The Modern Hookup

The club lights blur the drunk frenzy of the human attraction. The music makes it hard to overhear the conversations.

“So, what’s your favorite pop tart flavor?”

My concentration mutes. A floppy fellow bends his body over the chair next to me. I turn.

“Hello yourself. I don’t have one,” I respond.

“I bet it’s something cute like strawberries. You look like you like strawberries. Let me buy you something sweet to match that sweet look in your eye you are getting looking at me.”

Someone’s a cocky fuck. A cocky fuck in need of a thesaurus.

“Stop, you’re the sweet one. I’m not drinking tonight, but thank you.”

“Just one drink. I’m Stan by the way. Bartender!” His words are as curt as his stature.

“No, really. I’m quite alright.”

His boozy smile fades.

“C’mon- What’s up with you? Why won’t you say yes to me?”

You’re too…easy. And I’m not that desperate. Yet.

“You’re too kind. I’m not drinking tonight.”

As he is about to once again forget the word “no” is part of his vocabulary, a black haired beauty sparkles across the bar. Stan's eyes flicker with sex.

“Well if you say you’re not drinking, I don’t want to disrespect the lady’s wishes.”

“Thank you,” I respond, but he's gone, leaving only the faint smell of his thrifted cologne.

Spoiler alert “Stan,” that girl is too smart for you.

I turn my eyes back to the sea of bewilderment. I see a woman standing in the zenith of the dance floor. Her red hair, aflame, illuminates the shadowed faces around her. I want to approach her but I can’t. She’s too intimidating, too radiant; she’s off limits.

I turn my head again and he’s already watching me. I wonder for how long too.

This could be interesting.

Several women approach him, but he waves them off. I am all he sees. He’s different. Bold, mysterious, overly cocky, or extremely insecure. Okay, look away, if he comes to you...

“Pardon me.”

It’s him.

“Hello.”

“May I sit here?”

He beckons to Stan’s chair that’s been replaced by my purse.

“Of course. Please make yourself comfortable.”

He picks up my bag, tracing the seams with delicacy.

“This is a beautiful bag. I’m no expert, but is it Chanel?”

No, try a knock off from a side mart.

“Yes it’s a Chanel. I like fine things.”

My bag still remains in his clutches. The tip of my little black notebook sticks out.

“And what's this?” he coos.

“Oh that’s nothing. I’m old fashioned is all. I like to keep lists...” I offer a smile.

His eyebrows raise with interest. He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out one of his own.

“I have one just like it. Wonder if yours is as full as mine?” He winks. For eyes as black as his, they sure burn when fixated on you. But this is a kind of blissful pain.

“I didn’t catch your name. I’m...” He starts to hand me my bag.

“Shhh. How about we get out of here and exchange names later in each other’s books?”

He slyly smiles, and guides me to the exit.

“Do you want to call the Uber?” He says. “I’m a little far for walking.”

“I don’t have the app. My place is a short trek; how about we could go there instead?”

“No worries. You’re an old fashioned girl. I have an idea.” He points to a dingy saffron dinosaur down the street and waves it over.

Sitting in the cab we confront a true silence for the first time. He tucks my hair behind my ear, running his lips across my neck. Things proceed in a blur, but several loud coughs from an irritated cab driver breaks the chaotic embrace.

“So where did you say you live?” I ask.

“Just down Woodward Avenue.”

“Woodward? That’s a little sketchy...I mean secluded.”

“Well I live with a buddy of mine, and I can’t object to the rent deal. Don’t worry, I can protect you,” he laughs.

“Buddy? As in you have a roommate?”

“Yea?”

Three's a crowd.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t like the way this sounds. I feel so stupid right now. SIR! Can you pull over?!”

“Wait stop! You don’t have to feel unsafe. Look me up on google real quick. My name is Richard Valdez. I'm clean.”

The cab comes to a stop. With one foot on the street and one in the cab, I see my little black book on the seat. I grab it and run off.

Too close.

The next day a knock at my door perturbs my innocent slumber. Peering through the small hole I see a woman in uniform.

“Hello. Who is it?”

“Hi-Elaina Coatsworth? My name is Officer Huang. I’m here to drop of a bag of yours and speak to you for a brief moment, if that is okay?”

I take a second glance. She looks deformed through the hole, but all in all harmless. I turn the locks.

“Yes come in. What’s the issue, and how do you have my bag?”

“It's fine ma'am, we can talk at the door.” She hands me the knock-off Chanel.

“Actually, I have a few questions if you don’t mind. We found your bag on a criminal we caught last night. His name is Richard Valdez. Apparently he has been luring women from bars, and robbing them without their knowledge. Did you know Mr. Valdez prior to last night?”

“That’s horrible. And no, I met him for the first time last night and almost went home with him, but got a gut feeling something was off! I was so spooked by him, that I guess I left my bag in the Taxi we shared.”

I start shaking my hands. Officer Huang notices.

“It’s okay Ms. Coatsworth. You don’t need to be scared. He’s up for bail right now but with how high it is, I don’t think he will be able to afford it. If anything, he was more of a tool than a threat. Sleeping with women and stealing their possessions; yours was the only bag he hadn't had the chance to pawn.”

“Thank you, officer. May I ask how you knew this bag belonged to me, and where to find me?”

“I found a little black book with your name and address inside. I couldn’t find a phone or number to give you a call, plus I live in this building so I thought I’d drop it off myself.”

“My little black book! How embarrassing! That’s like a diary to me! It’s very personal; I am so humiliated! You didn’t read to much of it right!”

“No ma'am. Just the address and name,” she pauses and continues. “I’m not a writer so maybe I don’t understand the authenticity of using in a notebook, but If you want your work to be protected I would recommend one of these.”

She pulls a large, clunky screen out of her pocket.

“Password protected and everything!”

Fascinating.

“Thank you Officer Huang. Really, you are a rare breed. I appreciate your kindness like no other. You said you live in this building. Which unit may I ask?”

“Unit 35G, right down the hall there.”

Peeking my head around the door, I make note of the dangerous lack of distance between the doors.

“I feel so safe knowing I have a woman in uniform so close by, and a good hearted one as well.”

“Thank you for that. Well… have a nice day Ms. Coatsworth. If you have any questions about the case, here's my card, or just give me a knock!” She smiles and begins to turn away, out of my arm’s length.

That “well” was a bit long. Was that on account of her own awkwardness, or does she know?

“Officer wait!”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, but I have one more question about this whole situation. How was Mr. Valdez caught?”

“Cameras- outside the club, and inside the cab the two of you took last night. Technology has it perks.” She shakes her phone.

“I guess it does.” I shut the door.

Immediately I grab my little black book, checking to see that all the pages are still there. I then see Richard’s dupe I took by accident last night. I flip through the pages of his; I notice they are thicker than the ones in mine.

I wonder if he keeps a list of his victims as well?

I investigate further. Every other page is glued to itself, creating tiny pockets. Inside, bills as crisp as his cologne sleep. All totaled, there is $20,000.

What kind of idiot keeps $20,000 in a book like this?

I look at my little black book. Then again…

what kind of idiot keeps up to 20 life sentences in hers?

Looks like we both ended up getting lucky last night, Richard. You seem like the type of guy who puts great “value” on his life.

I fold a couple thousand into my bag, toss his empty black book in the trash, and rush out the door.

“Hi. Welcome to the Apple store. My name is Samuel. How can I help you?”

“Hello! I’m looking for a device to write with that has password protection.”

“Like an iPad?”

“Is it password protected?”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “What kind of writing do you do that’s so secret?”

I stare him down.

“Erotica.”

His face freezes, and then evolves into an array of joy. His posture stiffens, and he pulls a box off the shelf.

“So, this is our iPad 3.0. It comes with lots of storage, so you can let that naughty imagination of yours go off,” he says flirtatiously.

It’s wicked alright.

“Perfect! I’ll take it. Can you show me how to use it?”

He unpacks the box, and takes his time breaking down every detail of the device, but my patience grows desperate. I’ve learned the necessities and his mansplaining starts to poke holes into my eardrums.

“How do you know so much about these?” I ask.

“Well not to brag, but I am the store manager, so I know a lot in general.”

“Wow! So Impressive! How about you ring me up?”

“Yea, of course.” He starts to pack up the iPad.

“Oh, you can leave it unpacked. I don’t want to make you redo all of your hard work.”

His smile grows with his ego.

“Will that be cash or credit?”

“Cash.”

I remove Richard’s dirty bills from my purse. He studies them closely, and then studies my chest even closer.

“I’m not sure if this is inappropriate, but would you want to get together, say, later tonight?” I ask.

“Heck yeah!” His eyes look up to match mine. “Sound’s great. Let me give you my number.”

I hand him the iPad and open the notes app.

“Why don’t you put it here, and add your name as well.”

He types it in.

Samuel Johnson. That’s an ugly name. I hate when their names are ugly. Suits them, I guess.

“Sammy Johnson- that’s a strong name. Tell you what- how about I meet you here later tonight? You said you’re the store manager, so we can have the place to ourselves?”

“Absolutely.”

As I turn away, I feel something else watching me other than Samuel checking out my ass as I walk to the door. I look up.

“Hey Sammy! Make sure you turn those off tonight.” I point to the cameras on the ceiling. “I’m a little old fashioned, and I don’t really want an audience.”