Little Black Book

It’s been two hours since we entered the nightclub. I’m at the bar and feel someone's breath on my shoulder. I turn around and see a modelesque skater type with a red straw between her lips. Annoyed by my loss of personal space, I shout, “one negroni, please,” to the bartender.

Tonight was the night my partner decided she wanted to be single for twenty-four hours. I reluctantly agreed against my better judgment. So here we are, two newly single lesbians in the meat locker of lesbian bars; yay.

Honestly, I wanted out of this nightmare. So I drank endlessly, hoping to accelerate the night, wanting nothing more than to return to the heavenly gates of 8 blissful years in lesbian wonderland.

I leaned against the wall, watchful of my partner as she danced with her friends. It was then I noticed a face from across the room. It was her, the same hovering woman from the bar. Her smile was inviting. So I welcomed it and smiled back.

“You like her?” my partner claimed as she walked up beside me.

“No, I pause.”

“Well, I think she likes you, you should talk to” Her words began to dissolve along with her as friends pulled her back onto the dancefloor.

Upset and filled with liquid courage, I took my partner’s advice and confidently walked over to the other woman. She was talking with someone, but I knew she wanted my attention. Her eyes never left mine. However, she continued conversing with the other woman as I approached them. I stood there, awkwardly, knowing she noticed me standing there. They continued their conversation, and as the seconds went by, I felt ridiculous waiting.

Anxious, I balled my hands into two fists with thumbs sticking out and started throwing them side to side while swaying my body in unison. Highly aware that this was abnormal behavior, I began to retreat, dancing backward one step at a time. Maybe If I do a spin, I could turn around and run in the other direction and never look back, I thought. It was then I heard, “wait!”

She looked at me, nodding her head with approval as she firmly repeated, “Wait.” She hands the other woman her phone. The woman enters her number, and they say goodbye. I lean against the wall, “Well, that was weird, I utter,” we both laugh.

We were talking for a while, and I almost forgot we're in a nightclub. To me, the disco ball was now the moon surrounded by glowing stars. There was an ease about her voice that made me feel I was on the beach in the moonlight. It’s late, and the night was coming to an end, and the lights went up like the sunrises.

“Where is your friend, she asks?”

Returning to reality, I respond. “To be honest, that’s not my friend. She’s my partner.” She acknowledged, she answered in disbelief, and “y-your partner?”

Shame-faced, I strengthen my shoulders and confirm, “yes, she decided we should be single for tonight. She thought it would be (I air quote) “more fun” for her friends.”

looking at me confused, she replied, “So they left you alone?”

“Not necessarily I responded falteringly.”

Her eyes softened with admiration “well, lucky me. Do you and your friends need a ride home? This place is about to close.”

Unsure if that's a good idea, I stutter, “I dunno.”

She interjects. “I don’t want to leave you just yet, seeing as tomorrow you won’t be mine.”

I paused, and I questioned, “Am I yours?”

She deliciously licks her lips and replies, “You tell me,” with the most alluring stare.

I smile and say, “Well, I guess it's better than paying for a cab,” trying to cut the tension.

A group of us begin walking over to the car. When the door opens, my partner slides in without me in an ongoing conversation with others. I stood at the door, completely baffled, not sure where to sit. The new girl reaches out her hand. “It seems you are mine,” she says.

Looking at my partner in disbelief as I sit in on the girl’s lap, the last available spot. “watch your knees,” she says as the door slams.”

“ cozy?” She asks.

I look over my shoulder, pleased with her attention “yes, I am.”

We talked in between conversations in the back of the car. Our eyes are touching in ways I knew our lips wanted to but couldn’t. When they pulled up to our home, I knew I would be no longer hers upon exiting.

I felt her put something in the back pocket of my jeans. I stepped out of the car and closed the door. I put my hand in my back pocket to grab the item, but she interrupted.

“Can I have your number? Her hand was reaching out the car window, you know as friends.”

I looked over at my partner, who was walking up the steps to our apartment. “Okay, yeah, friends.” I entered my number into her phone.

Weeks have now passed, and I've heard nothing from her. Surprisingly, I was quite saddened by that. It was then I realized I had forgotten about the item in the pocket of my jeans. Maybe it was her number. I went through two bags of dirty laundry before I found the jeans. I eagerly checked the pockets. I found a small ripped paper that read I could be yours with a little heart next to the name Tomi. I smirked. It was all that remained of our encounter besides my memory of her.

I was different now, and it made me feel a sense of betrayal to my partner, although I’d done nothing wrong. It was as though the heavenly gates were closed with no way back in.

I went on with life going to work and coming home the same as I always did except sometimes privately thinking of her. It was a fond escape.

On my way to work, I stumbled up the train steps, and my bag spilled onto the pavement. I picked up my scattered items and continued until I heard someone screaming.

“Hey, hey.”

I turned around, and it was her. I kept walking.

“Wait, stop, your notebook.”

I looked in my bag and saw my notebook was gone. With my hand on my hip, I waited for Tomi staring at her with frustrated eyes. She skates over and hands me the new moleskin I’d just bought.

Agitated, I say, “you never called.”

She puts out her cigarette. “I lost my phone.”

“You lost your phone?” I repeated in disbelief.

“Truly, she began to light another cigarette, her skateboard resting under her foot at an acute angle. Zoe, I sat in union square every day after we met. I figured everyone passes through here eventually. She blew smoke into the air. At some point, I figured maybe you would too, she replied.”

Her voice had a way of making you forget anything was wrong.

“Well, I do every day, lucky you. I announce nonchalantly.”

“Zoe, with you, it seems I’m always lucky.” came out like of her mouth with a cloud of smoke. Parliament? she offered.

I shake my head, and I smile; "I’m heading to work. Would you like to walk with me?”

This time our hands touched just slightly in between swinging arms instead of our eyes. Tomi had her cigarette in one hand and skateboard in her other. It was then I noticed a little black book just like mine tucked in her pants.

“Are you an artist?”

“Yes, and I’m a writer,” she exclaims.

“me too,” I respond eagerly. "A writer, that is."

We exchanged quotes from our favorite writers as we walked down 14th to 9th avenue. We were sharing our fondness for poetry.

I turned to her, "Well, this was fun, yet I must leave you." It was as if time stopped that very second as we stood in limbo.

She smiles at me; "what time are you off?"

“5 pm,” I say, quickly rushing to cross the street before the light change. I was running late.

“Okay, meet me back here at 5 pm?” She had her arms in the air.

“I don’t know if that's a good idea, I yelled.”

“We’re just friends, she yells.

I smile, yelling from across the street. “okay, just friends.”

I returned to the corner at 5 pm, and there she was. Time unfroze, and we picked up where we left off. We walked to the West Village and then the Lower East Side. Somehow it felt like I was new to New York, although I've lived here for years. We spent the day exploring and spoke of everything under the sun.

At nightfall, we found ourselves at a corner cafe with bad pastries and good coffee looking out onto Houston as we sat in the back with two cups of New York's finest. She had been drawing in her notebook, and I asked to see.

She slid the notebook across the table. It was a drawing of me. I nearly melted. I wrote, "so you are an artist," and passed it back. From that moment on, we sipped coffee and never spoke a word outside that notebook. Maybe It felt safer to put the feelings we shouldn't be having there in the familiar pages of that little black book.

I noticed It was getting late. I wrote in the notebook next to a coffee stain my phone number (Tomi no longer had a phone) with the words your friend-marked with an x.

She had finished her coffee but offered to wait for me, but I said no as it was late. So I walked her out. When I got back, I saw the notebook on the bench. I ran after her, but she was gone. I laugh great. I've lost her, again.

I take the black book to the man at the register.

“Hi, my friend left this book and will probably come back looking for it. She doesn’t have a phone. Do you mind if I leave it here?”

“Sure,” he replies.

“If no one comes for it, my number is in the back; just call me.” I look over at his nametag. It says, Brian.

I go back to the cafe the next day, and the book is still there, and Brain informs me no one has come for it. My heart sank a bit. I ask for the book and a coffee, and I sit in the cafe’s back room, hoping she would arrive. She didn't. I wrote another message in the book that I read. “You left this, call me when you find it, and we can meet here for coffee" - x.

It's been a couple of days now, and I still haven't received a call. After work, I went back to the cafe. The barista was excited to see me and said, “someone had come for the book. They left it here and said to make sure you got it."

When I opened the book, I was saddened by the letter. “Dear Zoe, I cannot see you and know I cannot have you. I will always leave this book for you to write to me and for me to write to you. It's the only friendship I can offer. I hope you understand.” I did understand. after all, I was with someone else.

Today I arrived, but Brian was not there. I didn’t recognize the new barista. I ask the unknown woman, “Have you seen a small black book behind the register?”

“No,'' she responded, her name tag read Amy.

“Question, do you know when Brain will be returning to work?

“She turned. Brian no longer works here, but is there something I can help you with?”

I sigh, “a cup of coffee, please.” Then I took my seat in the back of the cafe.

I began to wonder if someone threw the book out. I mean, Brain was no longer here to guard it.

Maybe Tomi took it because she no longer wanted a connection with me. I mean, I still haven’t left my partner.

I continued to visit the cafe for two weeks after that day, hoping to see her, but I never did. I tried to leave another book, but Amy, the new barista, said she only worked a couple of days and couldn’t keep an eye on it. I sat in Union Square somedays, hoping to catch her there but never did. I even stood on the corner at 14th and 9th, but she never came back.

I decided I had to break up with my partner because I was so heartbroken over someone else and felt guilty that I sat all over New York trying to find them. A couple of months have now passed, and I moved into my place. I even stopped going to the cafe.

I wanted to keep her memory, so I framed the first thing she ever wrote me. “I could be yours” on that small piece of paper from when we met. I look at it before leaving the house every day to remind me of joy.

I felt good today, and it was my day off. I spent the day wandering with no known destination. My phone is vibrating; I double tap my wireless Airpods to pick up the call.

“Hello”

“Hey, it’s Amy. you know from the cafe.”

“From the cafe, I responded?”

“Yes, yes, you know the cafe on Houston. Someone left something here for you.”

“Ok, I’m about 20 minutes walk from the cafe. I'll head over.”

When I arrived, she handed me a gift bag. Inside was a book titled Lovers -I am NOT your friend By Zoe Knight and Tomi Tessshume. There was also a little black book, my favorite with an envelope sticking out. The first page in the black book read,

“This is our story. I could be yours. Could you be mine? If so, meet me in the back of the cafe. If not, here’s a check for $20,000, your half for our book. I was happy to realize the journal was never lost. I stood there amazed, flipping through the book. I held it to my chest; we’re authors.

The barista interrupts. “Tomi is back there, you know, but before you go back there, can you sign this?” She shoves her copy of our book forward.

I sign my name right next to Tomi’s then walked to the back of the cafe. I can't believe there she was with two cups of coffee and a smile.

I sat down and reached in the gift bag for the new little black notebook. I wrote inside, "it seems I am yours," and passed it to Tomi. Like a comforting breeze, the first words out of her mouth in more than a year were;

“I love you.”

We sipped our coffee all night in each other's arms, saying nothing more.