The Chanel suit and David Yurman jewelry were likely enough, but it was the handbag that convinced Olivia: the elegantly dressed woman boarding the crowded train at Bleecker Street was the same woman she had spotted in her apartment building.
The handbag was an Etoupe Birkin 35, with Palladium hardware and soft calfskin Togo leather. Large enough for a laptop but light and durable for the daily commute. Elegant enough to make a statement, but not too ostentatious. A similar bag was on Olivia’s wish list, but she had settled for the Miu Miu instead, which was more appropriate for her income and age. A twenty-two year old economics graduate just starting her first real job in midtown, New York City should not be too flashy her first week on the job, her mother had cautioned. Still, a girl could dream, and so, Olivia coveted the Birkin along with a Park Avenue penthouse apartment and a boyfriend to go with it.
The woman stood in front of Olivia, holding on to the overhead rail and bracing herself against the unpredictable lurches of the train, her Birkin thrown over her right shoulder. She looked to be a woman of means, judging by the designer wardrobe. What was she doing on the subway? And what was she doing in Olivia’s apartment building? Olivia’s apartment on East Houston was nothing to brag about, a starter apartment in a starter building that set her back one-half of her paycheck for a small bedroom on the 4th floor with two roommates, no closet space, and no view. It was the kind of apartment she would eventually look back on and think “That which doesn’t kill you,” or “It builds character.”
Although it was only 7:45 AM, the woman looked drained, as if she had already spent a long day at the office. Age and long work hours could do that to you, Olivia had heard.
“Please, have a seat,” Olivia said, as she stood and offered her spot to the stranger. Olivia’s commute was only fifteen minutes—just a handful of stops from Bleecker Street to Grand Central on the #6 train—but seats were hard to come by and coveted by all, particularly the older riders. The woman looked to be in her late-forties, old enough to be grateful, but young enough to be offended. Which would it be?
“Thank you,” the woman responded, as she settled into the seat. “You are very kind.” She smiled at Olivia warmly, like a favorite teacher or a loving aunt. A touch of crows’ feet graced the edges of her green eyes and prominent dimples marked each cheek.
The PA system blared: “Astor Place.”
“You must be right out of college?” the woman asked, looking up at Olivia and raising her voice just enough to be heard over the din.
“Yes, graduated six weeks ago.” Olivia wondered if it was wise to engage with a total stranger. She had heard stories about the weirdos on the NYC subway. Don’t stand close to the tracks. Sit with your back to the wall. Don’t look people in the eye. Watch your wallet! Don’t talk to anyone! But here she was in a conversation with a pleasant and professional woman. Or was Olivia an easy mark, a newbie in the big city being played by a wily veteran?
“I just started my first job in midtown,” Olivia continued, concluding small talk posed no risk, especially if she kept it generic.
“Congratulations! New to the city?”
“It’s my third week.”
‘So exciting! I’ve been working in the city for over 25 years.”
“Looks like it worked out for you. I love your outfit…and the handbag.“
“Thank you. The handbag is a keeper; it will hold its value over time.”
“Does it hold all your things?”
“Yes. The important things, that is. Feel how light.” The woman held out the Birkin.
Olivia held it for a few seconds and weighed it in her hand, comparing it to her Briarwood Aventure Miu Miu with nappa leather. “It’s so light. It must be empty?”
“Not quite, but it contains all I need. It looks good on you! You should keep it.”
The PA system blared again. “14th Street Union Square.”
Olivia returned the Birkin and considered the offer. Was she serious? It was worth at least $15,000, if you could find it at all! Who would offer it up to a total stranger? Was the woman buttering her up, offering her a cheap knockoff, but about to go all Nigerian princess and ask for money? Olivia wasn’t sure; she was new to the city.
“What do you do in the city?” Olivia asked, determined to learn more.
“I’m a partner in a law firm. Corporate law, mostly for private equity firms. That kind of thing.”
“That sounds rewarding.”
“It’s not as in vogue as non-profit or environmental law. And, of course, the long hours require…sacrifice. But nobody can have it all.”
“Well, you look great, too young to be a partner in a law firm!”
“Stop it! You’ll have me taking this train every day!” The woman paused as if she was absorbing the complement. “I take it you’re not originally from the city?” she continued.
“No. I grew up outside Boston,“ Olivia explained.
“Bahston!” the New Yorker repeated, mimicking a Boston accent. “And what did you do in high school? Scholar? Jock? Theatre kid?”
“A bit of everything. Tennis team, debate team, concert band, good enough grades, I guess.”
“That’s quite a combo. And where did you go to college?”
“Harvard,” she replied.
“Hahvahd! Your mother must be so proud.”
Olivia laughed. “Yes, she tells me that all the time. She tells everyone that.”
“I’ve heard a mother’s love is hard to hide.”
“She tells me that, too!”
The PA system continued: “28th Street.”
“What about you?” Olivia asked. “You have children?”
The woman paused as if the question took her by surprise or invaded her privacy. But after an awkward silence, she answered.
“I have a daughter.” The woman looked away for a few seconds. “But we lost touch,” the woman continued, filling the awkward silence.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe that’ll change someday.”
“It’s been over twenty years, but I hear she is happy, successful.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“She lives nearby, but the distance seems vast, insurmountable, as if some things are better left as they are. Regrets and all.“
“I hear regret is a terrible thing.”
“You’re so young. You can’t possibly have regrets.”
“You’d be surprised,” Olivia responded, knowing the burden she must have been to her young mother.
“33rd Street,” blared the PA.
“Well, this is my stop.“ the woman explained. “It was a pleasure meeting you. You have such beautiful green eyes and lovely dimples. I wish you success in your new job and whatever comes after.”
“Thank you. I hope you reconnect with your daughter.”
“That would be nice,” she replied as she stood and headed out the sliding doors onto the station platform.
A moment later, Olivia noticed the Birkin bag resting on the subway seat. How could she have forgotten it? It was a Birkin 35!
“Ma’am, I think you forgot your handbag,” Olivia called as she grabbed the Birkin and bolted for the door. But she was a step late; the door closed abruptly before Olivia could exit the train. Olivia could see the woman standing on the platform, looking back, as if she realized she had forgotten her bag.
Olivia considered her next steps as the train began moving down the platform. Would rifling through the bag for an ID be an invasion of the woman’s privacy? Olivia ignored her concerns and opened the Birkin, admiring the soft, smooth leather and the shiny Palladium latch. It was empty, except for a single photo and a handwritten note.
Olivia froze when she recognized the photo. It was tattered and torn, but there was no doubt; it was an exact duplicate of the photo she had at home of her birth mother holding her in the hospital, the only bit of evidence she had uncovered in her futile search for her biological parents. She could see the green eyes, the dimples, and the unmistakable glow of happiness as her biological mother held the infant daughter she would give up only twenty four hours later.
Olivia read the note slowly as she sat in the vacant seat, still warm from her mother’s presence. The woman was gone, but her words remained, captured on the page and echoing in Olivia’s mind. After all these years, Olivia finally understood. At Grand Central, Olivia slipped the photo and letter into her Miu Miu and left the Birkin bag back on the seat for a lucky stranger. It was a shame to give up the Birkin, but she had all she needed in her Miu Miu.