Thumb Drive Meet Cute

Control, Alt, Delete.

Thunder grumbled outside. She clicked the recycle bin icon. With one key, all the little folder icons vanished before her eyes. She pulled out the thumb drive. The file she’d saved before wiping it from his hard drive was named “J.S. Will Pay”. At first glance, grainy photos and saved xeroxed copies filled the folder. Lindsey planned to give it more attention this evening.

Pedestrians hurried under awnings for shelter as a blanket of rain draped over the streets of Brooklyn below. She slipped her key off his key ring and left his spare on the kitchen counter. She didn’t take her shoes off this time, leaving divots in the plush white carpet from her two-inch heels. Her skirt pinched as she bent to place the full water bowl for Ruthie on the floor. He deserved to burn in hell, but she wasn’t about to kill his cat.

Piles of Manila folders covered the coffee table with strategic plans, policies, and proposals. Ben’s entire Community District 2 campaign, Lindsey painstakingly designed in Photoshop. She’d spent hours on it in her free time before finding out about Melissa.

Her toothbrush and makeup bag cluttered the otherwise bare surface of the dresser in the bedroom. She shoved her things into her oversized purse.

Five blissful months she’d spent lying on the silk sheets that fitted his king-size bed. Wythe blue, a gentle feminine bedspread with a deep forest green comforter from Crate and Barrel's winter sale. How could Lindsey forget? She’d designed the UI for the color schemes last spring. She grabbed the largest pillow at the front and screamed into it; anger, frustration, and feral anguish seeped into the delicate threads, along with smears of her lipstick and mascara. She hoped it would never wash out – an imprint of her disappointment permanently displayed in his otherwise pristine bedroom.

A silver frame with tarnished edges, propped next to his bed, displayed an elderly dog sprawled across a chipped porch. The personal touches in the room depicted a single, thirty-year-old man attached to his childhood dog, baseball, and model cars.

Lindsey slipped the photo of the dog into the drawer. She didn’t want judgment from a loyal friend. Papers crunched against the sharp corners. She pulled them out. Receipts for dinners she didn’t attend. Ostra last Thursday, Black and Blue Saturday evening. Apparently, the higher-end evenings were reserved for his wife. It made sense really since he owned a two story brownstone with her and Lindsey only enjoyed him in the one bedroom, rental.

She pushed the frame further in, but it snagged against a crumpled picture. Two young boys in their high school green-and-white baseball uniforms hugged shoulders, mitts in opposite hands. When the picture sat framed on the shelf, Ben mentioned it was his best friend, Jaz. Lindsey never met Jaz. Apparently, he walked out of Ben’s life when she walked in.

The hush of rain filled the air as Lindsey exited the apartment and descended the staircase. Mrs. Cooper, Ben’s downstairs neighbor, peeked out from her door. Her frizzed red hair, whitening at the root, filled the doorway. She gave Lindsey a small wave with her wrinkled hand. “How are you, dear?”

Lindsey nodded back but didn’t answer, no longer entertaining pleasantries in a place she never intended to step foot in again.

She didn’t, however, account for the rain. Standing in the doorway sheltered by the overhang, the gray screen of water pelting the streets. She bounced the thumb drive in the palm of her hand. Her skin flushed with anger at everything she didn’t know. She wondered what manipulative, slimy tactics Ben used to get the blackmail materials in the folder, “J.S. Will Pay.”

A man skipped across the sidewalk, shielding his head with drooping pamphlets. A gust of wind picked up. The papers scattered from his hands into the street. Lindsey let out an empathic groan. He stepped toward the curb. A bus turned the corner, sending a wave of black water across his body. The man wobbled back, dripping with NYC’s finest curbside crud caked on his pants and shirt. He wiped his hands defeatedly across his shirt.

Lindsey watched as the man folded in on himself. soiled water dripping from his arms as he cupped his face. Her shoulder sagged.

Lindsey waved her hand. “Hey!”

He looked up.

“I’ve got a change of clothes.” She pointed back up the stairs to the second-floor apartment.

The man froze. He looked around as if Lindsey was addressing someone else. Only rats and pigeons trudged through the deluge. He pointed at himself.

“Yes,” she waved him in impatiently.

He scampered toward her. His dreads beaded with translucent ladybug-like drops. Rain and mud darkened his khaki pants to a deep red-brown. His deep voice came out breathy by the time he reached the front steps. “Thanks, I can’t even start to thank you.”

Lindsey plastered herself against the wall, hoping road debris wouldn’t transfer onto her polyester pink blazer; it never quite fit right after the dry cleaner. She gave him a square smile. “Sure, felt bad for ya.” They stood in front of each other awkwardly; he was waiting for her to lead the way, and Lindsey realized the keys to Ben’s apartment sat on the kitchen table.

She knocked twice on Mrs. Cooper’s door, regretting her rude behavior from earlier.

The door opened, and red hair clawed the air around them, matted. “Yes, dear?” The pungent odor of spearmint and mothballs poisoned the air.

Lindsey leaned back. “I’ve locked myself out. Can I borrow Ben’s keys?”

As Mrs. Cooper reached for a small bowl by the door, she gave the young gentlemen covered in mud a once-over. Her blue eyes narrowed. “A friend of Ben’s?”

The man turned to admire the peeling wallpaper.

“A friend of mine.” Lindsey snatched the keys quickly. Before Mrs. Cooper could inquire more, she said, “I’ll bring them back in ten.”

The young man followed Lindsey up, avoiding Mrs. Cooper's disapproving pout at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m Isiah, by the way.” He reached out a hand. Dirt darkened the creases. He pulled it back quickly. “Thanks again.”

“Lindsey.” She replied as she unlocked the door. She turned to find Isiah pulling his shirt over his head, revealing his almond-skinned, muscular torso. She turned back to the door before his head pulled through the collar, red coloring her tawny cheeks.

“Bedroom’s to the left.” She pointed down the hall.

“Wow, not even dinner first?” His blushed. “Sorry.” He scratched his arm. “That was stupid.”

Lindsey raised an eyebrow, but the corners of her lips crept upwards.

He slipped off his muddied shoes.

Ruthie purred between her legs. “Shirts and pants are in the dresser.” Wood rubbed against metal as drawers opened.

He called out from the bedroom. “Tell your boyfriend, thanks, I owe him big time.”

Sun glinted through the slits in the blinds. She rolled her eyes. “Take whatever; he’s lost 145 pounds recently anyway.”

Isiah stepped out. “Really?” He slipped a slimming white T-shirt over his body. It hugged him in ways that let his muscular curves show with every twist. “It’s a size medium.” The jeans she bought Ben last summer wrapped tightly around his thighs.

Lindsey bit her lip. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Isiah paused. “Husband?”

“Old friend, more of a family friend.” She cleaned her glasses for a sharper view. “I’ll get the clothes back to him at some point.”

Isiah grabbed the hand towel to dry his hands after using the sink as a shower. Grime covered the white cotton. “Shit.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She grabbed it. As he pulled out a fresh pair of socks, she stuffed the blackened towel between the sofa cushions. His damp side bag puddled on the floor near the door. Damp pamphlets leaked out of the side pocket. “What do you do?”

Isiah hopped forward, pulling on one sock. “I’m a canvasser. Trying to get the word out for Jaz Selton.”

Lindsey wondered if it was the same Jaz she’d heard about from Ben. “Oh, what’s he running for?”

“Community District 2 council representatives.” Isiah grabbed his bag. He dragged out one of the limp pamphlets. “You local?”

She nodded, taking the wet paper from him. “Think he’s going to win?”

Isiah opened the front door. “Wouldn’t be a great canvasser if I didn’t.” His laugh came out soothing and warm. Lindsey caught herself entranced by his honey eyes.

She cleared her throat. A flutter in her chest caught her off guard. “Right, stupid question.” A clock chimed in the living room. “I need to head out.”

Isiah flipped the strap of his bag over his shoulder. They walked single file down the stairs. To Lindsey’s dismay, Mrs. Cooper waited at the bottom, tapping the rail with her fingernails.

Lindsey dropped the keys in her hand. “Thanks a million.”

Mrs. Cooper only snatched them away. She gave Isiah one more weary once over before closing the door.

Feet busied the sidewalk, rippling puddles as the sun poked through slitting clouds.

Isiah gently cupped her elbow. “I really owe you one. I don’t think I could have knocked on one door looking like that.”

Lindsey nudged his arm. “Please, you’d probably get more votes out of pity.” Her hand reached into her bag for her phone, but she found the thumb drive.

His shoulders rubbed the bottom of his lobes as he spoke. “Really, I don’t want to come off the wrong way, but can I buy you a drink or coffee sometime as a thanks?”

Lindsey pulled out the thumb drive. “Sure, I’d like that.” He handed her his phone. She typed in her number.

Taking it back, he exclaimed. “Don’t forget to vote!”

They both chuckled. The wind tussled her hair. Lindsey brushed it out of her eyes, causing her lashes to flutter. “I hope he wins.” The information on the drive felt dull. She didn’t want Ben coming after her. Him. Them. He already took up enough space in her life.

He patted his bag. “If he does, I’ll take you somewhere nice to celebrate.”

With those words, she bent the drive in her fingers. The plastic cracked. Isiah lumbered down the street periodically checking over his shoulder with a smirk. Lindsey tossed the broken thumb drive in the trash.

***

A month later, Lindsey lay back in her twin bed in the apartment she shared with two other girls. The AC vibrated in the window. Her phone buzzed.

A text-filled screen from Isiah. “Ostra?”

She typed back excitedly. “Seven?”

Behind her, the local news flashed from a muted TV. The scroll bar read: Ben Hilton drops out of the race unexpectedly. Jaz Selton wins as representative for Community District 2.