Chapter Text
Those three little words everyone waits to hear:
“Dinner is ready.”
“I miss you.”
“I love you.”
“You’ve got mail.”
In a New York brownstone on a sparkling summer day, Laura Hollis awaited three magic words. A young 25, honey-haired Laura sparkled even more than the day outside. Perhaps it was her natural disposition, perhaps it was the hot cocoa and two donuts she had already consumed this morning.
Her girlfriend, Danny Lawrence, had already rushed off to work, leaving Laura brushing her teeth. Though the breakfast sugar had some effect on her energy level, Laura seemed uncharacteristically jumpy, tapping her foot until the front door closed. Sneaking a peek out the curtain, she waited by the window until Danny disappeared around the block.
Forcing herself to walk at a normal human pace, Laura headed into her bedroom. Bookshelves covered every inch of the walls, and every one overflowed with worn, beloved friends. Madeleine. The Secret Garden. Claudine à l’école. Pride and Prejudice.
Laura sat down at her computer with an expression of anticipation and guilty pleasure as she clicked the mouse. Whirs and dials and modem noises greeted her, beeping to the beating of her heart.
Finally, the words she’d waited 42 long seconds too long to hear: “You’ve got mail.” With a giddy smile on her face, she resolved to delete all the spam messages; that resolve evaporated when she saw: “BlackAsThePit - Bagheera.”
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To: L2theLetter
From: BlackAsThePit
Re: Bagheera
Bagheera is my dog. He loves the streets of New York as much as I do—although he likes to eat bits of pizza and bagel off the sidewalk, and I prefer to buy them. Bagheera is a great catcher and was offered a tryout on the Mets farm team but he chose to stay with me so that he could spend 18 hours a day sleeping on a large green pillow the size of an inner tube.
Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly-sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address. On the other hand, this not knowing has its charms.
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Somewhere else in the city, a black lab sat on a large green pillow and wagged his tail, cluelessly panting at his owner. Bagheera name derived from The Jungle Book with good reason—he was pitch black, head to toe. His owner, Carmilla Karnstein, had hair just as dark as her dog’s but possessed a few more brain cells. She was gorgeous, 26, and full of charm and irony. Her girlfriend, Ell, sped into the kitchen in a whoosh of coffee, Chanel, and the morning paper. Late to work, she burst out the door as quickly as she came in the kitchen.
With only a smidgen of guilt, Carmilla patiently listened to the elevator door open and close outside. At the ding, she went into her den, sat down at her laptop, and logged on.
“You’ve got mail,” Carmilla said softly along with the computer. She would never let Ell hear her do that.
And she read:
___________________________________________________
To: BlackAsThePit
From: L2theLetter
Re: Good morning
I like to start my notes to you as if we're already in the middle of a conversation. I pretend that we're the oldest and dearest friends—as opposed to what we actually are, people who don't know each other's names and met in a Chat Room where we both claimed we'd never been before.
What will she say today, I wonder. I turn on my computer, I wait impatiently as it boots up.
I go on line, and my breath catches in my chest until I hear three little words: You've got mail.
I hear nothing, not even a sound on the streets of New York, just the beat of my own heart. I have mail. From you.
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Ready and eager for the day, Laura popped out her front door onto the busy streets of New York. A few blocks behind her, Carmilla walked past West Side morning sights: kids heading to school, dogs being walked, bakery trucks dropping off bread at unopened restaurant.
Stopping at a newstand, Laura said a cheery good morning to the newsstand dealer, and bought a New York Times. Only a few minutes later, Carmilla stopped at the same newsstand. She bought all the papers — the Times, Wall Street Journal, Post, and Daily News.
Further down the street, Laura stopped to buy flowers—daisies, her favorite. A dark-haired woman brushed past her with a soft, “Pardon me,” and crossed to the other side of the street to enter a building under construction.
Around the corner, Laura unlocked her store and sighed happily at the bell’s ding. Inviting and warm, lights twinkled in the windows of The Shop Around the Corner; stuffed animals read books around the store; Laura couldn’t help but grin, just like she did every day she came in—this was her home.
The bell dinged again and one of Laura’s employees, fiery-haired LaFontaine, walked in.
“Hey, Laf! Isn’t it the most beautiful day?”
Laf looked up at the sky as if seeing it for the first time. “I guess. Sure.”
“Don’t you love New York in the fall?”
Laf looked at her, puzzled, but not too surprised. It was made-of-sunshine-and-hot-cocoa Laura after all. She hadn’t changed much since Laf met her as a freshman.
Laura hung up her coat in the back of the store and suddenly stopped to daydream, another smile creeping onto her face. Laf looked at her again—this was a little much, even for Laura.
“What's going on with you, Frosh?”
“Nothing! Nothing of course. Why would anything be going on?”
“…You’re in love.”
“What? In love? No. Wait, yes. Of course I am. I’m in love with Danny. I’m practically living with Danny.”
“What’s really going on with you? I’m just going to stand here till you tell me.”
Laura waited and Laf saw the wheels turning in her head. Until she realized that Laf would wait her out.
“Is it cheating if you’re involved with someone on email?” she squeaked.
“Have you had sex?”
“Of course not. I don’t even know her.”
“I mean cybersex.”
“No, Laf! It’s not like that. We just email.”
“Where did you meet her?
“I can’t even remember.”
Laf waited her out again.
“Fine. The day I turned 25, I wandered into the Quarter Life Crisis room for a joke, sort of. She was there. And we started chatting.”
“About what?”
“Books. Music. How much we both love New York. Harmless stuff. Meaningless.” Laura smiled softly and sighed, “Bouquets of sharpened pencils.”
“Excuse me?”
“Forget it. We don’t talk about anything personal. We made a rule about that. I don’t know her name, what she does, or where she lives. So it’ll be easy to stop seeing her… Because, well, I’m not.”
“Wow, Frosh. Wow. You know, she could be the next person to walk into the store. She could be…”
One of Laura’s salespeople, J.P., walked in at that moment. J.P. was sweet, vague, and in desperate need of help picking a belt that matched his shoes. Laura and Laf shared a look of horror as they considered the thought that J.P. could be Laura’s pen pal.
Braver than Laura, Laf asked, “J.P., are you online?”
“As far as I’m concerned, the Internet is just another way to be rejected by a woman.”
He didn’t notice the collective sigh of relief.
Next, Perry walked in. In her late twenties, with the same coppery red hair as Laf, she had the personality and caring tendencies of a spunky and sweet grandmother.
“Good morning, Perry!” they all greeted her.
“What are you all talking about?”
Blunt as ever, Laf said, “Cybersex.” Laura shot them a look.
“I tried to have cybersex once but I kept getting a busy signal,” Perry said absently.
The bell jingled again and customers entered, leaving that conversation for another time.
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Carmilla and her sister, Mattie, walked through the buzz and screeches of the construction site.
“The electrician called. He hit a deer last night, he won’t be in until tomorrow,” Mattie relayed. “The shelves are late because of the pine had beetles. And some idiot started installing the stairs in the wrong place. If I never to see a contractor after this store is done, it will be too soon.”
Carmilla nodded and almost walked into a sparking wire dangling from the ceiling. “Sounds great.”
“Darling, are you even listening?”
“Is the electrician here?”
“I just told you—he hit a deer. Did you hear me?”
“I hear nothing,” Carmilla muttered, “Not a sound on the city streets, just the beat of my heart. Something like that.”
With a grin, Mattie nudged her, “Did you and Ell get engaged?”
That seemed to snap Carmilla out of her musings. “Engaged? Are you crazy?”
“I thought you liked Ell…”
“Of course! I love Ell. She’s amazing. Nobody wears Chanel like her. She makes coffee nervous.” Carmilla avoided Mattie’s look and switched gears. “Are we still on schedule?”
“We open two weeks before Thanksgiving.”
“I guess we have to announce ourselves soon.”
Mattie waved off her sister’s nerves. “This is the Upper West Side. The minute they hear they’ll be lining up—“
“—to picket the big bad chain store that destroys everything they hold dear.”
“But, dear, we’ll seduce the masses with our square footage and plush armchairs and fast checkout lines and discounts and don’t forget—“
“—the coffee,” they finished together.
Carmilla sighed, “Coming soon, a Karnstein Books Superstore and the End of Western Civilization As We Know It.”