It seemed silly to say yes, since I didn’t really know Leeta. She knew me better than I knew her. Leeta was as mysterious to me as she was to the people seeing her face in the news, and yet as I reclined on the bed in the underground apartment, I knew that she had led me to this place. I explained this to Verena.
“I had planned to talk about the surgery today and whether you’d made any decisions about it,” Verena said. The surgery. It seemed as if my plans for it existed in the distant past, in a lifetime belonging to another woman. “But rather than us talking about that today, I think you should read this.” Verena picked up her bag from the floor and dug through it. She pulled out a red spiral-bound notebook. At first I didn’t recognize it. She handed it to me and I opened it to the first page and began to read:
may 18th: louise b. at café, typing on laptop. i think she’s doing her work for the kitty-cat. she’s been here for hours—so boring. two teen boys say something to her (what?) & laugh but she ignores them. i wish i could punch them in the face.
(she seems friendly with the owner of the café)
question: louise b. went to church this morning. why??
“Louise B.?” I asked Verena, confused.
“That was the name Leeta gave you in her notebook. Your black bob reminded her of Louise Brooks.”
Charmed by the nickname, I ran my hand over the notebook as if it were a priceless object. “Where did you get this?”
“When Julia came over yesterday, she gave it to me. She didn’t want any trace of Leeta in her office, just in case.”
“In case of what?”
“You know how paranoid Julia is. She thinks the police suspect her of having secret information about Leeta. She already thinks everyone at Austen is after her, and now this.” Whatever the reason, I was glad Julia had given Verena the notebook.
Verena left me alone to read, saying she’d return again soon for another session. Only about ten pages of the notebook contained writing, a loopy scrawl in blue ballpoint. I had often seen Leeta holding the blue pen. Now I’d get to find out what she’d written with it.
may 21st: success!! today i figured out why louise b. and so many women visit that church during the week. they’re not religious fanatics—even worse, they’re waist watchers. (!!) the church rents out the meeting room in the basement. now we know louise b. is dieting (not surprising)
(jules, are you actually reading this?)
may 22nd: wondering how louise b. can afford to live in a brownstone in this section of brooklyn. (??) lots of really asshole-ish and pretentious people around here. louise b. would be better off elsewhere (in my opinion). but how does she afford it?? austen media pays shit. i don’t think she has a roommate (her name is the only one on the mailbox). she’s too square to be a drug dealer. family money? hmmm, doesn’t seem like it.
may 23rd: i’ve never seen anyone from austen media visit louise b. i don’t think you have to worry about her being friends with any of them, jules. i never see her with anyone outside the café, not ever ever ever. she’s always alone.
it’s so hot today but louise b. wears a long skirt and long-sleeved top. she never shows any skin except her hands, neck, and face. her clothes are black. she stares at the sidewalk as she walks. poor louise b. always looks like she’s on her way to a funeral.
at the café all day. boring boring. (the coffee is good though)
may 24th: she spent all day at that café. went to supermarket on the way home & i saw some of the stuff she put in her basket:
—waist watchers frozen fettucine alfredo dinner?shanghai-style chicken & rice?fish & chips
—apples
—cans of tuna
—fat-free blueberry yogurt (!)
—fat-free mayo (!)
—licorice whips (huh?)
two skinny white guys (mid-20s, facial hair) browsing in the frozen food section took a photo of louise b. from behind with their phones. they were laughing at her. she had no idea. motherfuckers.
on the way home, louise b. asked if i was following her. OOPS! better work on my technique. (i played dumb)
may 25th: ho hum ho hum. same old everything. louise b. goes to café, works on laptop, goes home. why’s she so dedicated to the kitty-cat? (the patron saint ofgirls, our lady of teenage sorrows, the queen of austen media!) louise b. should aim higher.
(jules, did i tell you the rumor that’s rampant on the 4th floor? apparently, the kitty-cat is a secret lesbian & the b-friend is just an accessory. heh. makes me think twice about her new column—“why are boys so baffling?” hardy har har.)
* * *
7:00 p.m. i’m outside louise b.’s place now. lights are on, curtains drawn. she’s not gonna budge. she never does. i’m outta here.
* * *
may 26th–28th:
* * *
memorial day weekend. i sat outside for **hours** this weekend. you’re lucky i brought some good music but i’m getting tired of this jules. there’s nothing to see here. she went out for a while on saturday but that’s it. it’s such a pretty day & her curtains are drawn. if i lived this life, i would slit my wrists. louise b. is making me seriously depressed.
* * *