Venal Love

New York City, also known as the "city that never sleeps," is a vibrant and cosmopolitan metropolis located on the East Coast of the United States. It is known for its iconic architecture, bustling streets, picturesque neighborhoods, and intense cultural life. Impressive skyscrapers like the Empire State Building and the One World Trade Center dominate the urban landscape. The city is divided into five boroughs: Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, and Staten Island, each with its own charm and personality. Jake knew the city well, having lived there for many years in his youth. He recommended New York City to me because he believed it was the city of opportunities, and no one knew me in the five boroughs of New York to remind me of my past mistakes or make them a constraint for my future. Jake saw New York City as a new chance for me to start over, to find a job, have a girlfriend, and start a family. But that was his view. I saw it all differently, even if it truly represented a new start for me. New York is also a multicultural city, with a wide variety of restaurants, festivals, and cultural events reflecting the diversity of its population. From the glamour of Manhattan to more bohemian neighborhoods like Greenwich Village or Williamsburg, to the trendy neighborhood of Brooklyn and the historic neighborhood of Harlem, there is something for everyone. The city's parks, such as Central Park and the High Line park, are iconic places that offer green spaces to relax and recharge. Noise, lights, and crowds are part of the ambiance of New York. All this gives it an energy and vitality that attract millions of visitors each year. I knew that I could rely on this aspect of the city offering a unique experience to each visitor to use my charm. Moreover, even if I had chickened out, I didn't have enough gas to go further up to another city. Barely 10 liters. With just three hundred dollars, Jake's letter was all I had. My suitcase, let's not talk about it, for what it contained. I forgot: I had in the car trunk the small revolver that lay next to his body that lay in blood in the middle of that white sheet, a miserable 6.35 cheap; it was still in his pocket when the Sheriff had come to tell my uncle Jake and me to take the body home to bury it. This revolver reminded me of him and all my memories attached to California, a city that now belongs to my past and holds the saddest of my memories. I must say that I counted on Uncle Jake's letter more than anything else because it contained all the instructions I had to follow to settle in New York City effortlessly and without drawing attention to myself. It had to work, it had to. I looked at my hands on the steering wheel, my fingers, my nails. Really, no one could find fault with them; my hands were cleaner than ever. No risk on that side. Maybe I was going to make it through this new adventure, riskier than a pact with the devil... Uncle Jake had met Bruce in college. Bruce didn't behave like the other students with him. They spoke to him willingly even though he didn't look sociable; they drank together, went out together in Bruce's Toyota Carina. It was because of Bruce that the others tolerated Uncle Jake; they saw him as a delinquent Mexican. When he left to replace his father at the head of the factory, Uncle Jake had to think about leaving too. He came back with us to California. He had learned a lot and had no trouble being appointed chief of the city's works department. And then, the story of the Nylsons' daughter ruined everything. An forbidden love that he shouldn't be living, the Nylsons didn't want such a relationship and reputation for their daughter; so they accused him of a r**e story, thus ending his promising career. And as if that wasn't enough for them; they even wanted his life. I had enough hypocrisy not to say anything, but not Uncle Jake and it cost him an arm. He saw nothing wrong with it. The girl's father and brother had taken care of him. And as nature sells nothing by chance, eighteen years later one of their nieces began to circle around me. Uncle Jake knew that his story with this family had changed my personality and that I would be content to break it rather than love it. That's where my uncle's letter to Bruce came from. I couldn't stay in that town anymore, and he asked Bruce to find me something. Not too far away, so he could see me from time to time, but far enough away so that no one would know us. He thought that with my looks and character, we would be absolutely safe. He may have been right, but I still remembered the Nylsons' niece. Bookstore manager in New York; that's my new job. I had to get in touch with the former manager Joe Goldberg and get up to speed in three days. He was changing management, moving up the ranks, and wanted to make some noise along the way. There was sunshine this afternoon in Manhattan. The street was now called St. Ave. Uncle Jake probably didn't know that. The old name was also still on the signs. At 555, I saw the store and parked my Jeep in front of the door. The manager was copying numbers onto forms, sitting behind his register; he was a middle-aged man with hard brown eyes and pale blond hair, as I could see when I opened the door. I said hello to him. -Hello. Can I help you with something? -I have this letter for you. -Ah! You're the one I need to inform. Let me see that letter. He took it, read it, turned it over, and handed it back to me. "It's not complicated," he said. "Here's the inventory." He made a circular gesture. "The accounts will be finished by tonight. For the sale, advertising, and everything else, follow the instructions of the company's inspectors and the papers you'll receive." -Is it a franchise? I asked him. -Yes. Branches. -Okay, I nodded. What sells the most? -Oh! Novels, Harlequins, best-sellers. Bad or good novels, it's none of our business. Religious books, quite a few, and school books too. Not many children's books or serious books. I've never tried to develop that side. -For you, religious books are not serious, I said. He ran his tongue over his lips. -Don't make me say what I didn't say. I could only laugh heartily. -Don't take it the wrong way, I don't believe in it much either. Well, let me give you a piece of advice. Don't show it to people and go listen to the pastor every Sunday like in the countryside, because otherwise they'll soon lay you off. I could see him chuckling at me. -Oh! Come on, I said. I'll show them and I'll listen to the pastor, I said to defend myself because I felt quite ridiculous in front of his words. -Oh! Calm down, kid, it's not worth getting worked up over. Only virgins do that for nothing. Or are you still chaste? He said with a surprised and mediocre air, and as if that wasn't enough, he continued with one last sentence to be sarcastic. -You'll have the chance to meet Sister Veronica. Or you won't know how to handle her. This time, he was snickering in a more violent and ironic way than the last time. I didn't know what to do with him and his sarcastic humor. He eventually approached me, tapped my shoulder, shook his head, and continued walking towards the exit. Once at the door, I could hear his voice again. -The key to the door is in the left drawer at the counter level, don't forget to lock up when you leave. There's a letter attached to it. Bye! Oops... It wasn't easy with him and his constant irony. I could only imagine what my days would be like if I had to spend them with him, I would probably be his punching bag. I could thank my lucky stars that he thought of himself as being above the dust on his path, as he climbed the ranks and changed management. I would have him less on my back or maybe more, as I would at least be spared the role of his whipping boy. I had the idea of walking around the bookstore for a moment to get an idea of it when I heard a noise, it was the sound of the door, someone had just opened it. -Good evening. This person said before I had the chance to see who it was. -It says closed, but I saw the lights were still on and I wanted to take my chances. -It says closed, but for you, I can make myself available to let you take as much time as you need to choose the book you like. -No, it's not for a book. -Oh really? I don't follow. -It's to deliver this letter and package to Mr. Joe Goldberg. -A letter, I said. This Mr. Joe Goldberg also left me one in the drawer, I added. -Mr. Joe Goldberg isn't here. I'm the new manager, I can receive it for him. -Okay, give me your signature and name here. I approached her to take the pen and provide my signature and name as requested. But it was at that moment that her blue eyes and angelic face, hidden beneath the bicycle helmet, captivated my attention. -It's here, she said to show me where I should sign. I snapped out of my daydream, I had to receive the package. Besides, I shouldn't be nosy. As she approached me to show me where to sign, I couldn't help but notice the beauty emanating from her. She handed me the discharge form for me to hold. As I signed, she got rid of the packages she was holding and took off her helmet for a moment. The gesture exposed her angelic face and her blue eyes penetrated me to the core and captivated me instantly. I was overwhelmed by a flood of emotions, my heart beating faster as I tried to stay calm and focused on the task at hand. My gaze couldn't help but settle on the delicate curves of her face, her soft and plump lips, and her long brown hair framing her face and falling on either side. Every movement of her body seemed to amplify my sensations, and every sound emanating from her body resonated in my head like a sweet melody. I couldn't help but wonder how such a creature could be real, and how she could even notice my presence. In my head, I had an irresistible urge to stay close to her all evening, to dive into her deep gaze and explore every inch of her beauty. But alas... that wasn't possible, she had just come to deliver a package. She could also seem abrupt in character, just like her aggressive face. With a speed that I didn't understand, she grabbed her clipboard and pen, then immediately fled like a gazelle fleeing a predator. Not even a goodbye. Not even a thank you. It was ungrateful of her, I thought to myself. Not to complain about her, but to plead my case. She could have told me her name, but no, she chose to fly away.