Mister Moneybags(36)

“Yes, but you’re laughing.”

“How did you even get it into my apartment?”

“Let’s just say your maintenance guy is going to have a really nice Christmas this year.”

“It scared the living daylights out of me. I thought it was a real person, that someone had broken into my apartment and was readying to kill me.”

“You’re laughing, though!” I repeated again.

“I am,” she conceded. “You are totally nuts.”

I’d purchased the Liza Minnelli statue from the owner of Jay’s fake apartment and decided to have it transported to Bianca’s. I’d asked him to set it up in a way that she’d see it the second she walked in the door. Making light of crazy Jay’s antics was definitely a risk, but I did it in the hopes that she could eventually learn to look back at that time with humor.

“Well, now you have to figure out a way to rid my apartment of the mothball smell from that damn place.”

I’d been laughing before, but now I was laughing even harder.

“I’ll send for it tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Dexter.”

“Goodbye, Bianca.”

After I hung up, I looked at Bandit and smiled victoriously. “She loved it.”





On Sunday, I found myself at The Brooklyn Flea. Some people had drug dealers; I had a wood dealer. Coming upon the tent with the sign that read Jelani’s Kenyan Krafts, I walked over to the familiar vendor.

“Hi, I bought a wooden billy goat off of you some time ago. I’m not sure if you remember.”

Still wearing the brightly colored hat from last time, the old man looked me up and down. “Yes. I do remember you,” he said in a strong African accent. “Are you interested in something else?”

“Actually, I need to ask you a strange favor.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve tried everything online and nothing seems to be working. I need to learn how to whittle and was wondering if I could pay you to teach me.”

He bent his head back in laughter. “It took me years to learn how to do this, been perfecting my craft since I was a little boy growing up in Kenya.”

“I can imagine that doing it as well as you do would take years, but I’m just really looking to be able to carve something not even half as good without slicing my fingers off. Even if it looks pathetic, as long as it’s recognizable, that will do.”

“Boy, why on Earth would you want to even bother?” He squinted at me. “Is this about that woman?”

“You’re a smart man, Jelani.”

“Ah. That makes more sense.”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy. When I bought that goat from you, I told her I had made it myself. But she eventually figured out the truth. I regret ever lying to her and was hoping to prove how sorry I am by actually showing a real effort to make her something similar. Basically, I’m desperate, very close to losing the only woman I’ve ever had true feelings for. I’d do or pay just about anything for your expertise.”

He let out a deep sigh before jotting down an address. “Meet me at 2PM this afternoon here.”

I didn’t have enough time to go over the bridge to Manhattan and come back before then, so I hung out in Brooklyn, grabbed a coffee, and walked around aimlessly until it was time to head to the address in Williamsburg.

At 2PM on the dot, I knocked on the door and waited.

The old man opened and said nothing as he stepped out of the way so I could enter. His head was completely bald, which I only now realized since he normally wore that African-themed hat. He led me down to a wood workshop located in a dingy basement.

“I don’t know why, but I pictured you with a full head of hair under that hat,” I said just trying to make conversation. He didn’t seem amused. It was a bit of an awkward start as I looked around. “So this is where the magic happens, huh? How did you get started in wood carving?”

“My grandfather taught me. We used to sell them to tourists back in Nairobi.”

He’d set out some tools on a table and gestured for me to sit next to him.

“The three main things to remember are to always go slow, have a very sharp knife, and keep your hands protected.” He handed me some cut-resistant gloves. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. I’m going to show you. Watch and do as I do.”

Jelani had already drawn with pencil the pattern of the animal onto two pieces of wood. In silence, I followed every movement he made. We practically said nothing the entire time. It took nearly two hours because that was how slow we were cutting the wood.

Toward the end, Jelani turned to me. “I have no hair because of chemo. I’m in the middle of treatment. Colon cancer.”

Oh, no.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s alright.”

“How are you feeling?”

“There are good days and some very bad days. Today is a good day.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

I pondered the fact that you never quite know what crosses people are carrying. My problems with Bianca seemed trite, in comparison.

By the end, I ended up with a half-decent goat, although it was pathetic compared to Jelani’s. But still, it was mine, and I could proudly take full credit for it.