Little Red Notebook: Valentine's Day Part 1

THE LITTLE RED NOTEBOOK: VALENTINE’S DAY PART 1



February 10th

I am getting ready for bed, spooning out a little Fancy Feast savory salmon (umm) for Salem, brushing my pearly whites, combing my hair, looking into the mirror and visualizing someone like my mommy doing it. I crawl under the sheets and my black fur ball curls up by my side. Her green eyes watch me reach for my book on my bedside table. I open it to my fav chapter about this scary witch, Nona, and pick up my reading right where I had left off, or drifted off the night before.

Valentine’s is just a few days away. I see red boxes of chocolate, heart-shaped balloons and achingly beautiful long-stemmed roses in every store front. Those silly little love songs have ramped up on the airwaves and Netflix offers those sappy sweet romcoms when I stream every night. Ahhhh!!! These days as a devoted bachelorette I am enjoying my freedom, growth and expanding sexual experiences, but I still am a bit of a romantic deep inside my feline heart. This kitty is hoping for a romantic day with a select friend other than my roommate, Salem.

“What do you think, Salem?” I ask as my hand pets her sleek black fur.

She purrs.

“Strawberries and chocolate?”

She purrs.

“Butter Fingers? Or maybe a fortune cookie?”

She closes her green eyes and purrs at me.

My boss, Ellen, is always on my mind as is my soul girl, Nova. I can try an order of egg rolls delivered by her hot redhead friend, Justine. Three hearts are better than two? Then, there is the courier at work. All the MILK chocolates in the window of the CVS d * r * u * g store have me thinking of her, Jenny. I sort of developed this kinky behavior of craving what Jenny can offer me. And kittens, like myself, do enjoy lapping (or suckling) sweet milk. Of course, half of my brain is now devoted to the unseen woman that has infected my mind with her little red notebook creating an addiction like pure Colombian catnip.


February 11th

It’s Friday and after receiving a list of items to do from Ellen, I start to probe for an opportunity to spend some time with her on Valentine’s. I am reminded that she has a significant other and they have reservations for the 14th. She is taking Erica for a romantic evening dinner to Marea near Central Park. “It offers the coastal flavors of Italian seafood,” Ellen’s voice informs me. Sigh, I wish I was Erica.

I try to overcome a slight feeling of rejection but the boundaries of the relationship have been clear and Ellen has been such a wonderful teacher I can feel nothing but love for her. I send a message for Jenny to meet me for lunch, which she responds with a yes and kisses emoji. Over Caesar salads we talk about her daughter Liza and I bring her up to date on my little red notebook entries.

Before we head back to the law office, I ask Jenny what her plans are for Valentine’s Day, hoping she would invite me over to her apartment where I could spend some time with her little daughter, and maybe some kinky playtime with mommy after she puts her Liza to bed. But alas, she informs me she is covering for a friend at the newsstand who has a hot date. Again, I try not to look rejected.

Over the weekend I text Nova to find out what Monday has in store for her. I am hoping to set something up on the romantic day. I am prepared to sweeten my offer until she can’t refuse (like licking my ass with a chocolate covered tongue!) Just minutes later my phone in the back pocket of my tight jeans vibrates sending an erotic feeling over my ass. Fuck, that feels good! But the feeling quickly dissipates as Nova lets me know she is in upper state NY visiting her parents. Darn!

Strike three! How many lives do I have? Meow.

It is cold out and a few little snow flurries drift through the city. The white powder is always so pretty at first, then it just turns gray and depressing, especially when you are alone.


February 12th

Saturday morning, I read a lengthy and verbose legal brief. Fuck! Why can’t they write these damn things in simple English? Around 1 pm I decide to take a break and jump on the bus. With my earbuds in I close my eyes and let the big rubber wheels spin and take me up and down the streets and through the boroughs.

After one stop an older gentleman sits down next to me. We smile at each other as I bounce my head to Beyoncé. I watch him bring out a magazine. I peer down at the cover before he opens it and see that it is called Voici. As he turns the pages, I can’t help but notice all the pictures of women showing their clothes, faces, hairstyles. Oh, it must be a woman’s magazine. I giggle.

He turns another page and my eyes are drawn to an image of an alluring young woman: Adèle Haenel.

I hesitate, then place my index finger on his magazine just below her face. He smiles at me.

“Elle est belle, oui?” he says.

I giggle, not understanding his words.

“Et tu es aussi jolie qu’elle, Mademoiselle,” he adds.

“Merci,” I respond like a good kitty.

He points to himself, “Laurent.”

I point to myself, “Sarah,” I say with a smile.

Between bus stops he grabs another magazine and hands it to me. Wine Enthusiast.

“Une belle fille devrait apprécier le bon vin,” his voice so sincere.

“Merci,” I meow as I take the magazine.

Just then I realize we are in Greenwich Village and I hop out off my seat. I turn and bend over and kiss Laurent on his cheek. Then I spin around as I begin to blush bright red and jump off the bus with Beyoncé signing in my ears.

I stroll down 7th Ave skimming the wine magazine. Hmm, Pomerol. I read on:

“Pomerol is a small wine region in Bordeaux that produces distinguished and highly sought-after red wines. There are several allowed g* r *a *p *e varieties, but Merlot is the undisputed star of the region. It is often complemented by Cabernet Franc, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Malbec.”

I stop and look up. And what do I see? A wine boutique, Chelsea Wine Country. Cosmic!

I’m greeted by a young mademoiselle (French, perhaps?) who eyes my magazine. I show her the article on Pomerol and she smiles taking my hand and leads me to a corner of the little shop. And there after a few moments of study, I select a bottle of Chateau Royaumont Lalande de Pomerol.

I make the purchase and secure the bottle in my backpack and head out onto the streets. The winter sky is clear with the sun providing a nice warm day to walk.

Now what, dear readers, goes with wine?

Justine?

Shame on you! Such dirty thoughts you all have!!

Strawberries?

Better, but not what I am thinking.

Chocolate?

“That’s a bingo!” as Christoph Waltz would say.

I turn onto Greenwich Ave and enter Li-Lac Chocolates. A nice older woman with a white blouse showing her ample cleavage (why are sexy women drawn to me?) intercepts my path and asks if I need any assistance. I’m about to suggest she take me into the back room to undress each other.

But, remember, I’m a good kitty. Meow.

“Yes, if you could show me your box chocolates?” I request.

She takes me around another aisle and several shelves present themselves to me. She patiently stands slightly behind and to my side with her hands clasped in front of her. I scan the shelves with my cat eyes and pick a box. I read the description:


This 1.5 lb. French Assortment gourmet chocolate gift box contains a classic mix of milk and dark chocolate squares filled with delicious centers. Each piece is made fresh in small batches for exceptional quality and superior taste. Fillings include French Cream, Caramel, Mocha, Mousse, Marzipan, Rum, Hazelnut Truffle, Chocolate Fudge, and more.

This popular gift assortment was inspired by European-style chocolates from the 1920's, and contains 56 pieces carefully packed into a signature lilac gift box. A customer favorite that everyone will love!


“This will do,” I meow and hand the box to her.

I follow her to the register and she rings it up. $85. She notices I hesitate before handing over my credit card.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be disappointed. Each square you bite into will remind you of every girlfriend you ever tasted,” she purrs.

Ok, she didn’t say that! But I swear, she did!

Another required item secured in my backpack and I wait at the bus stop to go home.

That night in bed I read that omnipresent tome I keep on my bedstand, The Real Witches of New England: History, Lore & Modern Practice. I get sucked into the world of spells and witches, I feel Nona touch me as I read about her; chills and goosebumps occur more than once and I swear I could feel fingernails lightly scratching my back. But each time I turn around only the depression of my back slowly fades as my cushioned headboard regains its original flat surface.


February 13th

It’s 10 am. Sitting at my kitchen table my eyes are directed at my laptop screen, my lips begin sipping my fourth cup of coffee. Two young brunettes with small breasts are kissing each other. One sits back on her bed as the other helps pull her panties off. Her legs spread as her girlfriend begins licking her shaved kitty. She stops to pull her long brown hair away so the camera can record the action properly. Meow.

I get the urge to pee. Too much coffee. I let the video play, loudly, as I walk to my bathroom. Soft moans follow me. As does Salem. I shut the door so she can’t watch.

“Meow.”

“Go away, Salem!” I giggle as I begin to tinkle.

FLUSH!

I open the door and yawn. My body finds my soft bed and pillow as I take a catnap. Salem joins me. The sounds of two women licking and moaning with excitement fade into my dreams.

Yawn. 12 pm. I get up and turn the tv on. In the kitchen, I open the bottle of Chateau Royaumont Lalande de Pomerol and pour a glass. A large glass. Back on the couch I use the remote and select The Flight Attendant on HBO on a recommendation from my Uncle Art. Soon the wrapper is off the box of chocolates and I’m pouring another big glass of wine.

Almost three hours later of binge watching and eating chocolates and drinking wine I stand up and stretch. Salem imitates me, arching her back and flexing her little sharp claws. I bend over and pet her with a smile.

I feel the need to go for a jog.

Stripping off my warm flannel pjs I catch myself in the full-length mirror. I stop to look as if someone else inhabits my eyes. What do they see? Is it clue girl? Is it the witch Nona? I feel a presence.

“Meow.”

“Oh! Salem, you startled me,” I giggle. Maybe the presence was her.

I find my black running tights. The adidas logo appears on the lower left shin as I pull them up my legs and watch the three reflective stripes appear in the mirror as I finish stretching them over my ass. I search my room and find Salem sitting on my black sports bra. It was difficult to find, blending in with her fur, meow. I check the mirror again as I pull it down over my breasts and make sure it fits comfortably. Then my adidas sports top with thumbholes in the sleeves to partially cover my paws in this cold weather. My butt finds a spot next to Salem on our bed as I lace up those familiar blue Asics. I have a new pair of Under Armour running shoes my Uncle Art ordered for me, but they haven’t arrived yet.

I stand up and check myself in the mirror. The vibrant stylized slash on my Asics usually gives me a cheery perspective on things, but I don’t feel happy. For the moment, I am sad and alone.

Before I leave, I zip up my hoodie, yes, also black, and slip a knit headband over my cat ears to keep them warm. No, not black. Deep purple, as Kaniqua taught me, it gives my dark brown hair some decent (re: sexy) highlights.

I pick Salem up and kiss her and playfully toss her into the living room. She lands on her feet. I giggle and turn. As I walk out of my apartment, I swear, I hear my cat giggle too.

It’s still cold out and there is a dusting of snow and ice in places but I haven’t been on a run for almost a week and I really need some fresh air therapy. I do a few quick stretches for my quads, hamstrings and hips, then I begin to lightly jog in the direction of Central Park.

I enter the park at the southeast corner and head up the walkway that parallels East Dr to start my six-mile stretch. I feel a slight burn along my hamstrings. Yes, I need this. My breath condenses in the cold air. I watch my puffs expel, but can’t stop thinking of going back to my apartment alone. The walkway takes me behind the large zoo complex. All quiet and snow covered. I run faster, breathe deeper as the cold air burns my lungs, but my mind is not paying attention to what I’m doing. I cross over 65th St following the path close to the eastern edge of the park. It is almost void of pedestrians the winter cold has driven them indoors. I concentrate on attaining my runner’s high, that euphoric feeling and burst of energy I savor when jogging. The spots of snow and ice fly by without any recognition. Two miles in and I’m pushing, running faster trying to escape my loneliness.

I sprint over E 72nd St and take the path that branches off to the right. Soon I see the Conservatory Water Pond and I am drawn to a smaller path that veers to the right. My blue Asics carry me swiftly as the path curves around the pond. At the north end I see a large bronze sculpture. As I get closer, I see snow covering the hat on a small man, snow on some rabbit’s ears, snow on a… Cheshire cat?? And Alice?? I’m almost past it and my head turns back to take one last look at Wonderland.

Not thinking about my over exuberant running, distracted by the sculpture of Alice, unaware of the ice…


**************************************************************************************************************************


I am being helped into the back of a cab. I sit there watching my ankle grow like Jenny’s swollen breasts. It grows bigger and the pain follows suit. FUCK!!! I am afraid it’s broken. The cab arrives at a hospital. Lenox Hill the sign proclaims with Emergency in glowing red letters. Minutes later I’m sitting up in one of the beds waiting for the results of the X-rays. The nurse makes me swallow a big Vicodin pill then sits to talk with me and fill out some paper work. I’m uncomfortable and dazed and try to adjust the ice pack on my ankle, reaching down and feeling other small pains in my body.

Once the paperwork is done, we chat some more. My nurse is an older lady with an unfamiliar accent. Definitely not from around here. I’m curious so I ask where she is from. She stands up in her dark blue scrubs, the V neckline exposes a good portion of her chest. I can’t help but notice how huge they are and she smiles at my dark wandering eyes. She tells me she is from Oregon, one of so very many traveling nurses that have been called up during the pandemic, here in NYC for a ten-week stint.

She notices my discomfort and bends over my ankle to move the ice pack around. I again get a glimpse down that dark canyon bordered by those massive mammaries. Usually, I am not attracted to older women, but she is very sweet and competent with good bedside manners. I study her face and catch the sparkle in her lovely blue eyes. Her long hair with curls, reflect silver under the lights, but I see hints of the burning red that lie hidden underneath. She moves over to a table against the wall to write something down and her scrubs define her body, giving it a fit form, even her wide ass looks hot! I giggle and the ice pack falls off. She returns with a smile to help me with it and this time I try to read her badge as it swings just above her deep inviting canyon. My eyes read the name: Nona.

I begin to feel dizzy and I want to faint. I think it must be the Vicodin. She helps me lay back. I close my eyes but hear her voice. Something about sharing a tiny apartment with another travelling nurse. For some reason I hear myself ask what her name is. The curtain around my emergency bed is pulled back and I hear some whispering. Talking maybe, but in my hazy state it sounds like whispering. I struggle to keep my eyes open and see a face hovering above. It’s Nona again. She’s telling me the X-rays were negative, no broken bones. I swear she sounds much younger now. And like a stern mother, she warns me it is still a serious injury.

I hear another voice and a short discussion follows. Something about the shift ends at three and no one can pick her up and Nona’s voice says something. She can what, my mind tries to comprehend. Nona is talking to me but she can tell I’m not paying much attention. I think it’s nappy time now.


************************************************************************************************************************


I wake up and wait for my eyes to focus. I’m on a couch. My couch. I see my bare leg elevated on the armrest with a cold-Pac nearby. Slowly the fog lifts.

“Meow.”

It’s my Salem. I look over and see her on the lap of… the nurse?

“Hello, Sarah,” her warm, motherly voice softly rings across the room.

I look around my own apartment. There’s an open can of Fancy Feast on the kitchen counter. I look back to… Nona. Salem sits on her lap licking her paws.

“I fed your cat. She told me her name is Salem,” Nona says as she licks her fingers after eating one of my chocolates.

I can’t believe this. Salem only talks to me!

“Uh, yeah, that’s correct. How did I get home?” I ask.

“I brought you here, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No. Thanks.” I reply.

“You had told us at the hospital you had no one to pick you up. Then the Vicodin kind of hit and you were in and out of it, honey. After I helped you sign the release papers, I got an Uber to bring you home. You were so sleepy, I helped you inside. And then, well, I basically carried you like if you were my daughter. So light, and quiet!” Nona laughs, so warm and inviting.

I realize she is one smart witch, er, nurse.

Salem jumps down and sneaks over and under the coffee table then jumps up onto my stomach.

“Uhh! Salem!” I quietly exclaim as I scratch her whiskers and chin.

“They always get that part wrong… I never…” Nona mumbles.

“Get what wrong?” I ask, seeing Nona put my book down I usually read at night in bed.

“Oh, nothing dear,” as she looks over at me, and I swear her eyes flash green!

It must be the Vicodin I keep telling myself.

As I continue to wake up, we talk. Well, mostly Nona talks. She gets me a cup of Celestial Seasonings Chamomile tea. She puts a sofa pillow on the coffee table and swivels my leg over and onto it. Then she sits down next to me. After a few soothing sips, Nona tells me about another talent she has, that of an artist. And as if from thin air, her smartphone appears in her hand. She begins to show me some of her drawings and paintings. I am clearly impressed. Nona is a very good artist! She has drawings of flowers and even one of a fine detailed bird. They all look so real you could almost touch them! Then she slides her finger across the screen and a beautiful woman appears. One after the other. Portraits, models, clothed and nudes. Very erotic. Even a few female couples that piqued my interest. My thoughts turn to Nona, but my mind is cloudy and I don’t want to make a fool of myself, so I remain quiet. But there’s something about those pictures, those female models.

My ankle starts to hurt again and I ask if she has more of those pills.

“You don’t want any more of those dear. I got you a few strong Motrin and If you like you can wash it down with a glass of wine.”

“Oh, yes, please.”

“And just ONE glass! It looks like you had some earlier,” she says taking my empty bottle of Chateau Royaumont Lalande de Pomerol with her into the kitchen.

In a moment my tea has been replaced with a tumbler half full of pinot noir and she has helped herself to one as well along with another piece of chocolate. I watch her mysteriously slim body float around my small apartment. Still in her dark blue scrubs, I try to imagine her taking them off. Showing me her naked body. Wondering what age has done to it.


*********************************************************************************************************************


“Sarah?” her voice is close. Real close.

I wake up.

“Oh! Did I fall asleep?” I ask, astonished.

“Don’t worry, dear. It’s late. You need to rest. Let me put you to bed and I will check up on you tomorrow.”

And just like that, with a snap of her fingers (I swear!) I’m lying in my bed, the book floats down onto my bedstand, the bedroom light turns out, and my door closes.

Oh, and Salem curls up next to me. But I am already fast asleep.