The Briefcase

The Briefcase

“Hey, what’s up? Whatcha doing?”

“What do you mean, ‘whatcha doing’? Duh, I’m sitting at my computer typing. What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to write a story.”

“A story? A story about what?”

“A story for a contest. It’s supposed to be a story that’s just dialogue between two people.”

“Oh, you mean like two people like us having a conversation?”

“No, I don’t think anyone would want to read a story on our discussions. It’s a story about when I met Tom at the airport for a latte the last time I was out of town.”

“Okay…yeah… that sounds real exciting… two people meet for coffee in an airport terminal … ooohhh.”

“Well, what do you think I should write about then, smartie? You think it’s easy to pull an idea from your head and start writing? You know, people get writer’s block sometimes. It’s not easy coming up with something to write about.”

“I think your scenario is pretty lame. How can you make that into a story that people would want to read?”

“Hey, it’s something that happened in real life, and some of the best stories are created from actual events. Didn’t you ever sit in a restaurant and eavesdrop on a couple’s conversation next to you? You wouldn’t believe some of the things you hear.”

“Hey, I mind my own business and don’t listen to other people’s discussions. Only when the woman starts crying eating her appetizer or the man laughs out loud during the main course.”

“Very funny. Besides, there was something strange about our encounter.”

“What do you mean, ‘strange’?”

“Well, it started with me landing early, so I went to the coffee shop and texted Tom to meet me for a latte. I took the liberty of ordering two and within a few minutes he arrived.”

“Oh, that sounds strange and enticing already. Tell me more.”

“Listen, do you want to hear this or not?”

“I do. Please continue.”

“Well, when Tom arrived, his overcoat was hanging half off his shoulder, the front of his shirt was sweaty, and he kept running his hands through his hair. When I asked him if he was okay, he explained he got stuck behind an old couple coming off the plane who held him up.”

“He probably didn’t want to miss seeing you, so he ran through the airport. You know he’s not in the best of shape.”

“Let me continue. I pushed one of the lattes across the table towards him. Both of his hands were shaking as he picked up the cup and took a sip. Immediately, he let out a loud ‘Whoa!’ I thought he was going to spit it out all over me.”

“Well, apparently it was hot and he burnt his mouth.”

“That’s the same thing I thought, so I got up from the table to get him a glass of ice water. As I walked back, I noticed some red spots on his coat. I didn’t want to embarrass him, so I didn’t mention it. I figured he may have had one too many wines and had an accident. When I got near our table, I accidently knocked over his briefcase.”

“Okay, now this story is getting better...a sweaty drunk with a dented briefcase.”

“I’m warning you for the last time.”

“Please…continue.”

“When it fell over, it opened and something wrapped in a paper towel caked with what looked like blood rolled out. The look on Tom’s face was something I couldn’t describe, but will never forget. He kicked the red thing back into his briefcase and wiped sweat from his upper lip with his sleeve.”

“What was the thing that fell out of his briefcase?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to pry, so I thought I’d ask him about his trip and if they were going to use his marketing ideas. He told me his trip was uneventful which I found hard to believe since he’s very creative and a good marketer. He said he was exhausted from explaining the same concepts to everyone over and over again, and in the end they weren’t impressed with his ideas. He went on to say he couldn’t have cared less if they accepted what he offered or not. He just wanted to get back home to his wife.”

“Okay…sounds pretty normal so far, except for some red thing falling out of a business man’s briefcase. Tell me more.”

“It was obvious his demeanor changed and he seemed to be ‘beside himself’ after it opened. He clammed up, didn’t want to talk, or go into further details. He appeared pale and I asked if he was not feeling well. He blamed the coffee for being too hot and strong for his stomach, or maybe having too many wines last night at the closing reception. I could tell though, his mind was elsewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I told him I was sorry to hear they weren’t using his ideas, he replied with a short answer like ‘yeah’, ‘I know’, or a nod. He repeated again how he was anxious to get home to his wife which actually surprised me.”

“Why would someone wanting to get home to see their spouse surprise you? Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Yeah, you’re an ass. But if I may continue. Tom and his wife were having some troubles recently. He was trying to make ends meet to pay for her trophy items. You know how she is… nails, hair, shoes, clothes, yoga outfits, spa visits. She was definitely high maintenance.”

“That she was.”

“Tom once mentioned he thought she may have been cheating on him. I think she wanted a divorce, but he didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of giving her one.”

“Oh… oh… my God…I think… I think I know what was in the rolled up paper towel.”

“What are you talking about? You weren’t there.”

“When you were out of town, I ran into Tom’s wife on the street outside the hair salon. Before I could ask her what happened, she rushed into the salon. I forgot to mention it to you.”

“What do you mean, ‘what happened’? Was she in some sort of accident?”

“She was clenching her purse close against her chest, with a look of fear in her eyes. It was then I noticed she was missing her ring finger on her bandaged left hand.”