Page 2 of The Kat Bunglar

Before she stepped outside the apartment, she re-checked her outfit in the full-length mirror by the hallway. LuluLemon leggings, with matching sports bra, subtle hoops, a touch of lip gloss, bb cream with tinted glow, light mascara, and hair in a high ponytail. Squinching her eyes and lips, she saw a small blemish beginning to form on her chin. She blamed the lawsuit. Unsatisfied and aggravated, she averted her gaze from the mirror and slipped on her air pods.

Jogging down the pier by Redondo Beach, she tried to shake off the last three months of bad luck. It had all started with Chad. The idiot had broken up with her, claiming that she had become “self-absorbed and narcissistic.” Whatever that meant. She had stopped paying attention after he mentioned he wouldn’t help with her phone bill and car note. The following month, the asshole had repossessed her car. He claimed that because it was under his name, it was “technically” his. Completely forgetting the number of blowjobs she had given to earn that car.

The 4th of July banners blew wildly in the wind, tossing sand across her face, which she wiped away impatiently. She hated July. It was too hot, too loud, too cheerful, too everything. No one had bought anything through her affiliate links for the past couple of weeks. It was the season of empty wallets and over-hyped nationalism.

She slowed down and saw that the beach this far down was relatively empty. The lighting was so-so, but she could make this work. She set her phone down on a park bench and started the TikTok live session. After waiting a few minutes, she saw twenty people had joined. She casually stretched in front of the camera and made sure that her glutes were in the frame. They weren’t her best feature, but someone usually commented and caused the session to gain more views.

Pasting on a smile, she turned around and started speaking, “What is up y’all? It’s your Bengali Baddie ‘Kat-Kares’ coming at ya from Redondo Beach. You guys know wellness is a huge part of my day, so when life gets me down, I love to come and meditate by the beach and gather my inner serenity.”

Whipping out the travel size bottle, she made sure to display the label up close to the camera, “And for my melanin queens. The new sunblock I have on is ‘SunKissed’ from GlowinGoddess. It is so sheer and so comfortable to wear.” Kat started walking backwards so her entire body would be caught in the frame. She began to apply it on her arms and neck. “Wow you guys, it smells like spun sugar. So yummy! Use my discount code ‘KatCares’ to receive 15% off on your next purchase. Again, the Sunblock is named–” Kat tripped over something caught in the sand. Losing her balance, she squeezed the sunscreen bottle so hard, the lotion squirted in an arc landing on her hair and dripping into her eyes and mouth, “Ugh Gross,” she spat out, as she stumbled and fell hard on her right knee.

Wiping the goo out of her eyes, she squinted at her phone screen and realized that the feed was blowing up with laughing emojis. A whole 28 people had watched. Not enough for it to be a viral moment. Great. Just Great. Embarrassment without views. What a waste.

She impatiently turned the Live session off and rubbed her right knee. Oh God, did the legging have a hole in it? She had purchased the outfit from Poshmark but had planned to re-sell it by the end of the week.

What the hell had tripped her in the first place? Her eyes scanned the horizon, looking at the various pieces of trash and random rocks. There it was! That black, rectangular thing. She heaved herself up and felt a bit lightheaded. She promised herself a slice of multigrain toast when she got back to the house.

Stomping over to the offending item, she scowled before kicking it in disgust. The rectangular black flaps opened wide, and her eyes immediately clocked the exclusive Black American Express card flying through the air, glinting in the mid-day sun. A card so elite that it was invite-only.

She hobbled toward the credit card before it vanished into the sand, then scooped up the floppy black object. Her eyes widened. A classic Chanel flap wallet—retail price over a thousand dollars.

Oh my God.

This exact wallet had been on her Pinterest mood board—under the top twenty things sheneededin her collection this year. The universe was clearly aligning with her desires.

She ran her fingers over the buttery leather, the iconic double C’s, the aged gold hardware. It screamed quiet luxury. A woman carrying this wasn’t just someone. She wasthe one. The one who turned heads. The one others aspired to be. The one they envied.

Kat wanted every ounce of that.

Before she could stop herself, her fingers unclasped the masterpiece.

The driver’s license of Laila Malik stared back at her. Laila Malik with her wire-rimmed glasses and her classic French bob. Pretty, in a librarian-type of way. Laila Malik had multiple other platinum credit cards. $133 cash, a breath mint. Membership to the Chicago Art Institute and Botanic Garden. A keycard to the St. Regis Residences slipped out of one of the flaps and landed in Kat’s palm. Her fingers curled around it possessively. What was this wallet doing in LA? It clearly belonged in Chicago.

“Who are you, Laila Malik? And why do you have such nice things?” Kat murmured to herself. An idea began to form in Kat’s mind as she stared at Laila’s photo. A small smile played around her lips. Maybe sweet little Laila Malik was the end of Kat’s three-month losing streak.

?Chapter 2

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