Little black book

New York City has always been an exciting place to live. I decided to have a fresh start after a terrible break up and a series of unfortunate events but I decided to do something different and moved to the Big Apple.

I had to find some thing that was on a budget and a friend of mine referred me to an older lady who owned a pent house, many years old, right off of fifth Avenue. She would rent it out to visitors for surprisingly an affordable fee and I came to the understanding that most of her friends had passed and very little family left, and so this was her way of having company as well. Her family only cared for the inheritance, rushing to the hospital every time her sugars would drop from her insulin mismanagement. She had refused the help of anyone including aides and she would often gallavent across the street to get her nails done or something or the other.

So I met with her one afternoon and had some tea and we quickly became friends. I rented her guest room for a few months overlooking an abandoned building on the 15th floor.

Marge was very chic and her elegant home had been frozen in what seemed to be a Victorian era. She had moved to NYC from the Carribean when she younger. She had worked for the UN for many years.

Some evenings we would sit on the sofa and she would reminisce the times when she was younger and threw parties with the higher class of society. Her hair was up in a bun with several pins and she wore bright red lipstick and she moved around her apartment with an elegant robe. The old recorder would play music at times.

She had a rack that carried her dresses that she wore to events during her time. She cooked dinner and fried chicken over her stove and I sat down and listened to her, she loved to make fried chicken. When she finshed, she asked me to sit down next to her and she talked about the stories of when she was younger. She asked me to open the cabinet and under her China plates which were very expensive and delicate, I found a small Black note book. She asked me to open it and it was and old pocket book with calligraphy, she asked me to hold on to it and instructed me to not give it to anyone.

She asked me to keep the book but if anything happened to her that I should take it to this antique store downtown. She then aked me to open the closet in the hallway and under old plastic covering was a beautiful fur black coat that was several years old, I unwrapped it and she told me to wear it, it fit perfectly. I danced around the room and we laughed. Her nephew who checked on the apartment stepped in, as all this was happening. He didn’t look happy. I quickly removed the coat and she was sad it had to end. I returned to my room, not understanding what had happened ,but I sensed, her family prowled to make sure "she was ok" Shortly after I went to sleep.

The weekend came and she became ill again and I took her to the hospital.

Of course her family checked in seeing if she had moved on to the next life.

After a long day, I went back to the apartment and the furniture had been overturned and her dresses were gone it seemed that someone had broken in and I was in shock. I called the police right away and filed a report for the robbery. They asked me what I thought was missing, so as they left I remembered the fur coat, it was gone. In astonishment, and despair I competed the report and explained of the valuable fur coat that vanished. They said they would do an investigation.

Shortly after Marge had died, and I sadly moved out, leaving behind memories that seemed so long lived in a short period of time. I didn’t want to get involved in the drama over the inheritance and I moved to Jersey.

Months later, the expenses had overwhelmed me and I remembered the little black note book that she had given me. I searched for it and found it. A name appeared on the back so I searched and searched and finally, I found the store that carried antiques downtown on 38 th and 5th. I went to the store and I explained to the owner who I was and that I was given a small black book by my friend Marge. The owner had been friends with Ms Marge for years. They verified it and they said to me that Ms Marge had called them before she had died and that if anything were to happen to her, to give me the cash value of the coat upon presentation of the small black book which showed the insurance and registration of the fur coat. I was in disbelief. It was the only way she would have her valuable coat assured. I cried in astonishment, I said it must have been a mistake, they said she had called saying that I had become family to her. The cash value of the coat was estimated at $100000, I almost fainted.

They asked me to prove identification as well as proof of loss of the coat, and the small black book which had the information of the coat and the writing in calligraphy which was the signature of the seller, and to go to the bank across the street to cash it . It was safe and had been an established bank for many years.

Was this a stroke of luck? I guess the heavens had seen all that had happened. I returned home shook and counting my blessings.