The Little Black Book

As I walked tirelessly down the snowy stained steps, I realized it had been snowing all night, awoken by a half sounded alarm only 12 minutes earlier, I was dazed and confused.

My mind, still fogging from the night before.

“Taxi!!” I yelled through the frost bitten air. I couldn’t remember the night before and as my heart pounded, I clutched the little black book and pulled it close. That's when the thoughts from the night before began to get clear and mindlessly flashed images as the night raced through my mind. I realized I was out of time and I should’ve thrown the little black book into a snowbank and never looked back, for after opening this book, I knew, my life would never be the same.

“To 23rd and 2nd on Broadway!” I yelled at the cab driver as he gave me a startling look… “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Fine.” I said sharply. “Just get me to the bank.”

As we drove away, I saw two cars pull up to the front of my apartment, two cars, that I didn’t recognize. Coincidence? I thought for a brief moment of silence and peace, until I remember there are indeed no coincidences in life and now this day no longer felt like a strange dream but a relapse of a nightmare from the night before. Despite only being up for 12 minutes, now 13, I was WIDE awake in panic, as the taxi drove away, I quickly peered out the back window and whipped the half fogged up area to see if I could catch the driver's face, a license plate, ANYTHING to tell me I wasn’t clinically insane, being chased, dreaming or all three.

My taxi began to make the first right when I finally caught a glimpse of the passenger, it was one of the women from the night before.

18 hours before: Working at Manhatta Restaurant

As my last table of two sat there, chain smoking cigars and drinking, I realized I was probably not going to make it to my boyfriend's house for dinner that night.

Intoxicatingly laughing was the first sign that told me, they weren’t exactly rude, they just literally couldn’t see me due to the high volume of alcohol they had consumed; and judging by their attire; rolex on the left wrist, diamonds on the right; I’m assuming they’ve never waited or bused a table in their life. So I made my last attempt to free myself from work and make it to my dinner plans on time, this time.

“Excuse me.” I said, as I meekly edged closer to the table, not wanting to “impose” or “interrupt them”, even though I was clearly interrupting them while holding my hands awkwardly on top of one another, I could hear their background chatter suddenly get clear. “ It’s the easiest $20,000 they could make, if only they knew” the redhead said to the blonde.

Pause. No, not you, dear reader. Me. I froze.

Why? I was far too close to the table to pretend I wasn’t there and ENTIRELY too close to the table to pretend I didn’t hear. They both looked up at me, at the exact same time, with the same exact expression on their face.

“What are you doing over here?!” The redhead said to me loudly, as if she was disgusted by my entire existence. Again, I just stood there.

After about a minute that seemed to last my entire life, I said, “I’m sorry, I’m just wondering if you needed another round or if you ladies were ready to cash out.” As the sentence came out of my lunges and air waves turning into actual sound, I could see my tip diminish into the land of “You’re Never Getting A Tip From Us.”

Now, if you’ve ever worked in a restaurant, you know what I’m saying. It only takes one bad bread basket, one unpolished glass from the bar, one “pushy” sentence, one cold entree, to end any chance of the table liking you, never mind feeling human enough to leave you a tip. The blonde smirked at me with cigar smoke pouring out of her nose and then proceeded to look at the redhead as she said “We’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

“You, ladies?!” I mocked myself, as I ran back to the kitchen, pissed, and annoyed for not being able to articulate a sentence correctly while also tired, and desperately needing to get out of this restaurant. I reached for my phone and began to text my boyfriend. “Sorry..." I typed. “ This last table has been here for 4 hours with no plans to let me cash out.” A few texts back and forth annnnnnd great, he’s more pissed than me.

As if this night couldn’t get any worse, another table walks in and sits in my section, this time, an older man, late 50’s, wearing a 1960’s hat and coat combo holding an umbrella wiping off the snow from his jacket. “That would be you” my manager said, like we weren’t standing in the same room, facility or universe. I adjusted my apron and headed over to the table.

“Welcome to Manhatta’s” I said, “My name is Chelsea, can I start you with something to drink?”

“I’ll take a coke with a lime, and I’ll have some bread when you get a chance.” said the older gentleman.

“Absolutely” I said, as I collected the extra plates and silverware from the table and checked the time just above the bar.

It was 11:04pm, an hour and four minutes passed closing.

As I waited by the bar for the coke, the usual asinine bartender actually took pity on me for once, which was kind of nice if I’m being honest.

“What did he want?” the bartender asked me. “Bread” I mumbled back to him, as I simultaneously checked my phone to see if my boyfriend had messaged me back. “You should put that away, if he sees it….”

“I know.” I interrupted him before he could even finish telling me to put my phone away. “And, you should’ve brought the bread to the table when you greeted him!” the bartender said loudly as I walked away with the coke, making me contemplate where I should consider dumping it on my own head and quitting right then and there.

“Here ya go!” I said as cheerfully as I could possibly fake along with a perfect smile.

The older gentleman looked up at me with grayish green eyes, salty peppered hair, wearing a cheap suit, holding a toothpick while playing a cross puzzle. “Did those ladies happen to leave you a tip?” as he pointed to the table behind me, I shot my head around in panic.

They were GONE!!

All that was left was a few red napkins, an untouched bread basket, and empty lipstick stained glasses scattered around the silverware …..

As I got closer to the table, I saw a little black book tucked under the red folded napkin.

“I never printed them a check!” I said to myself with my back to the gentleman, who was still waiting for his bread basket. But, I couldn’t rush off…..as I looked at the messy table, all I could feel was defeat. “I’ll get you, your bread.” I said as I grabbed the red napkins concealing the little black book.

Walking into the kitchen, I could already hear myself getting fired for the table that just left without paying or cashing out.

“Ah!” my manager said, as he saw me. “There she is! They left something for you.”

I looked at him in shock, “You mean those ladies cashed out with you?!"

“Yes.” he replied, reminding me (simultaneously) that I suck at my job he continued.... “Those ladies flagged me down to cash out because you were flirting by the bar!”

“What an actual piss ant.” I thought to myself, truly the amount of rage I felt towards this man on a daily basis was unhealthy but that’s only because he was….well, your classic terrible restaurant manager. “What did they leave Roman?” I said, annoyed with his antics and wanting him to get to the point. “They left you 15%, here, go cash out.” he said, as he gestured to me to take my check holder.

I took the check holder and walked over to the OPS station to close the check. “The bread!” I yelled as I left the check, red napkins and little black book behind.

“I’m so sorry” I said to the older gentleman who had been patiently waiting for bread for over 15 minutes. “That’s quite alright.” he said. “I’m not really here for the bread.”

“Oh.” I said back, hoping he wasn’t about to imply anything towards me and just before I could make a strange face, he interrupted my thought.

“I’m curious.” he said, to me as he looked over at the uncleaned table.

“Those two women that were just here that looked like they won the lottery. Are you sure they didn’t leave you a grand tip?” I paused for a minute, remembering the $20,000 comment from earlier. “No.” I quickly said back with a puzzled half frown on my face shaking my head slightly back and forth. “They barely talked to me, so I wasn’t really near the table.”

“Is that right?” he said, now looking up at me curiously. He waited for a moment…..“Okay, then.” he said, as he stood up and put a $50.00 bill on the table.

“Thank you for the coke and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As the older gentleman walked out of the restaurant, he looked back at me and tipped his hat, I continued to wave and make my way back over to the OPS station I had abandoned moments prior, and as I put my hand down from waving goodbye, I could tell he knew I was lying or at least, I knew I was lying.

Underneath the red napkin, I could see the little shiny black book that appeared to have some papers folded inside but I needed to get my last checks in order; as I took my receipts out of the check holder a piece of paper fell out.

“Meet us at 23rd and 2nd Street Broadway.” the folded piece of paper said on the back of the customer copy check of the two women at the cigar table.

“The bank?” I mumbled to myself, as I turned the paper around looking for a name or any hint of who wrote it, I tossed it to the side and cashed out the merchant copy check. “15% of 357.59, $53.64 tip, not bad.” and closed out the rest of my tables for the evening.

As I passed the bartender on my way out, he asked “How did you do?”

“Not bad for ten tables.” I replied, also insinuating that 2 of my 10 total tables came in at 8:00pm and stayed almost an hour and half past closing.

It was now, 11:47pm. Officially, time to go home.

Standing on the corner waiting for a cab to pass by, I thought about texting my boyfriend to see if he was up and went into my bag to grab my phone when I felt the little black book.

Sleek edges, packed with paper, and a silk string holding a certain page in place.

As I reached in further, I felt the note. Before I could pull it out of my bag, the bartender pulled up to me on the sidewalk. “Need a ride?” he said. “You have a car?!” I shouted back.

Honestly, who has a car in the city? I thought.

“Obviously, I’m a bartender in New York.'' he said. Again, with the asinine remarks and clearly implying that I make a quarter of what he makes, as he likes to remind me "on the daily" that all the money is behind the bar, which, we both know and knew, so why say it. Right?

“Fine!” I finally said, “But only because I’m freezing and it’s almost midnight.”

As I stepped into the car, I noticed his car seemed way too nice to be able to afford on a bartenders salary. “What are you in the mafia?” I joked. “Something like that.” he said, sort of not joking back and leaving it up in the air. “Those ladies….” he said. “They wanted me to drive you to to Club Felicity. ”

“What the hell, Vince?” I said quickly as if already implying we’re not going and this better be an episode of him trying to make an actual joke. “Relax, I know them. They come in all the time. I think they left something at the table, did they leave anything that you would like to give back?”

“The little black book?” I thought. “Shit.” I said to myself silently, as I had genuinely forgot about it and never actually even opened. “Yea.” I said back, “they left me a note.”. Vince began to pull the car over.

“That’s all they left?” he said, in a very serious tone.

“Um, YEA.” I said back definitely as if I had nothing to hide. “Unless Roman saw something on the table….” I implied.

“That makes sense.” Vince said as he pulled back on to the road. “I’ll drop you off at home, where do you live?” I paused in confusion.

“What about this Felicity club? What just changed?” I thought but I knew it was best to just get home and forget this terrible underpaid night.

“Sounds good, it’s 479 Madison Avenue, take the bridge, it’s faster at night”

As I set my keys down in my house and looked out my window to make sure Vince was gone, I dashed over to the bag and pulled out the little black book. Inside there were codes written all over the place with sealed coded envelopes. “13-1-18-11” one envelop read, “12-1-21-18-1” the next envelope read and so on and so forth. Flipping through this little black book, were hundreds of addresses, codes and monetary figures written on the inside.

As I sat on the floor, I must have had over 100 number combinations and 20 envelopes. “What is this book?” - I said as my cat cried for food and proceeded to brush up against the papers and little black book that were getting more attention than her.

“Alright!” I yelled as I heard a loud bang on the door.

Peering through the peephole, it was Vince! Just behind him, the blonde cigar lady from the restaurant. “What the hell ?!” I said to myself immediately wishing I had just thrown the book in the snowbank. As I struggled to collect the papers, I yelled to the door “Just a second!”

3 more bangs, this time, on my door. “Coming!” I said and threw the little black book and it’s envelopes on my bookshelf.

“Hi!” I said, chipper and bright as if I didn’t just find this weird mob accounting notebook and it wasn’t almost 1 o'clock in the morning. “Let’s stop playing games.” Vince said to me seriously.

“We went back to the restaurant and spoke to Roman.” the blonde said in an english accent, who was, ironically still smoking a cigar.

“He said if there was anything left on the table, you would have it.”

“I didn’t even close that table out, Vince!” I said, hoping he’d defend me but he just looked down at the ground as the blonde began speaking. “You know….” she began. “It’d be a shame if we couldn’t find that book, lots of jobs and….live-ly hood would be at stake, if you know what I mean.”

A long moment of silence. Until she continued.

“Listen, return the book to Club Felicity tonight. Leave it with the bouncer Myron, you can wear a disguise, have someone else drop it off - we don’t care. We just need the book back or we’ll be back here, tomorrow. Let’s go, Vince!” she said, as her shoes clapped to the door and she paused “Oh and Chelsea, don’t open it.” As she proceeded to smile and leave my apartment.

My heart raced as I locked the door and watched them leave through the keyhole. “What is going on?! Who the hell is she and who is Vince?” not that I ever knew him, knew him, but all I could think of was these people coming back to kill me so I do what all adults do I call my bestfriend to give details I should be sharing with no one.

“HI!!!” I yell as her voice crankles to get out a hello. “Why are you up so late?'' she says. I need you to do me a favor, it’s a long story but I need you to return a little black notebook to Club Felicity tonight”

Dial tone, she hangs up immediately.

I try calling her again and again…..no response. I give up and open the little black book.

As an incoming call comes in, I can see that it’s blocked so I let it ring and I start imagining what those numbers could be. Fixed games? A locker code? A secret club? and that’s when it hits me “It’s names!”

“13-1-18-11” one envelop read translates to “M-A-R-K” the next one I grabbed read, “12-1-21-18-1” and that translated to, “L-A-U…..”

In shock, I realize it spells the name, Laura. My best friend. “Could Laura be a part of this?”

I took a deep breath and I opened the envelope, after all, we are best friends right? As I carefully open the letter, obviously hoping to reseal it later, twenty thousand dollars in cash falls out on the floor, where I proceed to understand why this book is so important. I look over at my cat for reassurance. “Yup. Looks like we’re going to Club Felicity.”

As I step outside of the cab with a black wig on, feeling absolutely ridiculous, I walk up to the front of the crowded line with the little black book, it’s almost 2:00am at this point and omg does it feel like it; without saying a word, I wave the little black book to the bouncer and he lets me in.

“This whole time!” I thought to myself, who knew this whole time I could just hold up a little black book like I’m important and cut lines.

As I made my way into the club, walking into the streams of strobe lights, I could feel my tender age of 29 creeping up on me, in that moment I realized that this was the last place I wanted to be on a Saturday night. Drunk, sweaty, in a germ filled sticky club, just praying the lights don’t come on...

…..and then the blonde with the cigar waves me over to her tables and that my friends, is the last thing I remember.

Present Day - 13 minutes ago - At home on 479 Madison Avenue

I wake up in my apartment to a 6:30am alarm sounding on, wearing my outfit from the night before holding the little black book, feeling like I got hit by a car.

As I looked in the mirror at my smokey eyeshadow, I immediately realized I need to get out of this outfit, as I frantically flipped through the little black book, I realized all the envelopes were gone, except one.

“3-8-5-12-19-5-1” the envelope read, as I quickly flipped through the little black book full of missing pages. “No, no, no” I said loudly, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw the receipt on the floor from the restaurant.

In slow motion, I bend down to pick up the receipt. “Meet us at 23rd and 2nd Street Broadway.”

“The bank!” I yell, as I rush to take off my heels and put on boots, I jet out the door with the one remaining envelope, the bank note and the little black book.

Flash You Forward To Present Time

As I walked tirelessly down the snowy stained steps, I realized it had been snowing all night, awoken by a half sounded alarm only 12 minutes earlier, I was dazed and confused…..

My mind, still fogging from the night before.

“Taxi!!” I yelled through the frost bitten air. I could feel something was wrong and as my heart pounded, I clutched the little black book and pulled it close. That's when the thoughts from the night before began to get clear and mindlessly flashed images as the night raced through my mind. I realized I was out of time and I should’ve thrown the little black book into a snowbank and never looked back, for after opening this book, I knew, my life would never be the same.

“To 23rd and 2nd on Broadway!” I yelled at the cab driver as he gave me a startling look… “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Fine.” I said sharply. “Just get me to the bank”. As we drove away, I saw two cars pull up to the front of my apartment, two cars, that I didn’t recognize. Coincidence? I thought for a brief moment of silence and peace, until I remember there are indeed no coincidences in life and now this day no longer felt like a strange dream but a relapse of a nightmare from the night before. Despite only being up for 12 minutes, now 13, I was WIDE awake in panic, as the taxi drove away, I quickly peered out the back window and whipped the half fogged up area to see if I could catch the driver, a license plate, something to tell me I wasn’t clinically insane, being chased, dreaming or all three.

My taxi began to make the first right, I finally caught a glimpse of the passenger, it was one of the women from the night before.

“Wait!” I yell to the taxi driver. “Stop!” I screamed.

As the cab stops, I look down at the little black book, holding the last envelope that I can’t fully read, but I can see, “3-8-5”.

“I’ll walk from here.” I say to the cab driver. He looks at me confused but doesn’t fight me on it. “Okay ma’am” he says back, “Have a nice day.”

As I shut the cab door, I can see that the two women see me from a distance.

Holding the little black book that contains the last envelope, I take a deep breath, praying for some miracle of the missing envelopes to fall from the sky.

"I'm dead." I think to myself, these women are like the russian mob bosses and I'm definitely dead. Until my stream of "ready to die thoughts" is interrupted by a loud excited voice.

“There she is!” the redhead yells, as if she’s happy to see me. “You were so funny last night!” the blonde laughs as she walks towards me, gesturing for a hug.

Confused was an understatement. “I don’t remember last night” I say to them bashfully.

The redhead lights a cigar and says, “That’s okay, most people don’t, did you get your envelope?”

I looked down at the envelope and suddenly the numbers “3-8-5-12-19-5-1” turned into letters, the letters began to spell out a name.

”C-H-E-L-S-E-A”

“Wait…” I said, “This is my code from the little black book?” A look of astonishment comes over their face, “Wow!!” says the blonde “You really don’t remember last night, do you?”

“I’m Jones and this is Genevive , we’re you’re new partners, well co-workers….Genevive, are we more like partners or coworkers?”

“Both.” said the blonde, her name, I now knew to be Genevive.

“Last year you pitched your business idea to a bank that Jones owns…” said Geneuvive, as she exhaled her cigar through the cold air. “....and it was denied, so we wanted to surprise you with a rare opportunity, which you gladly accepted last night.”

“Go head!” said Jones excitedly, “Open it!!”

As I nervously opened the little black book containing this important letter, still unclear from the night before and still unsure if I could even trust these women, I opened the little black book, and as I peered inside the envelope, I saw $20,000 with an investment note.

“We’ll, if we’re not the best table you’ve ever waited on than, I’ll be damned.” Jones howled, clearly still feeling her buzz from the night before.

“But, what about the little black book?” I said. “Oh, that’s our investor list, each quarter we try to make new contributions to small businesses and this quarter we picked you, that is until we left the notebook behind and saw that you didn’t run after us to return it.”

“That’s when we called the bar.” said Jones, “And, I’ve known Vince for a long time, I’ve actually invested in his business and I told him, if you returned the book to us tonight at our next meeting at Club Felicity, we’d still invest in your idea.”

Everything started to make sense, my best friend hanging up already knew she secured the investor, Vince creepily coming over like the mafia was simply trying to make sure I didn’t ruin my own future and Club Felicity wasn’t some underground cult, it just happened to be their next meeting place.

“But, what’s with the name in codes?” I asked Jones. “Those are your starter combinations for your account at the bank, it’s just easier for us to remember your set up pin if it’s done by name.”

“Brunch?” Geneuvive said,. “Absolutely” I said back, as I looked down at my starter fund and began to seal up my envelope, I started to pass the little black book back to, Jones.

“Keep it” Jones said, “I have my own, actually I whip through those little back books, I honestly couldn’t get through life without it, besides, you’ll be needing it to take lots of notes at this next meeting.”

The end of the short story: A Little Black Book