Love, Leo
Love. My heart thuds.
I don’t know where this leads, but he’s pressed one of my buttons. There’s no way I’d turn down a game, especially not a scavenger hunt.
This must mean the Go Directly to Jail card is my first clue.
I puzzle over it as I exit the workout room, reentering the bustling main gym where people grunt and heave with earbuds in. I’m about to head toward the parking lot when I notice a large green GO square stuck to the wall in front of me with tape. The arrow points toward the main gym.
My mind regurgitates the rule: Go directly to jail. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200.
He must want me to walk the opposite way. I find myself heading toward the locker rooms. Hooking a right, I head into the men’s. I start noticing more Monopoly properties and try not to notice the fit men in tiny towels walking out of the showers. I follow the printed pieces to a grated locker with a key in it.
When I open it, I find a second purple envelope.
Inside, I find the orange New York Avenue property card. The wordAvenueis scratched out and the wordCityis written over it. There’s a jumble of numbers below. First, I think I need to add them up. Then, I realize, if I reorder them. They are a date and a time. Tomorrow. 2:00 p.m.
Leo wants me to meet him in New York City tomorrow at 2:00 p.m.?
The next day, I plan to board the 1:07 p.m. train into New York City. When the ticket attendant asks what my name is and I tell her “Holden James,” she rolls her eyes, grabs an envelope and says, “Someone left this for you?”
Once I find a seat to myself by the window, I open the envelope. It’s the card for St. James Place.
As soon as the train lets out, I march into Midtown and find the St. James Theatre. Assuming this clue is like the last, I head inside to the box office where a smiling man asks if I’m looking for a ticket to the evening performance.
“No, sorry. I’m Holden James. I think something was left here for me?”
He smiles. “One second.”
This time, it’s not an envelope. It’s a plastic hotel piece from the Monopoly set.
Back outside, I fiddle with it. There are hundreds of hotels in this city. This can’t be the only clue.
That’s when it catches the light at just the right angle and I notice there are tiny, thin numbers etched onto the sides: 3989
Another number clue. It’s definitely not a date this time.
I wander over to the street corner and stop. Looking up before I get trampled by a feisty walking tour, I catch sight of the street sign and the numbers.
That’s when it clicks: Leo’s left me cross streets. 39th Street. The block between 8th and 9th Avenues.
Luckily, I only stumble upon one hotel and once inside, I explain my situation and am directed to the concierge desk which is more of a cart and, of course, part of the East Coast chain of Traveltineraries. The place where Leo used to work. This is all starting to make sense now.
The handsome man behind the cart offers me a flier for the Karaoke Lounge and Bar.
It isn’t hard to find, but I’ve been running all over the city so now I’m sweaty and flustered and I don’t want Leo to see me like this, except the hostess must’ve been briefed on what I look like because she immediately says, “Leo, party of two,” and leads me to a private room.
A private, empty room with the haze of pink neon lights playing with my eyes.
When they adjust, I notice the hostess has shut the door behind me. The screen with one microphone in front of it has “Me Against the Music” by Britney Spears featuring Madonna queued up on it.
“Grab the microphone,” says Leo’s disembodied voice through the room speakers. I jump at the unexpected and loud sound.
“Leo? Where are you?” I ask, confused.
“Just start the song.”
I press Play, taking the spoken-word Britney lines for myself. Leo, still hidden, does the Madonna ones. As I sing and he does backup, I start looking around for him, checking behind the couch and under the table.
