I couldn’t face my apartment.  I walked down Third Avenue in a daze.  I was glad for the dark.  I was glad for the anonymity of New York streets because tears streamed down my cheeks, staining my dress.  No one noticed.  The regret in Alan’s eyes haunted me as I walked.  My bruised heart echoed my throbbing feet with every step I took. 

            At 65th Street, my gaze fell on Aunt Sally’s apartment building.  Aunt Sally, third cousin on my father’s side, was ten years older than my mother.   That’s why she insisted I call her “Aunt.”  Family gossip had long died, but the story was that in her thirties, Sally dated a multi-millionaire and carried on with the man for sixteen years before he dumped her for a younger woman. 

Aunt Sally walked away from the relationship with a quarter of a million dollars, but blew the entire amount on clothes and vacations.   (The clothes thing must be genetic.)  She believed that once she got over the hurt, she’d find another man. 

            The door buzzed.  As penance, I climbed the three flights teetering on my four-inch Choos.  They were the first things Aunt Sally noticed.

            “Nice shoes!  Did Alan buy them for you?”

            My heart leapt into my throat.  I swallowed to keep the razor out of my retort.  “I spent half a month’s paycheck buying this outfit and got dumped for it!”

            Only the left side of Aunt Sally’s face showed surprise.  The right side just sat there.  If she didn’t notice, I certainly did.

 “Alan dumped you?”  She peered closer.  “Oh!  You’ve been crying.” she said with half a mouth. 

            I waved a weary hand suddenly wondering why I came here. 

“He thinks I’m a bubble brain because I don’t know stocks from bonds or t-bills from tampons.”  I rolled my eyes at my own stupid joke.

Sally was already pouring me a glass of cheap wine.  Jay Leno was talking to both of us through the TV, his words practically inaudible, as the studio audience laughed at his jokes. “Well, that’s just dumb of Alan.  I don’t know about financial stuff, either.  Most women don’t.”  She winked at me with the good side of her face.

            She handed me a glass of Chardonnay.  I followed her the entire two feet from her kitchen counter to her vintage, leather sofa.  Her apartment wasn’t much bigger than my studio.   That wouldn’t be so bad if there wasn’t clutter everywhere.   I could see her unmade bed through the bedroom door, fashion magazines and romance novels making a small mountain atop the night stand, a pile of clothes blocking the closet door.  

I took one sip of the bad wine.  My stomach clenched as realization dawned:  If I didn’t get my act together, this would be me in thirty-five years.  Lonely and poor, wearing vintage couture, living in a thimble-sized space smelling of this morning’s bacon, drinking shitty wine and watching TV on a Thursday night.  Was this all that remained after riding the high life on someone else’s shoulders? 

            Silently thanking whatever angel steered me to 65th Street, I’d seen enough.  “You know?  My bad date made me more tired than I thought.  I have to go.”

Aunt Sally twisted around on the sofa so her good side would face me.  “Don’t you worry about Alan, honey.  Another wonderful man will come along and you won’t have to worry your pretty little head about a thing.”

I kissed her and left before I threw up my Chardonnay. 

Next morning, I got up early, careful not to wake Parker who worked nights at the restaurant.  I dressed and left for work.  I couldn’t even buy a cup of coffee because my wallet was still missing.

I needed to get a grip . . . immediately.

Not surprising, my colleague, Morgan Price, had been at her desk for an hour already. She was two years older, but had already earned her law degree.  As a peer, she was, without a doubt, the smartest woman I ever met.  Morgan was down-to-earth, taking charge of her life and career with the easy grace of a dancer.

Everyone needed a mentor.  I had secretly dubbed her as mine.  This morning, it felt as though the sun began to shine when she stopped at my desk. 

“You don’t look so good,” she said and checked her watch.  “And, in early.  Uh-oh.  What’s wrong?”

I felt suspiciously calm as I told her I blew it with Alan because I didn’t understand his job at Credit Suisse.             

Morgan’s gaze grew cautious.  “Do you care to understand, Sam?”

I couldn’t believe she’d nailed the truth.  I said, “Up until last night, no.  I didn’t care.  It’s all mumbo-jumbo to me.”

Morgan jumped all over that one.  She slotted me for dinner that night.  With a good meal and a chardonnay under our belts, I was going to begin my official finance training. 

I watched her walk away, all chic, dark-haired sexy and professional, and realized that somewhere between graduating early from high school, finishing law school and passing the bar by the age of twenty three, Morgan had discovered the secret to financial and personal independence: Confidence. 

Shoot.  Confidence was my middle name.  I was loaded with it.  Well, at least I knew how to dress!  But, now finance was my mission.

Later that morning, I spotted an e-mail from Alan.  Despite my new epiphany on confidence, butterflies ka-boomed inside my stomach, knocking into each other so badly, I had to press a hand to my middle.

My mouse couldn’t move quickly enough to open the e-mail. 

The message read:

            Good morning, Samantha,

            If you haven’t found your wallet yet, this is what you should do to prevent identify theft:

            FIRST- Call the fraud departments of the three major credit bureaus.  Request a “fraud alert” be placed on your
            file.

            SECOND – Contact your credit card companies, utilities, banks and other lenders and  speak to someone in the security or fraud department.  Follow your phone call with a letter.  Close all accounts that have been tampered with.  When opening new accounts choose your PIN numbers carefully.  Don’t use your mother’s maiden name, your birth date, the last four digits of your Social Security number, or your phone number.

            THIRD – File a report with the police in the community where the identify theft took place.  Get a copy of the police report.

            If you think you might be the victim of identity theft or if your wallet or purse is lost or    stolen . . . NOTIFY THESE AGENCIES RIGHT AWAY:

            YOUR LOCAL POLICE DEPARTMENT

            MAJOR CREDIT CARD COMPANIES

            American Express                   800-441-0519

            Visa                                         800 VISA911

            MasterCard                             800-307-7309

            Discover                                  800-347-2683

            Diners Club                             800-234-6377

            Carte Blanche                         800-234-6377

            CREDIT REPORT BUREAUS

            Equifax                                   800-525-6285

            Experian                                  800-397-3742

            Trans Union                            800-680-7289

            SOCIAL SECURITY ADMINISTRATION

            800-772-1213

            YOUR STATE’S DRIVER’S LICENSE OFFICE

            FEDERAL TRACE COMMISSION (FTC) IDENTITY THEFT  www.ftc.gov

            HOTLINE -  877-IDTHEFT

            YOUR LOCAL BANK BRANCH

            ATM CARD

                        I hope this helps with the lost wallet.  It’s really important that you protect yourself from someone stealing your identity.  Got to get back to trading . . . BONDS, remember?

Cordially, Alan

 

Cordially?   There was no love in the word, cordially.  Zero.  Zip.  None.  His e-mail was motivated solely from his financial obligation toward the monetary jungle of my life.  I probably wouldn’t have heard from him if he wasn’t so concerned about my wallet.

I’d lost him for sure. 

The knowledge left a dent in my ticker.  I rubbed my chest to ease the pain. 

In the meantime, I had to protect my identity.  I printed out his e-mail and began the phone calls right away.  It proved to be the most exhausting hour in my life.  I learned that with today’s savvy technology thieves, losing my wallet could literally rob me of my identity and screw up my credit for years.