The Handbag

"It's on the more expensive side, are you sure you still want it?"

New girl sighed. “ Yes I want it, I’ve visited it twice already. I want it.”

Why did people question her? She was a very decisive, purposeful person. An extreme extrovert even. Walked so fast naturally she was a blur to southerners. What about her implied uncertainty? Coming from a hyper controlled childhood she gritted her teeth at these intrusive if well-meaning busy bodies.

“I’m Brooke by the way.”

“Hello, my name is Genevieve.”

She watched silently as Babbling Brooke obsessively peeled protective film from the handbag’s hardware.

Another sigh. Maybe she was capable of that? Oh never mind.

Finally they reach the line for the cashier.

Brooke exclaims loudly, “ This bag is for Genevieve!”

After what seems like an eternity in line, she has to repeat 3 times to the cashier, “Also the bag behind you, please.”

Genevieve forks over her 200$ in cash and it’s back out into the real world where she can float by in blissful anonymity.

Boredom. Most people here had literally nothing else to do all day but stick their nose in other’s business. Strange, because it seemed she had to work 12 hour days, 6 days a week to get ahead. To be fair though, she didn’t blend in at all. About as well as a linebacker in ballet class. Intelligent and cheerful, she was petite, raven haired with giant blue eyes and a rectangular face that lit up when she smiled. Which was all the time, no matter how bad things got. Always said she could survive nuclear war after her upbringing. Four years she had struggled in this harsh place. Finally she was getting back on her feet. Buying this handbag signified to herself and the world that success.

In the car she can’t help but glance inside the bag. What? Double take to say the least. Thousand dollar bills crowded the interior. She looked around. No one was looking at her, or close to the car.

“Am I being pranked?”

No, this was real.

She drives home nervously, suddenly paranoid. Doesn’t stop anywhere and makes awkward small talk with the nosy neighbor as she goes by. Once inside, and the door is locked, shaking, she pulls out the cash, a little black book falls out. You know the one, velvety soft cover and a little pouch in the front. An elastic band holding it closed. Feels like only something important or witty could be inside. Peeking inside the book it doesn’t make sense. Only numbers and letters. “Great, just like high school algebra.” So she counts the money. 107k and once again to be sure. Not something you would expect to find in a handbag for sale at a discount store. It’s a moral and ethical quandary to say the least. It couldn’t be legit? Who stashes money like that in such a public, really not secure place? What was all the data in the book? Then she thought, “What if it wasn’t illegal? What if some little old lady had an Alzheimer’s spell and put it there?” It was a vintage crocodile handbag.

“Was that why Brooke was trying to dissuade her?” It was in the back, behind other purses every time she looked at it. It had the security tether as well. More expensive as Brooke had reiterated. Maybe it was some social media experiment….but then what was the data? Her moral compass had always found true north. Never had she even considered keeping something that wasn't hers. How would one find the owner without revealing knowledge, at least in passing, of the data contained in that book? Would anyone believe she had no idea what any of it meant? Her neck suddenly prickled. She sank into the sofa. What to do now? This could mean a real house, no more nosy neighbors accosting her as she went by. But if it was someone’s life savings? She had purchased it with cash, there must be plenty of Genevieve’s in upstate. No real digital trail. Perhaps just watch the news religiously and see if it pops up?

In the meantime, She opened the black book for a second look.