One Black Book short of the Rabbit Hole

Life can be weighted in minutes. Sometimes, one of those minutes can forever alter the course of a life.

This thought fleetingly crossed her mind as she ran towards the bus. Slowed down by a bulky handbag and scuffed pointy black shoes, she knew that when her phone rang there were only one of two choices. Be on time for the bus, or find out who the caller is.

She nuzzled a memory of the previous night. Her number was written in lipliner on a strong arm next to the rings around a tattooed Saturn. Maybe those fingers decided to punch in her number.

Deflated she stared at her screen when she saw the flagged spam number. She muttered a soft curse under her breath as she sat down on the wooden bench. A missed bus and late for a meeting, what a way to start the day!

Then, she noticed the discarded velvety black notebook. A bookmark Drink Me intoxicatingly perked out from the Alice in Wonderland-themed daily planner. The next bus won’t be for another ten minutes, and she decided to have a quick peek. Maybe there is a telephone number somewhere and she can alert the owner, she justified herself.

She spotted a scribbled number next to the image of the Mad Hatter. The rest of the planner was empty except for the pre-designed pages. The noteb00k was dated for the year to come, so it may have been bought recently. She slipped the book into her laptop bag as the bus arrived, determined to give the owner a call.

‘You’re late!’ a deep male voice rebuked her, tinged with an accent she couldn’t quite place.

‘I’m not.. I’m not who you think I am..’ she spluttered.

‘Or maybe you are not who you think you are..’ the voice interrupted brusquely. ‘No time to waste. Be there at exactly seven o’clock sharp tonight. A black skirt, pointed-toe flats, a white shirt, and a coral necklace. See you at the Manhattan.’ The call was ended abruptly with the last instruction.

She quizzed over the strange phone call. Obviously, it must have been intended for the owner of the black book. Also, she does not own a coral necklace, even though the rest of the clothing was eerily similar to her usual office wear.

As she walked back after her lunch break, she saw the red coral necklace on display inside the jewelry store window. A tingle ran down her spine. It was not the piece of jewelry that she would usually buy, but it had a strange appeal and also marked off with a 50% discount. She had a couple of minutes before she was required back for a meeting, and she decided to try it on for size.

The necklace was an intricate design of larger and smaller pieces of coral, woven together in three layers and held loosely by a silver clasp shaped like a hand. She gazed at herself in the mirror.

A delicious mass of dark corkscrew curls interlaced with toffee-colored highlights dance around her perfect oval face. Her large almond-shaped eyes are evenly set above a sultry mouth. She sees that the necklace exactly matches her favorite coral-colored lipstick.

The feeling of unease wells inside her. Does she have a stalker? Is she perhaps being groomed to be a mule in a drug deal?

Alone in her apartment, she continues to wrestle with her apprehensions. When was the last time you did something exciting, she asked herself? Her single life in the one-bedroom apartment has become dull and uninspiring.

Biting her lip, she hailed down a taxi to the Manhattan hotel and arrived just before seven. A large poster loomed next to the entrance, displaying a stunning Burlesque dancer proclaiming that the Queen of Hearts will be performing tonight. She clutches the black notebook that she brought along to return and is struck again by the strange coincidences.

‘I’m so glad that you made it. My name is Helga.’ a heavily ringed hand stretched out to greet her. Similar to the other patrons, Helga was dressed in a very elaborate costume consisting of a glittery corset, rainbow stockings, and plumed feathers, that would suit the Mardi Gras. She feels very out of place with her stern office outfit.

‘There has been a mistake. I’m just returning the book, I’m not the rightful owner.’ She holds out the notebook.

‘Not the rightful owner.. I understand how that is, the feeling that you’re not the right person’ Helga turns the book around with her extra-long fingernails and then hands it back. ‘What if it was a gift? Would you accept a gift, Alison?’

Alison jerked upright. ‘I don’t recall telling you my name! It’s time for me to leave now.’

‘Oh, the drama!’ Helga rolls her eyes and gives a large smile that almost reminds her of a Cheshire cat. ‘Come now, we have to get you dressed for the dance competition.’

‘What dance competition? I’ve only come to return the book, and I thoroughly regret that decision. I should have stayed home.’

‘Stayed home, and miss all the fun? You need a Long Island tea, with an extra shot of vodka. I’ll organize for you, it’s on the house.’

With that Helga ushered Alison further into the hotel lobby by taking her lightly under her elbow, and then up a narrow, dark staircase. Alison could feel her resistance crumble. She hasn’t danced in years, but she thoroughly enjoyed jazz and hip-hop as a teenager. It may be the strangeness of the situation, but she was feeling somewhat giddy with a freaky kind of excitement.

Viktoria, the dress designer, was simultaneously everything and nothing she expected. She was eyed up and down, twirled around several times, and somehow ended up with snakeskin dance shoes, spandex diamond pantyhose, a purple and green checkered corset with a short flaring skirt, and a harlequin Venetian mask.

‘There you go, my darling. All setup and ready to go.’

‘No, I’m not. I don’t have a routine, I won’t know what to do!’

‘Well, of course, you want to win,’ Viktoria exclaimed. ‘The winner gets to dance with the Queen of Hearts, and people will pay the prize money to be able to dance with that gorgeous creature…If you so insist, maybe the Twins can show you a trick or two.’

Two identical long-limbed dancers cartwheeled into the room, just to make the night weirder. They reminded her of the Vogue, the Moonwalk, the Carlton, the Single Ladies, and the Floss. Feeling somewhat more confident, she followed Viktoria to the stage.

‘Does she have twenty credits from previous dance competitions?’ the stage manager frowned.

‘No..’ she started, and then she saw Viktoria’s scowl. She recognized this as the moment when she had to commit to whatever it was that was happening here tonight. Either leave or embrace the strangeness of the opportunity.

‘Yes, Helga can vouch for me.’ Viktoria smiled at her with approval.

The music started and Kylie Minogue belted out ‘I feel like anything could happen, the stars look different tonight...’ She felt the rhythm pulsing through her and gave her body over the beat. Maybe magic is possible tonight.

She barely realized that she was on a stage and that people were jeering her on. And then she appeared. The Queen of Hearts, wearing a red and black checkered corset with high platforms, and on her well-toned arm, a tattoo of the rings of Saturn and a smudged number penciled in lipliner.

As they swayed together to the music, the Queen of Hearts leaned over and whispered in her ear. ‘I’m glad I did not underestimate you.’

The music stopped and everyone clapped and cheered as they gave a bow to the audience. Helga approached the stage with an overly large cheque and presented her with the amount of $20,000 as the prize winner.

She took the Queen of Hearts' hand and knew that she agreed. She would happily repay the money to have one more dance, with her.