of every possible excuse to give but how could he say no to a girl trying to better her career? I mean what kind of monster has no compassion for the next generation. Then I heard the words I hoped to hear “Yes, you can but please be quick, I have somewhere to be.” I hurried home, grabbed my bag and rushed back over. It was show time!

At first Mr. Jenkins stayed close by, he was like a hawk watching my every move. I pretended I really had an interview and went through the motions of getting ready just as I would if it were true. I acted coy when it was time to shower, being a gentleman, he got the hint and went upstairs. I sprinted to the next room and began looking for the notebook. I opened drawers, picked through papers, checked the closet and when I heard him coming down the stairs, I unlocked a room window and then rushed back towards the bathroom. It was my last step out of the room when I heard it, a creak in the floorboard beneath my foot and without lifting the rug I knew I had hit the jackpot! I gently closed the door to the bathroom and waited a few minutes before I turned off the water. The tiny room was full of steam. I was proud of myself. As the fog began to dissipate, I drew a smiley face on the mirror. I added a tongue for effect, it was as if I were sticking my tongue out at Mr. Jenkins saying, “You didn’t know you lived across the street from such a smart young lady did you!” I turned on the blow dryer and pretended to blow dry my hair. I put on my make-up, got dressed and lastly added my favorite blazer to this winning ensemble. I packed my belongings, looked in the mirror one last time and gave myself a wink “I’d hire me,” I said under my breath and walked out. I was startled by how close to the door Mr. Jenkins was standing. He must have been listening to every little thing I was doing. I thanked him for his hospitality and walked home.

Once I was home, I scurried to my room to change and was back at the front window in a flash. Now it was time to wait for him to leave. Minutes turned to hours and I was so damn bored! The stakeouts on tv were nothing like this. When I was about to give up, I saw his garage door open and his car zoom away. I screamed with delight! Next, I ran across the street as if I were an Olympic runner, made my way to the back window, opened it and crawled in. I pushed the rug aside, pulled at the corner of the floorboard and voila, the board lifted. My eyes glimmered, there it was, the little black book staring at me as if we were soulmates who finally realized we were meant for one another. I put everything back in place and was back in my room quicker than I expected. “Well that was easy,” I said to myself.

It was time, the big reveal had arrived. I felt my heart beating so rapidly my neck had a pulse! I closed my eyes, opened the cover to expose the first page and looked down. It was a notarized Will and Testament. Pages and pages of belongings and property Mr. Jenkins had accrued in his lifetime, talks of wealth us normies could only dream of – gold, cash, diamonds. It went on to disclose the illness he had been fighting for years, the arthritis causing stiffness in his left hand, the sweats brought on by chemotherapy, the insurmountable pain he lived in each day. It was because of his terminal illness that he decided on assisted suicide. It was important to him to die with dignity but before he did, he wanted to make sure he left all his worldly possessions to the one person who seemed to care for him. The girl who always smiled and waved when she saw him outside. The girl who had so much life ahead of her. The girl who made her way across the street to talk with him on what always seemed like his worst days. The days he returned from meetings with his lawyer compiling the pages of his Will in his little black book. On, February 20th at 1pm it would all be over. He would receive the injection to end his life. At the same time his childhood best friend would drive to his house, look under the floorboard, take the notebook and set the house on fire. I looked at the date and time, it was 2:30pm on February 20th. I raced down the stairs and threw open my front door. I saw a man standing in the street, looking at Mr. Jenkins’ house as it burned. I ran to him, I couldn’t speak! The man looked at me and said, “Don’t worry dear, this was on purpose.” He walked away to speak to the fireman, and I heard him say, “I looked everywhere for the Will, but I didn’t find it. It must be at his lawyer’s office.” I collapsed to my knees and when everyone saw me cry, they had no idea it was because the joke was on me.