Notes for the Kingpin

Ms. Harold was dangling very precariously on a ladder as she searched for the box. It was another Friday and she was going to get this over with before the library closed. The usual patrons were in her section, including the usual teenage boys from the local Catholic school, St. Malachy. She would recognize their uniforms a mile away, especially after several years walking past their ogling and occasional whistling. At least they had to be quiet in the building, although they kept staring (dream on, boys). Apart from them, the usual loners, homeless, elderly visitors and housewives not too interested in their husbands were in the bucket seats and private carrels. Nothing special about their Friday… Nothing worth recalling…or remembering. It was not her Friday.

The box was covered with a thick tent of dust and cobwebs (strange that she had never seen a spider in the storage area). She had walked through the main hallway to see if she was going to be noticed (only the teenage boys; keep dreaming). It had been a year, so the state of it was nothing special. Every time she looked, it was a little bit rawer; a little bit more rundown. The dust and cobwebs did not matter. It was what she had inside that mattered the most.

“Attention, all patrons…”

Why did they install that recorded message two years ago? Everyone knew that the building would shut down when five o’clock arrived on a weekday. She never had a moment to tell anyone to leave unless they were drunk (rare), sleeping (a few cases), or just in the middle of their scribbling (St. Malachy kept them busy). Ms. Harold would have to return to her desk soon, but not quite yet.

The brown leather strap that held down the lid was not dried out or cracked on the edges where she lifted the tongues out of two loops.

Everything still in place; everything is here.

“Attention…”

Ten minutes left. She stepped down from the ladder and looked around their storage space. Some of the deliveries made that week were still being stacked and several boxes lay open and untouched since they arrived. There were letters that she noted were addressed to the administration. No one put them away after they were opened.

“There will be certain changes made by…”

“A receipt for $400.00 has been cleared…”

“Complaints made against St. Malachy will be brought directly to the principal and…”

Ms. Harold smiled and laughed as the lights flickered a final warning to leave.

*

It was a good thing to have a private office now. Ms. Harold was looking forward to not having to explain fines, point out automotive guides (always popular) and magazines, or handle new patrons for at least an hour out of her day. Mr. Banna was going to be picking up the trash from her office soon, but he was not a problem. Ms. Horvath and Ms. Lee would already be gone (was Lee’s daughter ill that week? She could not remember). It was her time.

Under a fluorescent lamp, she looked inside. 

“Hello!”

“Shhh!” Her glasses almost fell into the box as she spat out her warning. “This is after hours in my office!”

“So, we can talk? Great… How are you?”

There were moments in her long life when Ms. Harold wondered if this was all worth the effort. She could hear a bus pass by, possibly filling up with some of the last patrons. Her door was locked, but she was not taking any chances with her little friend. It was a familiar voice that she always reminded herself was not real. It belonged to another time.

“I’m fine… And could you please keep your voice down?”

“Fine, fine…” The box seemed to shrink a little bit as it considered lowering its volume. “What is on the menu this time?”

Menu… That was the key word today.

She heard one of the carts moving down the hallway toward her, finally noting Ms. Lee walking with the trolley (so, no illness this week).

She stared closer at the papers neatly arranged in the box. A light smell of leather and some cologne now lingered under the light.

“It is the anniversary.”

The box was quiet for a moment (this was something new).

“How many years…I mean, how long…?”

Ms. Hudson smiled. “A nice clean number this time. One hundred years.”

Was the box laughing? A slight tremor made the straps move and she heard the metal of the clasp on the blotter.

“You were always good at remembering these things.” She could feel the air getting heavier and denser. “Okay, here we go.”

*

A few moments and a lifetime had passed. When Ms. Hudson woke up, she was still at her desk, still wearing her glasses, but she noted the style of the room she was in. All the furniture was what people would call Art Deco, or Art Nouveau (she never really knew the distinctions). The lamp was now a simple electric bulb inside of the stained and patterned glass designed with flowers. And there was nothing else in the room, besides the hat rack, her jacket (quite light for the time of year), an umbrella in a holder (had it been raining?) and silence.

She smiled and went over to a mirror beside one wall.

Not a bad look for the year. A librarian in that era would not have anything too fancy, but that did not mean she had to be frumpy or dull. A little bit of red and orange in her blouse, a comfortable skirt, and shoes that did not hurt as much as she thought they would (the high heels were simple; “black pumps for a best friend” she heard someone say). And she looked great. Not a single thing out of place for anyone to notice. Nothing that would make her…

No, it was her day. No time to worry about things like that.

And it was a Friday.

*

She did see the old crew again. There was Laura, Michael, Steven, Daniel; this was all the staff they needed in that office and she knew their lives as well as her own. Daniel and Laura were an “item” (silly for them to try and hide it). Michael was a “confirmed bachelor” (no point in announcing it; who would marry a man who could not handle dandruff and his other biological issues?). They were all clear. That would leave Steven…

Her Steven…

“My beauty…”

“My Kingfish!” She hugged him as he came out from behind his desk (that cologne; the one that she almost forgot about). “I missed you!”

“Missed you, too, my beauty… How are things on the other side?”

“Like nothing at all. Not without you.”

He was blushing, well out of earshot of any of the staff, especially Michael, so he must have been worried.

“Oh my garsh. How do you say such things to an innocent man?”

She pulled him down the steps to the entrance. The trolleys and streetcars were all lined up for the rush hour traffic. Ms. Hudson knew where she wanted to go.

“Just take me…there.”

*

They had dinner, with a quick hit of liquor he kept in the flask she bought him last time they met. Then, a club for a bit more music, more drinking, and she was still amazed at how they danced and moved through the air when the notes were so high and heavy in the smoky fever of the beat. Steven was always ahead of the game on the new steps and moves. All she had to do was let him lead; all she had to do was let him take her wherever they would go…

And it was a very long night…

At his place, a street lined with maples and oaks, he invited her in for a nightcap.

“Steven…”

“I know, I know. The honor of a lady…”

“I am not that honorable, y’know. It’s just…”She was enjoying the night air and the quiet of the place. She tapped on the porch and sat down. “Just sit for a moment.”

They were both looking up at the sodium lamps on both sides of the street; a car passed by with an ad for a delivery service (a nice touch, she thought).

“This is all for you, my dear.” He put his coat around her shoulders. It felt warm and familiar.

“I know.” Ms. Hudson stretched her legs and smelled the night’s celebration in his coat.

“And you did choose this night.”

She looked over at him. Steven had the most incredible hazel eyes, brown hair and smile. She felt lightheaded and a bit dizzy, not just from the night they had.

“Yes, I did. I really did.”

He frowned slightly. “Why this night of all nights? That I cannot get a read on.”

She held his arm and leaned into him.

“It had to be this night. It had to be.”

There was nothing else for them to say. She felt the same heaviness in the air that was there in the library. She felt how tired she was after such a long night. After so much that she wanted to happen.

She let sleep take over.

*

And she woke up.

Time on the other side did not work the way it did in her very dull life. It was still within the same hour after work. She looked around and noted that the papers were now spread out on her desk. Ms. Hudson was used to this…and the voice that was growing a bit louder as she focused on the room.

“Well?”

The wind outside picked up and she could hear a few cars now passing by.

“Well…?”

“It was wonderful. Just…perfect.” Her glasses were on top of the box, now open and empty. “I just can’t believe how… Every time it happens, I just…”

“Only once a year, remember?”

“Still worth it.” She felt a little dizzy.

“And why that year, anyway?”

“Everyone wants to know, don’t they?” She began to gather up the papers, arranging them into a very neat pile. “Everyone wants an explanation…”

“But you don’t want to tell me.”

“Or anyone. But thank you again.”

The papers were arranged in the box. The voice was quiet for a moment.

“So, next year?”

“Next year.”

Ms. Hudson was going to turn thirty that year, just old enough to let any romantic illusions fall away and fade into the past. The boys from St. Malachy would not be looking at her in a few years, she thought (maybe five or ten years). The few patrons who showed any interest in her were not worth the notice. She walked down the now quiet hallway to storage to put the box back. Most of the staff were gone for the day, and the security lights worked for her movements.

That year…

The box was now one hundred years old. On the cover, she let her fingers pass over the small brass plaque that had names and dates on it.

Out of a chance encounter with a seller online, she found the material of a writer she had admired since she was a young girl. The extras of being able to pass to the past to review and experience a different time in history were never mentioned. And that date was something burned into her mind, something that was more important to her than birthdays, anniversaries and any trip home.

She could wait another year; she had nothing better to do:

Steven Porter

Class of ‘23

St. Malachy

Here lie the fine notes of the next Kingfish!