Leap Year

Paul Taylor was just another face walking down the busy New York City sidewalk.  It was Saturday, December 31, 2011 — New Year’s Eve — and he was leaving his midtown Manhattan office building.  There was no rest for the middle management — what was left of it, that is.  2011 had been a year of layoffs and cutbacks.  Paul Taylor was middle management, middle-class, middle-aged and in the middle of a mid-life crisis.

Times Square was already crowded. Streets were shut off, people were mulling about — he had to meet his wife there in about an hour.  Thank goodness for cell phones, he thought. How did people ever find each other before them? He checked his phone’s signal — four bars.  Whenever there was an event like this, getting a signal could be dicey. But he knew he could text her.  So all he had to do now was kill some time.

Shakespeare’s Used Books

He walked one block off Broadway and headed toward one of his favorite shops. Shakespeare’s Used Books was dark, musty and full of classic old first-editions of some of his favorite novels.  The owner was kind of strange — a portly old man who claimed to be a descendent of the Bard.  Stanley always welcomed Paul by name and they had developed a strong customer/owner relationship throughout the years.

“Happy New Year, Paul!” the familiar New York accent rang out as the door open. The smell of musty books assaulted Paul’s nose as he crossed the store’s threshold.

“I’m surprised you’re open,” Paul said, ” But I’m glad you are.  I’m looking to make some changes in my life.  Do you have an old journal I could write my New Year’s Resolutions in?”

Stanley Shakespeare smiled a toothy grin and hustled out from behind the counter. “As a matter of fact, I have the perfect book for you.” He disappeared into the back of the store.

Paul picked up a first edition of Willie Morris’ classic “North Toward Home,” and read about some exotic sounding place called Yazoo City. Stanley came bursting through the back curtain holding a black leather journal with an old ribbon tied around it.

“I’ve had this for a while.  A man from New Orleans brought it in — I got it for a steal. And since you’re such a good customer, I will give it to you. Happy New Year’s.”

Paul, energized about the potential for a new life, greedily took the book and thanked the shop keeper.  He looked at his watch — 45 minutes until he had to meet Ann.  Good. He had time to find a coffee shop and make some quick plans for 2012.

Ann and Paul had been married for 20 years.  Their marriage had once burned bright — but various crisis and two kids had taken the spark out of it.  Many days they just passed strangers on the sidewalk — their relationship had turned almost into one of two roommates living under the same roof.  Paul had remained faithful, inside he still loved Ann very much. He had assumed Ann had, too.  But he really didn’t know.  He was too busy trying to survive at work.

Big Apple Coffee Shop

The Big Apple Coffee Shop was named for tourists but served coffee only natives could appreciate. It was strong and bitter, not unlike the people of the city.  Paul found a booth in the back, ordered a cup and a piece of pie and asked the server for a pen.  He untied the ribbon, opened the book and thought he heard a scream.  Paul looked out at the street — anything was possible in New York City.  The pages were yellowed and a little brittle but surprisingly blank. He thought of Tom Riddle’s diary in Harry Potter and laughed.  He placed his pen to the paper and started write.

The words did not disappear.

Good. That was step one — to make sure the book wasn’t possessed.  He neatly wrote: RESOLUTIONS FOR 2012.  Then he began to lay his new life out on paper.

Number 1: To be rich and powerful.

Number 2: To be respected and feared.

Number 3: To have six-pack abs.

Paul stopped at three. Sure, they weren’t the best goals he had ever written. There were no action steps or deadlines.  But this was what he really wanted: To be someone other than who he was right now.

He ate his pie, drank three cups of coffee and read back over his simple Resolutions.  And then felt very sleepy.  Paul’s vision started to blur and he started to panic. He gripped the journal next to his chest as he fell out of the booth.  His world went black.

A New Life

He woke up in bed. The sheets were unusually soft — must be Egyptian cotton. He blinked and didn’t recognize the room he was. His hand rubbed his stomach — he had six-pack abs. He sat up suddenly and there next to him was a blonde lying face down without any clothes on. Panicked, he looked a his watch — a Rolex Submariner — and the date said, Dec. 31. It was New Year’s Eve!  Jumping out of bed, he put on his robe and ran to the window.  He was in an luxury apartment overlooking Central Park.

A servant walked in to the room, “Good morning Mr. Taylor.  Would you like your copy of The New York Times?”  Paul, too stunned by what was going on, took the paper and did not ask the English gentleman too many questions. He jerked open the paper and there was his face on the page.  “Billionaire Taylor under investigation by the S.E.C; Huge prison sentence possible.” Paul through the paper down. “What the hell was going on?!?” he screamed inside his head.

“Excuse me, ” Paul said to the servant who was bringing in some breakfast.”What happened to Ann and the kids?”  The servant, looking suddenly very uncomfortable, said, “You told me not to mention her name.”

Paul said calmly, “It’s OK. I must be hungover — I’m having a moment. ”

The servant sat down and slowly said, “She left you.  You started running around on her.  She still and the kids live in the city — you pay her a lot of money each month. She can afford it. But she hates you to the core.”

Paul sat stunned. He looked over at the twenty-something snoring gently in his bed and then felt his stomach again.  “What do I do for a living?”

The servant, thinking his boss had lost his mind, said, “Um, sir.”

“No, really. Tell me.  I woke with a slight case of amnesia.”

“You climbed rapidly in your company. You engineered a plan to lay off thousands and the board promoted you.  Within a couple of months, you became CEO. You’re a legend for your ascent in business. You wrote a book, which became a best seller. Your investments made Warren Buffett envious.  You became the most powerful man on Wall Street — and the most feared. The U.S. has never seen anyone like you at Mr. Taylor.  But some, like the Federal Government, say you cheated.  Ann wouldn’t disagree, sir, if you don’t mind me saying…”

Paul looked out at the Manhattan skyline. Everything he had written in his book had come true. And one year later, he didn’t remember one damn second of it.   He had gotten everything he had thought he had wanted and he was scared out of his mind.

“Bring me my journal”  Paul ordered quietly. The servant handed it to him — it was the same musty old book. But now the pages were filled with financial deals and notes about his empire. And there were phone numbers of hundreds of women, too.  It was a complete record of his new life.  “Boy, the S.E.C. would love to get this.”

He spend hours reading and rereading the journal. His new life was laid out there in all its painful detail. As the sun slipped beneath the Manhattan skyline and the last hours of 2012 faded away, he got an idea.

He threw on some clothes and ran out of his apartment building. He sped toward Times Square and headed straight back to Shakespeare’s Used Books.  He threw open the door, and screamed, “Stanley!”  The portly shopkeeper said, “I’ve been expecting you, Paul. Happy New Year!”

Paul threw the book toward the shopkeeper, “Take it, now!”  The book fell open and all the pages were blank.

Paul looked at his watch.  The crowd was gathering on Times Square and he pushed his way thought it like the athlete he was.  “Screw you, buddy,” a man screamed at him.  Three young college students swooned as he passed.  One lady said, “It’s Paul Taylor! I saw him on the Today Show! Paul, can I have your autograph?!”  Paul ignored her and kept running toward his last hope.

There, standing in the shadow of the ball, was a slightly overweight middle-aged woman who looked older than her actual age. Sadness had carved lines on her face; sadness brought on by the worst year of her life. She had come to Times Square looking for a new start. For a new hope.

“ANN!”

She turned around and with look of disgust, saw her ex-husband running toward her. “Get the Hell away from me.”

Paul didn’t slow down. The ball had begun to drop and he knew he had moments to do what he needed to do.  He nearly tackled Ann, grabbed her with his strong arms. Then, he planted the hardest kiss on her. 3…2…1…Happy New Year!

Paul felt his stomach. It was fat.  He pulled away from the non-struggling Ann and looked up at the ball. 2012.

“What was that about, “Ann said, still stunned by her husband’s passionate kiss.

After leaping a year, Paul was just glad to be back to his life. “Happy New Year, Ann. You know it’s a Leap Year.” Paul said.

And as the clock struck midnight and the ball dropped, Paul Taylor realize who and what he really wanted.