LITTLE BLACK BOOK

It was an encounter elicited from the ethos of fairy tale…

In possession of a leather-bound notebook, a belonging of an individual unknown, she thumbed through its pages.

“Interesting,” she remarked to herself, noting the mystery associated with this little black book seemed an appropriate reflection of her own life.

Her life was a mystery to herself and this was becoming ever more apparent with maturity. She recently had realized that she had not anyone to model herself after and for this reason her life had been an experiment entirely of her own making.

She turned another page remembering her adolescence of trafficking between foster homes. Her biological mother had been committed to a state hospital in her teens and not knowing who her father was had enshrouded her life with mysteriousness.

She was a young girl, not even a woman yet, and already married to a man she did not genuinely love.

She wondered who this little black book belonged to and she also wondered whether she would be successful in locating the individual to who it belonged.

Flipping through the pages of this tiny article in search of something which might put her path in the right direction, she paused directly upon the middle of its narrow girth. She noticed the stiff cotton string stitched between holes within the crease of the center-fold. She could smell its dewiness. Not the smell of paper and glue, but dewiness, the result of many hidden fingerprints and significant age.

The war had been going on for a little over a year and the thought had crossed her mind as to whether she was holding the property of a soldier. Maybe, someone who in the hurried pace of going to fulfill his duty had accidentally left it there by the terrain’s edge. This thought kindled her desire to find the owner of this little black book evermore. She gazed down again at the open page attempting to discern some meaning from the handwritten black ink.

She realized that she needed to be returning home soon and so she carefully hid the palm-size little black book deep in the bottom of her handbag so to avoid any occasion wherein it might accidentally present itself to her husband. He was not a forgiving man, and he was oftentimes very possessive of her.

The following day she opened the little black book again to the mid crease.

The pages contained nothing familiar to her. Mostly the names of people she did not recognize. She flipped through the book page by page.

Each page she turned increased her curiosity about its contents. On about what seemed the third page from the last there was lettering that she recognized as an address to the Hotel Roosevelt:

7000 Hollywood Blvd

And below the address were three numbers: 601.

Her instincts told her that this was the clue that would lead her to the little black book’s owner.

The distance to the Hotel Roosevelt was not unwalkable and though she did not have much pocket money she decided that she preferred to hire a car and so politely asking an unoccupied gentleman nearby to hail her a taxi, he obliged her request in exchange for a little conversation.

Soon she was in the back of a taxi headed to the Hotel Roosevelt.

Her senses electrified with anticipation she was entirely unaccustomed to. She wondered what if she was feeling was what a detective feels when a significant clue has been discovered and besides that riding in a hired car made her feel somewhat more important than she often did.

She envisioned herself upon arrival being greeted by a doorman kindly opening her door. Hiring the car was accurate to the image she wanted to project, but honestly, she had no idea whatsoever which course she would take once she arrived at the Hotel Roosevelt. Maybe she would try to call room 601 from the house-phone. She did not know who she was looking for other than she was looking for the owner of this little black book.

Upon arriving at her destination, her disappointment unshadowed when the anticipation of her welcoming was obscured. She solaced herself as she often did. She paid the driver in a deliberately slow fashion, prolonging the moment, predicting that this extra time would present an opportunity for the doorman to arrive and open the car door which prevented her from exiting her transport with ease.

She opened the door herself stepping one foot at a time onto the pavement and closing the door behind her. It was a picturesque day and the sun reflected brightly off the Hotel Roosevelt.

She took uncertain steps towards the entrance to the Hotel Roosevelt and as she moved forward a doorman appeared within her peripheral. Tipping his cap as a gesture of politeness she found it genuinely easy to respond discourteously, demonstrating a lack of acknowledgment towards him altogether.

She located the reception and from a sense of relief recognized anguish upon realizing that there was no one in place ahead of her in line. She would have to face the uncertainty head on.

She hesitated briefly questioning whether to avoid the clerk’s involvement and rather use the house-phone with the operator’s assistance, but the realization that she lacked the confidence to do was setting in.

She took a few steps towards reception where the clerk, a tall older gentleman rifled through stacks of paper.

“Excuse me,” she stumbled, “I think I found this.”

She immediately recognized that her nervousness had resulted in her fumbling the expression but without hesitation she began again, “I found this little black book and I believe that it may belong to a guest of the Roosevelt.”

“What gave you the conclusion?” The tall man asked.

“This address matches the location of this hotel, and” she tipped the open page towards his eyeshot, “here it is written, six-zero-one,” she continued, “I have given consideration to it and I believe this to be the room number of the person this belongs to.”

The clerk seemed skeptical but nonetheless opening a large spiral-bound guest registry, ruffled through the pages efficiently until stopping for some reason unknown to her.

“Excuse me for just one moment,” he said as he took a few steps backward.

He turned and proceeded to make a call from a telephone along the back wall of the reception.

A curiosity stimulated her sense of vision to peer over the counter of the reception separating herself from the clerk. She noticed a telephone within reach of the space that the clerk had just occupied. This revelation triggered an engagement of her insecurity; however, the dispersal of her insecurity began upon witnessing the clerk setting down the telephone receiver upon the counter so to not hang up on the call.

The clerk again began walking towards her and upon reaching earshot spoke to her across the counter, “You have done a good thing. The owner of this little black book is a guest of the Hotel Roosevelt and he is wondering if you might be able to wait for a moment for him to retrieve it himself. He said that if you’d rather not wait, I may accept it on his behalf, but that if you could wait for just five minutes, it would be his honor to show you his gratitude.”

“I don’t mind waiting for just a moment,” she replied, recognizing that nothing was keeping her from waiting longer.

“Excellent,” he replied, shifting his feet again towards the telephone he had just a moment before been speaking on.

“I’ll just be sitting over there.” She gestured to a pair of cushy chairs across the lobby.

She waited and for only about five minutes in total. During this time, she had been keeping an eye on the path leading to the elevators and certainly, her curiosity had been drawn to every individual who passed from that direction during that brief period. Eventually, a well-dressed man even taller than the clerk presented himself to the clerk and the clerk then gestured in her direction.

The man approached her with calculated strides. The man’s attire communicated to her that he was important and after all, he was staying at the Hotel Roosevelt, so he must have been someone. Her nervousness was ever more apparent to herself, but her hope was that she would be able to keep it contained.

“Hello young lady,” he said, “I understand that you have something that I misplaced.”

“Hello,” she said, “I believe this belongs to you.”

He reached out his hand and took the little black book from her.

“I would like to show you my gratitude in some way,” he said.

“Oh, you are truly kind but that won’t be necessary Mister. I am sincerely happy that you have regained your possession. I know how much I would appreciate it if someone did the same for me,” she replied.

“You are a very kind person,” he said, “A girl like you will most certainly make a welcome place for herself in the world. A place that is great indeed.”

“Well, I’m glad that you think so, Mister. That sure sounds nice to hear you say that Sir,” she said smiling gleefully.

“I would not say it if I did not know it was true.”

She began wondering precisely what he had meant by what he had just said to her.

This introduction sparked interest concerning who this individual was and while wondering what she ought to say next she blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I don’t know what to say,” she uttered.

“You need not say anything, Dear. I promise you. Your name will be in lights and you will have no lack of money. You will have no lack of money whatsoever. You will make thousands. Tens of thousands. Twenty thousand even. No star now shines brighter than you will one day illuminate this world. I would not say it if I did not know it was true,” he pronounced with confidence and she began to recognize that she liked listening to him speak about her this way.

He continued, “And…”

As he spoke, she began to wonder if this gentleman was inclined to speak to others frequently in the same manner that she was now being spoken to, but she had learned in life not to hold onto sincere expectations about any ideas other people might have about the future. She had faced many difficulties in her life, and she was not easily inclined to believe that her hardship could end from one chance encounter over a little black book however nice the thought seemed.

“Thank you, Mister,” she responded, “Your words are exceedingly kind and I am grateful to have met you today.”

“No, Miss, I am grateful to you. I am eternally grateful,” the man said, “Even more than eternally grateful.”

“Well, I didn’t know there was such a thing, Mister,” she chuckled, “I really do hope there is though, honestly.”

“Believe me. There is,” he grew serious, “And may I ask your name?”

“My name, oh I completely forgot,” she said, “I mean, I didn’t forget my name. You know what I mean. I forgot that I had not given you my name.”

Tickled by her apparent nervousness she giggled at herself a little then regained her composure before continuing, “My name is Norma Jean. Pleased to meet you, Sir.” Offering her hand to him she asked, “What’s your name, Mister?”

“That’s really no matter Miss Jean,” he replied gently grasping her hand, “What matters is your smile.”

“Well, honestly, it’s Norma Jean Dougherty, Sir, but you don’t need to call me Mrs. Dougherty. You can just call me Norma Jean,” she said.

Letting go of her hand he began walking towards the elevators from which he came. Retrieving a pen from his coat pocket he began writing something down in the little black book he had just reclaimed.