Ditch 'em Denver

“Seriously!?” A question, and an outburst; a single statement loaded with all types of meaning, generally used in the most unreal of moments. Moments just like this one. As I sat there, I asked myself how I ended up here, but I already knew the answer to that. It all started with me being what I like to call “fabulous and frugal.” I’m a girly girl, that likes nice things. Shoes, purses, and fragrances. Dresses and jewelry all the other accoutrements that girls like, but it’s the labels. Dior, Gucci, Tori, and all of my other friends that make life fabulous. The only issue, the price tags. My current employment situation works, just not for my designer desires. Think champagne dreams, wine cooler reality. So, when I saw my last credit card bill, I knew something had to be done; and that something was get additonal income. I know that’s just a nice way of saying I got a second job, but it sounds better, so we’ll go with that.

Then the job search. There’s the online job boards, employment agencies, and word of mouth, but for me, it was the classifieds in the Sunday paper. I grabbed my paper, a red Sharpie marker, a jumbo mug of hot ginger tea and got to searching. “Active and energetic person needed to provide fitness support. Must be great with dogs.” Now there’s a creative way for saying dog walker. After about an hour, I had 7 prospects including 3 dog walker ads, an afterhours answering service, and secret shopper. I was just about to put my red marker away when I saw it. “Companion service needed. Light duties to include reading and errands. Must have own vehicle, excellent pay.” That ad got two circles and first place on the callback list. The next morning, I dialed the number on the listing full of nerves. It almost seemed too good to be true, but I remembered the Gucci boots that I just bought, on clearance in my defense, and the bill that was on the way, and re committed to this second income thing.

“Hello?” A man’s voice answered on the other end of the phone. “Uh, hi” I responded. “I’m responding to the companion ad in yesterday’s paper.” Pause. One beat, two beats, three beats. “Are you there?” “Yeah, I am he replied.” Then, nothing. “I must have the wrong number. I’m so sorry” I said. “No, no you called the right number. I’m just surprised I finally got an answer. I’ve been posting that ad for a little while.” I gave a run on sentence basically explaining I’m very interested and have my own car, and this is a second job, but I start my first one early, so I can definitely do afternoons and evenings and even weekends, oh but wait, I haven’t even asked you about the hours, but I’ll make it work and I’m pleasant and take excellent instructions. I’m punctual, my other boss will agree. I like people and they seem to like me pretty ok, and I can be a little chatty at times and oh, my I’ve just talked way too much and… hello?” My last thought just kind of left me as I realized I just blew it. A chuckle, good. Then another, even better. “So, what’s your name chatty Cathy?” “Yaielle Rose, pronounced Yay-elle but everyone calls me Rosie.” “Rose. I like it. Is it ok if I call you Rose?” “Absolutely!” I responded. “You can call me an employee too!” I said cheerly. “Well I’m Denver and I’m glad to meet you, well, when I do meet you that is. Can you come by for a face to face and get the specifics about the job?” Yes, a second interview. “Sure when and where?” I asked. “Well, I work out of my house and I’m free now if you want to do this now.” Woah. Face to face at his house? AT HIS HOSUSE?

Suddenly, I’m not so sure I need a second income. I mean, I can hit the designer stores a little less. And maybe I can shop some clearance and even some consignment boutiques. That will cut down expenses. Then I looked over at the Fendi that I’m still paying for via my Amex bill, and agreed to meet. “Ok, I’m free now.” “Great” Denver said. “I’ll text you the address. I put on boring jeans, a plain white T and tennis shoes, pulled my hair into a ponytail and headed out.

When Denver answered the door, I paused. I wasn’t prepared for the tall athletic guy standing at the door. “Hi Rose” he said, and I was totally confused. This was the person I spoke with, but he didn’t look anything like I pictured. Imaginary Denver was a 60-ish, industrious, intellectual. The person I see now could be the son of the Denver in my head. Young, athletic; I mean, he could have been on the cover of any sports, or fitness magazine. “Uh, hi… Denver?” It came out more like a question than a greeting really and I didn’t try to clean it up. That same chuckle from the phone.

“Yes, I’m Denver.” A polite hand shake. “You ok? he asked appearing concerned. “Yeah, why do you ask?” “Well your hand is shaking like a leaf.” I looked down to confirm. Yet another chuckle. “I bet you were expecting someone else.” Ok, he’s direct. “Actually, I was. I pictured someone maybe a little… older?” “Well, sorry to disappoint.” was his reply. “Can I ask you a question Denver?” “Me first” he replied. “Do you want to come in and ask your question? I’m not a weirdo, I promise.” I stepped inside and looked around. Lots of windows and light. “Are you sick or disabled or anything like that? I mean that’s no problem if you are, it’s just kind of strange, your ad and all.” There, I said it and he will probably kick me out now.

“No, I’m not sick, or disabled. Let me tell you about the job. Have a seat.” I sat down in a very trendy, super comfy sofa. As Denver reached beside him, he said “this is your job if I hire you.” “That?” I said. “What is it and what’s in there?” Denver set a little black book on the table in front of me. “There are twenty-six pages in this book. In the cabinet behind you there is a file for each, and in each folder is an envelope. The job is find each person and deliver their envelope from the folders. That’s it.”

“A process server? What’s in the envelopes, court documents? I know they’re not warrants because you’re not the police, wait, are you the police?” “No, he said. I’m not the police, I’m just a guy trying to fix some things I broke.” “Ok. How much does this server job pay anyway Denver?” I asked standing up and reaching for my bag because I think I’m over this. “Twenty-five dollars.” “Twenty-five dollars?” I asked with maybe a little irritation because I now realize I had wasted my afternoon.

“Yes Rose. I figure twenty-five dollars an hour, eight hours daily…” My mouth dried out completely as I processed this. “I immediately flushed as I started calculating. “But this isn’t an all-day job, is it?” I asked. “No, it’s not, but since I am not giving you a schedule, I feel this is the easiest way to pay you, if you take the job that is.” “So, I got the job? Wait, is this a scam? Like, am I being catfished or something? Because if this is real, I’ll take it.” Then came the familiar chuckle and his assurances this was legit. To prove he was serious, he paid me up front for the first 7 days.

That day I left with a check for fourteen hundred dollars, a little black book and a binder full of folders. I began the next afternoon, looking up and locating the first name Adella Samuels, a physical therapist living about an hour away. She took the letter and was totally suspicious when she heard who it was from. Each day I took on another page and with every envelope I delivered, I became more curious about what was in the envelopes and who these women were. Every Sunday afternoon, I would go to Denver’s place to update him on my progress and collect my check. In no time I had paid my cards way down, and now have a few more fabulous must-haves that bought in cash.

Then one day, I had a thought. I’m finding all these women; teachers, a violinist, even a big rig trucker, but I had never looked Denver up. So that night, I pulled up my laptop, began searching and was surprised. Denver was a known cyclist, and a known ladies man. There were message boards and threads dedicated to “Ditch ‘em Denver”. Reading through the comments and posts made me wonder why the book? Are these child support checks or something? I decided to ask the next person I served, and her answer was simple. “What’s in this envelope is like the giver, nothing.” I wouldn’t dare ask Denver so I continued through the book, but did ask when I got to a blank page between a blonde named Quincy and a ballerina named Sienna. “You’ll understand that page when you’re supposed to”. As I got closer to the end, I wondered what’s next? More books and envelopes?

Then it all came to a head on a Sunday. At about 8 am, I got a call from Denver’s number. “Hey boss! What’s shakin’?” “Hi Yaielle.” This was not Denver. “This is Eugene Adams. I’m an attorney that represents Denver Welch. I have instructions to contact his employees should anything happen. I need to inform you that Denver passed away this past Friday and-““WHAT? What did you just say? I don’t know who you are Mr., but if this is a joke it’s not funny!” I started to hear white noise and my face got really hot, but this time the heat was from tears.

Denver’s service was nice. It was well attended, and though no surprise, there were a lot of women there. I saw a few of the women I had delivered envelopes to and was sure that the last three women were somewhere in the mix. At the repast, which was at Denver’s home, I moved through the rooms meeting and speaking with friends, and associates and even a few relatives of his. I also met Xenovia, Yvette and Zeta, completing my assignment. Then I met Mr. Eugene Adams, who pulled me out onto the balcony for a “quick word”. Yaielle, I have a few things to take care of as a part of Denver’s instructions. He flipped open a brown leather folder and handed me a check for the last three weeks I had worked.

Then he handed me a piece of paper that had a bold “R” at the top of the page, and underneath the R, was the name “Rose” in large print, and under that “you are the missing page, I hope you understand.” Darn it! Here comes that hot face again. The tears started again, and then, Mr. Adams passed me an envelope. My hands trembled as I took it, but I decided I would open it later, when I was alone and could process in private.

When everyone had gone, I helped clean up and drove home. I went inside, changed into a pair of pajamas and curled up with my big mug of ginger tea and the envelope. I slowly opened it and dropped my mug. Inside the envelope was a check for twenty thousand dollars. “Seriously!?” A question, and an outburst; a single statement loaded with all types of meaning, generally used in the most unreal of moments. Moments just like this one.