Lost And Found

by Barbara Rothstein

It's 7:45. I'm waiting for the phone repair man to come. Why is it there's always something to wait for. When I was little, I waited to be grownup. Waited for my life to begin. Waited and waited. But Roger never waited. He always got things done right away. Tie a red ribbon with a giant bow around the car we were giving Carolyn for her graduation the next day? He got it done. Send a care package to Leslie at school in Great Barrington overnight? He got it there the next day, before there was Fed-X.

But I always waited. Waited for the right time. The right words, the right motivation. I'd wait 'til I felt 'ready' . But I loved that Roger was so impulsive and free. After he died and I was numb and empty, I found myself waiting again, waiting for life to begin again though this time around I didn't really care that much.

That is, not until a year or so later... the day I left my locker half open for a few crucial minutes in the health club, and I left the gold Rolex Roger had given me gleaming like a jewel for the taking on top of my black sweater. Barely a few minutes later when I ran back to close my locker, the watch was gone.

I knew that the chubby dark haired woman in the olive drab leotard had to be the one who took it. I was always bumping into her because we both liked the same 4 end lockers in the middle row. That morning she nearly knocked me over trying to grab her spot.

After looking in the locker, in my purse, and all around the floor, realizing the watch was really gone, I began to feel a red hot burning anger surround me...an emotion I hadn't allowed myself to feel since the funeral which, by the way, I only got through with lots of friends, food and vodka. Now 'she' was the target for all my rage. But what could I do...she had disappeared into the aerobics class.

As the week wound down, my anger gradually dissolved into my sadness and memories of Roger. And then, exactly 10 days later, I saw her at the club again. Holy shit. She was wearing the watch. My watch. I knew it was mine. But I couldn't very well rip it off her wrist. So... my usual m.o.... I waited. When I finally calmed down I walked over to her and face to face, in my sweetest, most polite voice asked, "Do you have the correct time?"

I'd swear that the bright Hollywood make up lights surrounding the mirrors on the walls above the pink formica counters lining the locker room were flickering in shock while she was slowly moving her hand up to look at the watch. As she was looking, I was looking, seeing the same brown tiger eye face...the same exact markings and the same crystal with no magnifying bubble over the date.... It was my watch alright. My God...she was walking around wearing my stolen watch. And there I was, sinking into the pink and green flowered carpeting swimming in a blur under my feet.

Time seemed to be melting away. I was in the limo with Roger who couldn't wait to get to Tourneau Watches that first morning on our visit to NY. He insisted on buying me a gold Rolex with the new President band. It was April and it was my birthday and we were in wonderful romantic New York again...Life was fun… and we felt so blessed, marveling at how much we still loved each other after all those years. Now he was gone and this crazy woman with the mustache that electrolysis would never get rid of was wearing my watch. Suddenly I knew I had to get it back. I knew the police, the stupid club manager, and waiting would never help me. "Thanks”, was all I said. But I was done with waiting. I had shifted into action. I had a plan.

For the next 4 days, every day, I locked one of the 4 favorite lockers, took the key and had a copy made and returned it the next morning. The following Monday morning, I had the key to every one of the 4 end lockers. When I saw her exercising in the 9 a.m. class I could feel the blood rushing up along the back of my arms...a sure sign I was scared to death of what I was planning to do. But I knew that if I didn't do it, I'd regret it forever. I'd always be disappointed in myself. And this opportunity might never come around again.

I was dressed when she got out of the class and as I pretended to be putting on my makeup, I watched her carefully in the mirror to see which locker she was using.

Minutes later, making sure she was in the hot tub and seeing no one around, I felt my courage mounting as I put the key in her lock, slowly turned it, and hands shaking, heart pounding, opened her locker door. I reached into her purse and into a zippered pocket inside, my fingers groping around until I found the watch. I grabbed it and ran out of the club and drove like a maniac to the jeweler on Beverly Drive who took off the band so we could read the watch's serial number hidden there. Of course it was no surprise that the serial number matched the number on my certificate. Waves of pure joy washed over me for the first time in a very long time.

Of course, now that I let them know I had 'recovered' the watch near the woman's locker, the police were interested, telling me that if she reports the loss, they'll be able to get her on two counts: theft and some other fraud count. Oh right. Like they're really going after her.

A few days later, I'm at the club and the attendant comes up to me, with her wide-eyed vacant expression, "Aren't you the lady who had her Rolex stolen two weeks ago? You know, there must be a Rolex thief around here. Another lady had her Rolex stolen the other day and she was screaming.... screaming about how her husband gave her the watch and all. Not like you. You were so quiet about the whole thing, but she went crazy."

I could feel a flush of satisfaction, a sensation that was excruciatingly pleasant coming over me. I pictured the chubby mustached one sweating and crying, having her tantrum. I wanted to shout "Yes! Roger... I did it". Instead, ever so innocently I said, "You know, you should tell her to go to the West LA Police and report it. They're terrific. They got my watch back for me. If she goes there and reports it....well...she'll get hers".

I don’t know if she ever did “get hers”. I never saw her again. But I know that Roger was with me, rooting for me the whole time. Just as he always was, and always will be.