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The Money’s Servant Woo The Insider 

The Money’s Servant

There she is. The star of New York City’s talk is walking into the building. However, she’s not alone. She laughs under her breath quietly as boy #4 of the week whispers something into her ear. She’s laughing yet, her green eyes aren’t reciprocating the same. Her black hair is still shining as it was when she had left 3 hours ago. Even though her lipstick is smudged, her makeup is still flawless.

Additionally, she makes all the expensive furniture in this room look faulty. She truly is a piece of work. She bids the guy farewell, and off she goes towards the elevators. Her tan legs glisten as she walks. God, even her dress hugged her curves perfectly. I can’t keep my eyes off of her. She stops walking and turns around. I knock out my daze and go back to my serious face. It seems I’m too late, though, because she shoots me a dirty look. I take a big gulp and look away in embarrassment.

Tick, tick, tick…

The clock finally strikes at 1, and I lock all the front doors. I hail myself a cab and tell the driver to go towards Hunts Point. I look outside the window and stare at all the large buildings and elegant houses passing by. They all have big windows, and the darkness of the night is brightened by the street lights lining across each side of the sidewalk. One day, just one day, I’ll be living in those homes. I will look out from my penthouse balcony and take in New York city’s views. Hopefully, Amelia will be by my side then too.

“Here you are, sir,” the driver says as we arrive in front of my apartment building.

“Thank you, have a good night,” I say as I hand him the money.

I get out of the taxi, and I watch it disappear around the corner. I look around to see trash bags lined up on the sidewalk. On top of that trash, trash is scattered all over the roads. Used blunts, old newspapers, plastic bottles, you name it. In front of me, all the apartments are painted rusty red, and they seem to be falling apart. Even the one lamppost on the street is flickering, providing little to no light. This neighbourhood screams nothing but failed dreams.

I walk up to my apartment and unlock the door with my key. I climb up the stairs and reach my doorstep. I unlock the door with another key. The place invites me with its cold darkness.

“Where is the goddamn light,” I mutter as I struggle to find the light switch.

After trailing my hands across the wall for about 30 seconds, I find the light switch. Flicking it upwards, the apartment finally reveals itself. The apartment is designed in a studio style. In the farthest right corner of the room is a single bed where I lay and dream of all the wonders of living in the Upper East Side. In the middle of the room is a blue sofa with a black coffee table in front of it. Across the wall is a wooden dresser with a small box television on top of it. Towards the left of the place is my kitchen. It consists of a small white fridge, an oven, and a microwave. Lastly, to end the fine royal tour of my chateau is my bathroom right in between the kitchen and the living room. Honestly, I hate living in this place but, I have been saving up from my job as a doorman. Hopefully, I can save enough money to move into the Upper East Side, but it might be impossible with the high rent. Oh well, I still have a lot of hard work to do before getting there. I grab some clean clothes to go to bed in, and I head for the bathroom.

I wash my face and brush my teeth. I have to go to bed early because I have a shift at 8. I barely get enough sleep, and honestly, my eye bags are starting to make me look like a raccoon. I change into my clean clothes and head straight to bed.

While lying there, I look up at the canvas wall art of Manhattan. I got it at a garage sale for $7. In my opinion, it was a steal. Even though my only view from my window is the backside of another apartment, I, at least, get to go to sleep while having all the beautifully lit buildings of Manhattan in front of me. Ever since I was younger, I always admired the Upper East Side. I would sometimes accompany my father to his work, which ironically was also a doorman for the same building. Talk about generations of Smith’s family being doormen. It feels just like yesterday…

Hey, dad, you’re meaning to tell me that you work in such a fancy place,” I said as I looked around at all the expensive furniture and art surrounding the lobby of the building.

“Yes, my boy, maybe one day you and I could also be living in one of these buildings,” my father said as he smiled widely at me with his best and only suit on. “However, there’s no easy way to reach success. You must work hard, Noah.”

Ever since that day, I have kept my father’s words in my head. Even though he is no longer alive due to dying of old age, I promise to fulfill his dreams by working hard.

Slowly but surely, I doze off with vivid images of Manhattan crowding my head.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

I wake up to the sound of the alarm from my phone. I hit “Stop” and lazily get out of bed. I look at my phone, and it is currently 7:15, which means I have 15 minutes until I have to get in a taxi. I quickly wash my face and change into the suit I thrifted years ago. Finally, before leaving my house, I grab an apple on my way out.

I hail a cab and tell the driver to go towards 1136 fifth avenue. As he drives, I notice that the dirty streets turn into clean sidewalks and dump trucks turn into the lush and green Central Park. Little old apartments turn into modern skyscrapers. ring ring ring

I pick up my phone and answer, “Hello?”

“Hello Noah, it’s your landlord here. I am calling because your rent is overdue for three weeks. Do you have the money?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll hand it in tomorrow afternoon.”

“Ok, you better pay me tomorrow, or you’re getting kicked out.”

“Yes, sir.”

beep

To be honest, I did not have the money. What am I gonna do? I paid the driver and got out of the taxi. I go inside the building and await ahead my long day of opening doors, greeting people and delivering packages to the residents.

It’s been ten hours, and I still have not seen Amelia. Maybe she’s already caught up with another guy. Sigh. My job is so dull without her around.

After four hours, she finally shows up. Not to my surprise, she’s also with a guy. She’s still in her work clothes and looks good as ever. As I continue to admire her from afar, I notice the guy beginning to get closer to kiss her. I admit that a bit of jealousy is sparking inside me. However, she looks uncomfortable. My heart rate starts to increase. He kisses her, and she seems to be struggling to get him off. I immediately begin to walk over with my fists clenched. His hands trail down her body, and she begins to scream, “Help!” I run over and throw the guy onto the floor. Anger takes over my body. I go in for a punch and continue to throw them at his face with my vision blurring, hands getting bruised, and breath getting short. “Don’t.” punch “You.” punch “Dare..” punch “Touch.” punch “Her.” punch “Again.” “Please stop! The police are on their way,” she says.

Her delicate voice stops me from going further. I get up and notice the mess I have created. The man’s face is unrecognizable. Oh well, he deserves it.

The police arrive on the scene and take both my and Amelia’s statements about what just happened. They take the man and the building’s CCTV footage to their station. After they leave, I notice that Amelia is sitting on the couch, looking ahead with her eyes blank.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” I say politely.

“Not the first it has happened, so I think I’ll be fine,” she says with a hint of sadness in her tone.

“You have to be careful who you trust. Some people tend to only show you what you want to see until their real selves are exposed.”

“You are right, thank you-” she looks at my name tag, “Mr. Smith.”

“It is my duty,” I say, “I must go back to working, have a goodnight, Mrs. Walter.” I begin to walk back to my desk.

“Wait, Mr. Smith!” she yells.

I turn around, “Yes?”

“Your hands.”

“What about my hands?”

“Tonight, you saved me; the least I could do is invite you back to my place and help heal your wounds. ”

Hold on. Am I dreaming? Is THE Amelia Walter inviting me to her house?

“Sir?” she says, cutting me off my thoughts.

“Yes, that would be very helpful, ” I say in a calm voice even though I’m the opposite from it. “However, my shift still hasn’t ended, so I’ll be at your door in 20 minutes.”

“No worries, I’ll get the bandages and rubbing alcohol ready,” she says and then walks off to the elevators.

This is definitely my lucky day…

After the anticipating 20 minutes, the clock strikes 1, and I waste no time making my way towards her apartment. I get onto the elevator and press floor number 14.

ting

I look down at my phone and see a message from my landlord, “Do not forget the money tomorrow.” Shoot. With all this chaos, I almost forgot about the deadline for the rent. I really don’t know what to do. I’m going to be kicked out and have nowhere to live.

The elevator door opens to Amelia’s penthouse suite. I have already been here to drop off packages but, the place wows me every time. It looks like the inside of the Louvre in Paris. Never been, but the Google images are a spitting picture of her penthouse.

“Hello? Miss. Walter? It’s me, Mr. Smith!” I yell out into the large empty home.

“I’m upstairs to the bathroom on the left!” she yells back.

“Alright, I’ll come up!”

As I make my way towards her stairs, I notice a red velvet Cartier box sitting on the coffee table in front of her sofa. For some reason, I start walking towards it instead. I open the box, and looking back at me is the most beautiful watch I have ever seen. It is silver and dainty but looks expensive. I start to think back to my rent problems. In less than 12 hours, I have to give the money that I don’t have, or I’ll be homeless. I close the box and put it into my pocket. Miss Walter probably has a closet filled with these; she will never notice. Plus, by selling the watch, maybe I’ll be able to get out of that rut that I live in.

I walk upstairs and go towards the bathroom.

“What took you so long?” Amelia says while holding the rubbing alcohol.

“Oh, I went towards the right instead of the left,” I say while laughing nervously.

“Alright, well, wait here, I forgot the bandages,” she says with a smile and leaves the bathroom.

Phew. She did not look suspicious at all.

After waiting about twenty minutes, she still hasn’t come back with the bandages. What’s taking her so long? I walk downstairs, and instant regret creeps up in my body. The cops are here.

“You’re under arrest, Mr. Noah Smith,” the cop says while two others handcuff me.

“I don’t understand. Why am I getting arrested?” I say in panic even though I clearly knew.

“You don’t understand? When you took longer than usual in coming upstairs, I was suspicious. However, once you used that stupid excuse of yours, I knew something was wrong,” Amelia says. “So, I went downstairs, and sure enough, the Cartier box was gone and to confirm my suspicions, the house footage caught you stealing.” I have no words.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer for advice before we ask you any questions. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish,” the police officer says while dragging me towards the elevator.

“One more thing, don’t go telling others who to trust when you can’t even be trusted yourself, hypocrite,” she says while yanking out the box from the pocket inside of my jacket.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and the elevator doors close. It’s the last time I’ll see her beautiful face.

I put my head down in shame for the rest of the elevator ride down. I couldn’t keep my father’s word.

We walk outside the building, and I look back at the building for a moment. This is the last time I’ll be seeing this beautiful structure as well. The policeman jerks me forward and pushes me inside the car.

As they drive, I notice the borough of Manhattan fading behind me. This is finally the end of my dreams. Goodbye, Manhattan.
By Tanjin Sultana

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