From East to West

Lavender scented candles, dirty dishes in the sink, clothes on the bathroom floor, and leftover flower-scented bubble suds in the bathtub. It was a cold day in the middle of February, and Fitzwilliam Darcy was waiting for me in the bedroom. Got as far as chapter five in the first book of the Gentleman series, planning on going onto chapter seven tonight. I originally organized going out with some girlfriends to Cocoa 70 for a chocolate pizza to celebrate Galantine’s Day (yes, Galantine’s day), but since two out of four in the group got sick, we decided to postpone. Instead, I spoiled myself to a steak dinner and Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, just wonderful. I was perfectly content with peace, good food, and a wonderful book. I had no need for Valentine’s Day. I’ve been free from a long-term relationship gone sour for three years and got to the point where I was happy enough to be Bridget Jones pre-Colin Firth (minus the smoking, excess drinking, and mom clothes). Failed dates and investing time in other men only to realize that you wasted it does that to you.

I was content in my cocoon when I heard something being dropped in the mail. I checked the time, ten forty-three.

“Who could be sending me something this time of night?” I thought.

I managed to get over my interruption with Darcy and reluctantly walked over to the front door. It’s one thing getting mail so late, but what was delivered was even more eerie; a completely blank envelope with twenty thousand dollars in cash.

At that point a lot of thoughts started coming into my head; “Who gave me the money? Was it a relative? Was it a friend, or a secret admirer?”

The latter would have made sense since it was the night before Valentine’s Day, but twenty thousand dollars? I would have been happy with a pint of Cherry Garcia (okay, make that twelve).

My next instinct was to text my gals about this. My friend Mary, who unfortunately caught a cold, suggested that someone I knew won money and decided to give me a portion of the win as a gesture of kindness, obviously preferring to remain anonymous.

Valerie, also with a cold, believed that it could have been a secret admirer given that it was Valentine’s day. She also mentioned that I should keep the money in case someone came back for it. Why anyone would give me money only to want it back after is beyond me.

Then there was Sandra’s idea. She often gets into ‘story of my life’ situations, but would make the perfect last girl in any horror film because she manages to survive everything. She was almost convinced that I was given black money, and that I should be careful since the mafia could be after me. She told me to call the police, but what can they do with lack of proof and identification? I’ll admit I almost considered Sandra’s advice, because this situation was just bizarre.

After getting responses from my closest friends, I decided to call the expert; my mother. Although I was calm when I told my mom the story, I was confused, and so was she. We made deductions as to who may have given me the money, but they she gave me the soundest advice, which was to sleep on it. Besides, what else were you supposed to do? I’ll tell you what, dream about it, which I did. This dream, as most of them, was a mishmash of my thoughts and recollections. I was taking a bubble bath, and Sandra came into the bathroom, handing me a glass of wine, telling me to be careful. After that the sequence changed, and I was in my bed. My mom came into my room and urged me not to disappoint Darcy. After that, just to add some spice, I was transferred to the ice cream section of the supermarket, with my ex. Did I ever tell you that dreams made sense? Despite my twisted dream, I was happy to at least get a good night’s sleep.

******

I woke up at around nine the next morning, and went straight back to Darcy. I had to catch up from last night’s interruption. After about an hour, I made myself a café latte and sat on my couch, looking out the window of my apartment, observing the action before me. It was snowing, families were all bundled up and walking with their sleds, while childless adults were catching up with friends with a cup of coffee in hand. A typical winter Saturday morning. I was enjoying my blissful moment for about twenty minutes when the doorbell rang.

“Crap” I thought, “not only is my serenity ruined, but now I think Sandra may have been right. Whoever was at the door must be here for the money, unless it was some Jehovah Witness.”

When I got to the front door to make out the silhouette behind the opaque binds, I noticed a tall slender man in a short black woolen coat, well cut and suited for him. I also noticed that he had a short haircut and a small beard. At that point I figured that I had better open the door since he must have seen me staring at him. When I opened the door, I immediately regretted my unwashed limp disheveled hair, Kermit the frog shirt, Hello Kitty cotton pajama pants, and multicolored fluffy smiley socks, all under a thick white bathrobe. The guy was definitely handsome. Other than what I saw behind the curtains, he had jet black hair, a defined jawline, and an acute nose. His eyes were blue, but bewildered to see me. Not to mention he was in distress.

“Is Hadley in?” he asked.

“Who?” I responded even more puzzled.

This was going well. After about a good five seconds just starring at me, he asked me about the envelope.

“Yeah, I have it,” I replied, “what is this all about?”

At that point I was really hoping that he was not part of the mafia. He then confirmed my address, 1865 Delmont Boulevard, to which I acknowledged. Although not evident to him, I knew that he came to the wrong address. You see, I live on 1865 Delmont Boulevard WEST. Even when I specify this on my Amazon orders, they sometimes go to 1865 Delmont Boulevard EAST. Now I know that a Mr. Hadley lives there, and that he was kind enough to not take my packages.

What was with the twenty thousand dollars though? When I told him about my address adventures, the confusion from his face diminished, and he seemed a bit relieved. Did he owe this guy money and realize he made a mistake?

“Great,” I thought, “now I was in the middle of some kind of mess.”

Why was I so lax about all this? Out of all the possibilities my friends and mother suggested, it had to be the worst one.

I think the guy immediately read my mind and stated, “It’s a long story, and to be honest I don’t know what to do with the money now. I realize that I put you through something stressful and feel that I owe you an explanation, I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about.”

I breathed better after that statement, and naturally I was very curious about the money. Did I also mention that he was out of my thirty-three-year-old copywriter’s league? I may have been making assumptions, but with his nice coat, clean cut jeans, shiny polished black shoes (I wondered if they were even appropriate for this weather), leather gloves, and twenty thousand dollars, this guy was no average Joe.

“Sure,” I naturally replied.

The question was how. Although handsome and so far sincere, he was still a stranger and I had to keep my guard. The best thing would be to go for a walk in public.

“I’ll make myself look presentable, then we can go for a walk, give me five-ten minutes” I told him.

He smiled as I led him into the entrance way.

I ran into my room, closed the door, and quickly changed into a pair of jeans and red-knit sweater. It was Valentine’s Day after all. Since my hair was flat and greasy, I figured I’d just put on my hat. Thank goodness for winter. After dabbing on a little makeup, I ran back closer to the entrance way and start putting on my winter attire.

A few minutes later, as I was leading ourselves out of the house, the guy offered to buy me a coffee, to which I accepted. As we were walking towards the nearest coffee shop, he introduced himself as Mark.

“I’m Vera,” I immediately replied, wondering if this would end up being some kind of date.

He then went on to tell me that he owned several art galleries around town, including some in Toronto and New York. His father was an artist and opened up his own little gallery. Mark eventually took over the business and started expanding. He admitted that he was not as good of an artist as his father was, but he always had a passion for art.

I was right, he was rich, and also smart based on his gentle intonations and polite mannerisms.

I told him how interesting his job seemed and ask the different types of artwork he collected. I have zero knowledge about modern artists, but I was genuinely interested and curious, and he was happy to give me the scoop.

He then asked what I did for a living, and I told him that my job was not as interesting as his. I explained how I was a freelance copywriter to several insurance and media companies around town, but I hope to once work as a writer for political columns since I graduated in political science. He was intrigued by what I said, and told me that copywriting must be cool in a sense that you get to learn about a lot of companies in great detail. He was right, that was something I really enjoyed about my job, and I was happy that he valued what I did.

Once we got to the coffee shop, I ordered a café latte, and he a double espresso, which I didn’t find at all surprising. When we got back outside with our coffees in hand, I wanted to get to the bottom of this and politely asked him what the money was for. He got flushed and apologized for the delay, to which I replied it was good to get to know him beforehand anyways. It would have been awkward to get straight to the point.

The story he told me was quite something. He met Robert Hadley, the man he meant to give the money to, at an art convention two years ago. He apparently was an artist who used to work as a human resources advisor for a bank. He retired a few years ago and was seventy-one. He knew some of Mark’s uncles and even the parents of some of his friends through many venues and charity events. This guy basically had a whole network going on. He treated Mark like his son and never married nor had kids of his own. Mark appreciated his companionship after losing his father from cancer just a year ago. He opened up to Hadley and considered him as his mentor.

Just last week, he invited him over to his house over whisky to discuss a delicate matter. Mark’s girlfriend, unsurprisingly an artist, started getting into drugs and had recently purchased a large stash of cocaine, most likely with some of his money. When his girlfriend showed it to him in her apartment, he panicked since he did not want her to get addicted and change for the worse. He knew that she was free spirited and stressed about the competition within the art industry, but he didn’t think that she would get that far. He made her promise not to take any and to instead stick to her marijuana. She told him that she would have if he hadn’t been complaining about the smell.

As Mark was telling me this, I could tell that he was getting irritated.

He promised his girlfriend that he would stop complaining about the smell and offered to hide the stash at his house until he decided what to do with it. He knew that she wouldn’t try to buy it again since it was expensive, and she wasn’t addicted to it yet. Having the cocaine at his house would also guarantee that she wouldn’t have easy access to it.

After explaining this to me I was wondering why he would even bother with such a woman. I may have been judging too early, but I got the impression that his girlfriend was the type to answer the door in thin strapped silk nighties.

When Mark explained the situation to Hadley, he told him that he hid the stash in his basement wardrobe, then asked for his advice. When he did so Hadley patted him on the back, telling him that he was a good man thinking about his girlfriend’s well-being. He then asked to see the drugs, just so he could see how much of it there was. When he got there, he estimated that there must have been about two hundred grams of crack cocaine. Hadley told Mark not to worry since he had connections that could help him get rid of the stuff without anyone finding out (whatever that meant). Mark remembered leaving Hadley alone for a couple of minutes to use the washroom, which was a crucial part to his story.

Mark felt soothed after Hadley’s visit, only to receive the most deceitful surprise from a father figure three days later; blackmail. He apparently took pictures of the drugs while Mark went to the washroom, and threatened to expose them to the art public, which could tarnish his reputation and that of his girlfriend’s. He demanded twenty thousand dollars in three days by midnight or he would expose him. Mark was so devastated that he couldn’t determine if this was worse than his father’s passing.

After much thought, he decided to give him the money. It wasn’t worth talking it over; this man was clearly a snake and knew his craft. He must have blackmailed so many people, which explained why a retired human resources advisor drove a Porsche (Mark always wondered about that). He told Hadley that he would put the money in his mailbox a few hours before the deadline, and aggressively told him that he never wanted to see him again.

Since Mark never went to Hadley’s house, he looked up his name in the white pages. When he got to what he thought was his address, he put the money in the mail slot. Thinking that he could find time to heal himself from Hadley’s attack, he was angry to find emails from his contacts the next morning expressing their shock about the pictures Hadley sent. Some of these contacts came to Mark’s home in the past and would recognize the basement wardrobe placed against a yellow wall next to a Van Gogh painting. This conundrum had taken place just an hour prior to our meeting, and here was Mark talking to me instead of Hadley.

I really felt sorry for Mark. I may not have known him for more than an hour, but I already got a glimpse of his vulnerable side, and he wasn’t being macho about it at all.

After telling me his story, we agreed to sit on a park bench. As he was looking straight ahead of him, he apologized for putting me in an uncomfortable position. I told him not to worry since he added some thrilling action in my life (sorry Darcy). He chuckled at that statement. I was honestly relieved and didn’t mind the situation. I was just impressed of how responsible he felt despite his hardship.

After a few silent seconds, he told me that I could keep the money for my troubles. I immediately refused, but in the end we agreed that I would take half. I told him that I felt bad that he wasted money, but then I realized that ten thousand dollars for him was probably more like one hundred dollars, or even ten.

Knowing he was in a delicate situation, I told him that good things happen to honest people, and although he would be infamous within his art circle for a while, the truth will eventually come out, and all will come into place. I truly meant what I said. On that note he gave me a reassuring smile and told me that he would take my optimism into consideration.

From there we spent another two hours together, just talking and walking. It was never a dull moment. He was easy to converse with and we discussed and laughed about a lot of things, from our hobbies, embarrassing moments, and the meaning of life.

Once I got home and gave him half the money, I was disappointed knowing that I may never see him again. When he departed after our goodbyes, I was left wondering if I should have taken my fortune cookies more seriously.

******

After three months, I still haven’t decided what to do with the money. Of course, I didn’t tell Mark this, I don’t want to associate him with that. Six weeks after Valentine’s Day, I was surprised to find him at my doorstep again. He said that he didn’t know how else to contact me since I didn’t have a landline and that he didn’t have my cell number. As I invited him in for coffee, he told me that things got better on his side, just as I told him. He also mentioned breaking up with his girlfriend just three weeks ago. Although he was not ready to commit to someone entirely, Mark told me that he was ready to get to know me more to see where it would go since he had a good time with me last time. I accepted his proposal, especially since I also did not want to rush into a relationship as I did before. To this day we are still dating at our respectable paces, but I can tell you that so far all is good.

As for Hadley, he was found murdered a month ago. The police found a little black book in his home containing a list of people he blackmailed, along with the amount of money he expected to get from each person. Mark was on the list, so he was naturally questioned by the police. Luckily, he was at one of his galleries at the time of the murder with witnesses who were able to attest to his exact whereabouts. So far the main suspect is the owner of several Gian Carlo restaurant chains, very typical. When Mark told me about Hadley, I reminded him how karma works it’s magic naturally, although someone dying is not something one should ever hope for, no matter how bad a person can be. Still, it is ironic how such a despicable man ended up having some silver linings. I wouldn’t have met Mark if it hadn’t been for him, and let’s not forget the decency he had for not taking my Amazon packages. I guess we all need some items on our nice lists. Robert Hadley will surely never be forgotten.

THE END