The Little Black Book

Hana plopped down into an empty seat on the metro and settled her bag onto her lap. Despite being only mid-afternoon, her day was almost done. She’d gone into work early to help with stocking and inventory. Now all she had to do was take the red line all the way down to Brookland and then there’d be a bit of a walk for her to get to her tiny apartment near Catholic U. She had come to D.C. to be a student at there. Unfortunately, to afford school, she’d had to work herself to exhaustion, and her grades suffered. She had to drop out.

Tired from her long day, Hana sighed heavily and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she stared at her reflection in the window. Her dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, which left her face open to the world. The long day had made her mascara run into smudges under her eyes and her lip gloss was long gone. Hana frowned at the dull brown polo of her grocery store uniform. She looked away from her reflection to stare vaguely at the floor. Despite the metro’s heavy usage, it was usually clean. Since she wasn’t expecting to see anything, it took a few seconds for her tired eyes to notice the little black book under the seat in front of her.

Hana blew out a little raspberry at the sight. “Do people really still use those things?” Shaking her head, she picked up the little notebook. Someone had even written “Little Black Book” in silver calligraphy on the cover. Despite the fancy lettering, the book had obviously seen better days. The cover was worn by frequent use and it had traces of dirt on it. The bit of elastic holding the notebook closed was stretched out from overuse. “Somebody must be missing you,” she told the well-used book with a smile. Curious, she opened the little book.

Her smile disappeared as she took in a list of chemicals with corresponding numbers written in it. The front page, like the cover, was smudged and dirty with rusty brown stains. Hana flipped over the pages. They were all the same. The lists looked like instructions or recipes. Anxious, Hana wondered who would need such a book. She was so focused studying the notebook she didn’t notice either the train stopping or the young man rushing into the car she was in until he yelled, “Oh thank God!”

Hana yelped and nearly dropped her bag and the book. Eyes wide, she pulled away as he rushed over to her. He was almost six-foot-tall, black, had dirty clothes on, and was reaching toward her. She shot out of her seat, clutching her bag and the little book to her. “No!” he cried but stopped advancing. “That book is mine! Give it back!”

She slowly stopped backing up when she knew she was well out of his arms reach. Hana looked at the notebook and back to him. His clothes had the same rust brown stains as the book. He pulled his arms back and held his hands up, palms toward her. “Please. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have run up on you like that. I didn’t mean to scare you. But that book is mine. I’ve been all over D.C. looking for it.”

Hana forced herself to calm down. If he was planning on doing anything to her, he probably would have tried to do it already. In just the few short years she’d been in the city, she had already experienced being harassed, stalked and mugged. She had learned that guys who do those types of things didn’t bother talking to her. Still, she didn’t just want to hand the book over to him. “If this book is yours, then what’s inside it?” she asked, as much to verify his ownership as to find out what the meaning of its contents were.

The man lifted his eyes from the book to her face, dropping his hands down. He stood up a little straighter as he told her, “Glaze recipes.”

Hana shook her head, not understanding. “I’m sorry what?”

He smiled shyly. “Glaze recipes. I’m a potter.”

She stared at him for a couple of seconds. “No shit?” He let out a surprised bleat of laughter. “That’s what those were, glaze recipes for ceramics?” she asked as she handed the book over to him. With obvious relief he thumbed over the pages, checking his book.

“Thank you” he said, letting out a deep breath. “I’ve had this book since I was in high school. Adding to it every time I tried something new. This is my whole catalog.” He pressed it between his palms before carefully placing it into his sling bag.

“Oh, well I’m glad you got it back then.” She said as she stood there awkwardly. He looked completely different as he stood there with a relieved, gentle smile, checking to see which stop was next on the LED display.

“The gallery where most of my stuff is being displayed is near to the next stop. If you’d like, I can show you what you returned back to me?”

She thought about it and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. My name is Lewis, Lewis Stacey.” He held out his hand. Gingerly, she took it and gave him a firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you Lewis, I’m Hana Kim.” They both held onto the railing as the train slowed for the stop.

“So, do you wanna see?” He asked.

She took a deep breath and shrugged. “Sure.”

They got off the train and headed outside the Dupont terminal. It was just a short walk and then Lewis opened the door to Galerie de Terre. The art gallery occupied one of the storefronts in Dupont Circle. It’s signage and window display simple and classy. Hana was just about to walk in when there was a screech from a back room in the gallery.

“Oh no you better have found it, because if you didn’t then get the hell out of my gallery and don’t come back until you do!” yelled the man.

“Relax Robert, I’ve got it. This is Hana. She found it on the Metro.” Lewis waved to indicate her. He then pulled out the notebook from his bag to show to him.

Robert stopped, “Thank God! I can’t believe it! It was actually still on the Metro? Someone didn’t find it and run off with it?”

“It was on a red line train. Hana was looking when I found her.”

Robert’s head snapped in Hana’s direction. “She saw inside it? You’re not an artist, are you?”

Nonplused, she replied, “No, uh, not the kind I think you mean. I work at a grocery store. But when I went to college, it was for music.”

Robert’s large blue eyes brightened with delight. “Oh well that’s lovely! You probably had no idea what you were looking at did you?” He laughed out loud, “I can’t imagine what you were thinking, looking at all those ingredients in there. Hilarious!”

“Yes well, I do use a lot of different chemicals in my glazes.” Lewis moved over to a beautiful green vase, indicating he wanted her to see it. Hana followed and looked at it carefully. It was mainly a pale green with darker green designs on top. The designs were depictions of people working. While the silhouette and main color of the vase was graceful and lovely, the harder to see images in it were almost haunting. Peering inside the vase, she noted that there was clear glass blocking the neck so that nothing could go into it. It would be forever empty.

She looked up at Lewis. “Is this vase’s design about money?”

“Yes! I used the first glaze recipe in my notebook for this.”

Hana looked around the gallery, trying to take in all the different pottery pieces. “Did you make all these?”

Robert, who had begun to carefully dust the exhibits behind her, snorted, “He wishes.”

Lewis rolled his eyes at this. “Robert showcases many different artists in his gallery. Galleries usually don’t show just one artist. Variety is good. Currently, my work is being displayed in different galleries, but most of my stuff is here.” He glanced over her shoulder at Robert and smiled warmly.

Hana continued to look around the gallery. Most of the pieces, she saw, had placards with Lewis’s name next to them. At first glance most of them just looked like normal, albeit fancy, pottery. But in their designs, each individual piece held a different meaning.

“So, you’re a musician?” Lewis asked her.

“Yes, well I was. I played the piano. I haven’t really done that in a long time though. Not since I left school.”

“Why?”

“Well, mostly because of work.”

Lewis studied her for a bit. “What we both do isn’t that dissimilar, piano and pottery. Art has the same function, no matter the form, to communicate something abstract like a thought, emotion, or point of view. You use sound and I use clay. I was kinda surprised that you grasped the vase’s meaning, so quickly, but I shouldn’t have been. You’re a musician after all.”

Hana felt herself warm. It had been forever since she’d talked to somebody like this. All of the conversations she’d had lately revolved around work or other mundane aspects of life, not art. Hana had basically given up on music, which had been such a big part of her earlier life. She missed it. She realized that music to her wasn’t just something, once upon a time, that she wanted to do for a living. Giving up music was a greater loss than some potential form of employment. Music was an expression of her.

Hana stared at the green vase. “It wasn’t just because of work.”

“What do you mean?”

“Me not playing anymore. Work is draining but honestly…” Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. “Money is always tight. Whenever it got too tight, I’d sometimes have to make ends meet by selling something. All of my musical equipment, including my keyboard, is gone.”

Lewis rocked back onto his heels and looked at her. The young woman in front of him had obviously been through it. He couldn’t imagine what it would have taken for him to give up art, or how broken he would have been to have done so. Knowing some of her history as she stood there looking at the green vase seemed sadly poetic to him. Lewis started to smile though as a thought occurred to him.

“You know that artists can be very quirky and set in their ways. I probably would have been fine without my notebook, but it’s a record of all the artwork I’ve done since I began ceramics. Most of the recipes are ones I’ve come up with on my own. It has great value to me. That you gave it back means a lot to me. I’d like to give you something in return.” He walked over to the green vase, picked it up and handed it to her.

Shocked at the gesture, Richard whispered loudly to Lewis, “What are you doing? Lewis, that vase is worth $20,000!”

Hana’s eyes became saucers and she froze, staring at the vase in her hands. “Ugh, what? Why are you handing this to me?”

Lewis gently took the vase. “It’s yours. If you want to keep it, we can box it up for you. But if you want to sell it, I’m sure Richard can help out, and the money would go to you. It’s what I recommend, if it’s alright with you.”

Her chest tight, she stared at the vase anew, eventually looking up to Lewis’s face. Tears were threatening to emerge. “Really?” she asked. At his nod she hesitated, not fully believing it but wanting to, and whispered, “Thank you.”