Chapter 2

"Is that Tom down there?" a voice asked from above. I had been contentedly spending a post-dawn Sunday morning sipping coffee on my porch. In actuality it was just the fire escape, but I preferred to think of it as a porch and had quickly begun referring to it as such.

I looked up and to my left to see Lori, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and gray sweat pants looking down at me. Her hair was pulled back, but it was curly enough that it was visibly puffing out on either side of her face. Though she was dressed like she had only recently woken up, she was every bit as attractive as the two times I’d seen her previously; Friday night, as I have already described, and again on Saturday, when she stopped by again to see if she could be of any help with my unpacking. I demurred on Saturday since Andrew had been with her, moodily leaning on my doorjamb. After my short initial meeting, I did not felt like dealing with him in case he was part of the deal.

"It’s me, alright" I answered, "How are you this morning, Lori?"

"I’m great," she replied, "It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?"

Indeed it was. The sunlight coming from behind our building was playing on the facades and in and out of the alleyways in a way that made the apartment buildings and rowhouses look quietly serene. From what I had heard, such quietude does not occur very often in that city, so I was savoring the moment. The day was comfortably warm at this hour, but would undoubtedly be stifling by midafternoon. I summed up all these thoughts with, "So far."

"Are you all moved in yet?"

"About as moved in as I’m going to be."

"Good. What are your big plans for the day?"

"I don’t know, thought I might be a tourist for a while. How about you?"

"No plans yet. Where are you going to go?"

"No idea. I hear about New York constantly, but I really don’t know where to begin."

"Do you want a guide?"

The offer surprised me. This was my third day in the city and I hardly knew this woman, yet she was offering to show me around the city, giving me the feeling Andrew might not be her significant other. However, I figured it was best to not get my hopes up too much, and I tried to appear relaxed, especially if she was going to bring what I guessed to be her roommate along. But I figured it would be worth the chance, so I answered, "Sure, I’d love a guide."

"Do you want to catch some breakfast on the way?"

"Sounds good. I haven’t eaten yet."

"Can you give me about thirty minutes to shower up and everything?"

Just thirty minutes for her to get ready? This was my kind of girl "Absolutely, I still have to clean up, myself."

"Great," she said with a smile and disappeared through her open window. I sat there for a couple minutes, finishing off the half cup of coffee I had left. After a final, quick look at a morning that suddenly seemed very promising, I reentered my apartment.

#

Twenty-five minutes later, there was a knock. I walked out of the bathroom where I’d just finished getting dressed. I calmed myself with a deep breath before I opened the door.

"Hi! Ready to go?" she asked. She was wearing a sundress, a piece of apparel I have always found incredibly alluring. It is revealing while still possessing a pure, innocent look about it. I guess you could say it is the exact opposite of a black leather body suit.

"If you can hold on a second, I still have to brush my teeth."

"Mind if I come in?"

"Not at all, make yourself at home."

She came in the door as I walked back to the bathroom.

"You’ve managed to clean the place up quite a bit," she observed.

"Yeah, I spent all yesterday trying to get it in some sort of order."

"And you inflated the whole living room set." I had an inflatable couch and chair set up which, aside from a coffee table, were the nearest things I owned to living room furniture.

"It took some time. I nearly passed out twice working on the sofa," I replied through some toothpaste, "Sorry, but that’s pretty much all I have for the moment."

"Oh I love it, it’s so casual," she said very genuinely, "I can’t believe you didn’t use some sort of air pump, though."

"That would have been a good idea," I responded after I spat out my toothpaste, "I actually spent about an hour hunting for it last night before finally conceding that I don’t, nor have I ever, owned one, so I put my lungpower to work."

"You could have tried a hair dryer."

"Another good idea that fortunately did not occur to me as I don’t own one of those either, so I’m sure it would have been a waste of time to look for that too. I appreciate the idea, though. I may have to get a hair dryer to inflate the air mattress when friends visit."

"Are you sure you’re only inflating it for friends?" she asked jokingly.

"No, I couldn’t afford to splurge on an inflatable bedroom set for myself, so I’m stuck with a regular mattress." I walked out to the living area and saw Lori sitting on a clear green plastic chair facing my television.

She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. "Ready to go?"

"Absolutely."

As we walked out the door, Lori asked me, "What sort of breakfast do you like?"

"I’m pretty flexible, what’s good around here?"

"Well, there’s a diner right around the corner and a bagel shop a little further down. The Danny Boy serves breakfast, but I don’t recommend it."

"I’m leaving myself in your capable hands. Wherever you think they have the best breakfast, I’ll follow."

"Well, I’d say the diner, but I don’t know how you feel about greasy spoon restaurants."

"Do they have omelets?"

"Of course."

"Pancakes?"

"Absolutely."

"Quite honestly, that is exactly the sort of place I want to go."

"Well then, speak up," she told me.

#

The interior of the diner could easily be seen through the large windows covering two sides of a building’s corner. Each window was topped with an aqua-backdrop sign with cursive white lettering the word "Jack’s". A counter snaked its way through the restaurant, surrounded by fixed stools with orange or green cracked vinyl seats, the kind children love to spin around on. These stools were planted into a tiled floor that could best be described as light brown, though it was difficult to tell what color the tile was originally; it was one of those questions that is better off not asked.

We walked inside to find two seats next to each other. Tables were not an option; the counter filled the entire eating area. Fortunately, someone who had had an empty seat next to him was leaving at the time, so we took a pair of seats on the corner of a peninsula.

The scratched and gouged countertop was a gray mottled white. The metal molding protecting the counter’s edge was peeling off in parts. The menus, found behind a dented metal napkin holder and a few condiments, were protected by once clear but now yellowed, translucent plastic that obscured the number of eggs in a Sunrise Special and blurred the price of adding a side of bacon or sausage to an omelet.

"What do you think?" Lori asked, soon after we ordered.

It was everything I could ever want a breakfast joint to be, down to the waitress being irritated by our presence there, as though she had much more important things to do at work than take our order. It is exactly the atmosphere ‘50’s theme restaurant chains spend a great deal of time and money trying to fake. I could only describe my opinion of the place as, "It’s perfect."

"It really is, isn’t it?" Lori added, "Andy introduced me to the place."

"How did he end up coming here?"

"I think he walked down the street and in the door," she replied. Her quick and witty response caught me feeling a little silly. "So what do you do?" Lori asked me, restarting the conversation.

"I’m a systems analyst," I responded. I figured that would be good enough. Most people did not find descriptions of computer related jobs particularly compelling, and I had learned to keep descriptions short.

"And what does that involve?"

I started by giving her a quick rundown of my duties at work: installing software, testing, adding computers to the network, all the usual sort of sysadmin garbage. She was wonderful at appearing to be interested, an ability that must have endeared her to a lot of people; it certainly did for me. She raptly sat there and smiled, asked a few questions and seemed genuinely interested in what I do. This would not be nearly as noteworthy had it not been the first time anybody had ever faked interest in my job.

After wrapping up my description, I followed up with a, "How about you? What do you do?"

Lori answered my question with the question "Do you mean for money?"

"Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean."

"I work as an administrative assistant for a few temporary services. I do some word processing, answering phones, that sort of thing." She was working very hard to not say ‘secretary’.

I decided not to corner her on how she should summarize her job. "How long have you been doing that?"

"Oh, about three years now."

"You’ve been working temp jobs for three years?" I asked, rather surprised.

"Oh yes," she answered it a voice that was surprised by my surprise.

"I’m a little stunned that nobody’s given you a regular position in that time."

"Well, I’ve gotten a few offers but none of them were ever what I was really looking for."

"What are you looking for?"

"Not what they were offering."

"Not the right money? Not the right boss? Not the right company?" I wasn’t sure how secretarial positions could really differ that much.

"I suppose all of those have come into play at some point. I guess you could sum it up with, ‘It was never really the right situation.’"

I was confused as to what exactly she meant but I wasn’t sure if she had more to tell or not, so I decided not to ask. I had already felt like an idiot once, I had no intention of doing so twice before breakfast.

Fortunately, our meals arrived just then. My conversation was stymied and food would either give us something to talk about, or provide a reason not to talk, a small victory for me no matter which direction it went. To rebreak the ice, someone had to ask the obvious question Lori asked me, that being, "How is your food?"

"Good. Actually, I must say it’s very good. How’s yours?"

"Oh, excellent. I’d never had the blueberry pancakes before today. I’m usually a Denver omelet woman."

"Any particular reason for this exciting new direction in your life?"

"Well, you’d already ordered the Denver omelet and I can’t order something someone I’m with is having."

I lobbed a, "Why’s that?" at her.

"It just seems so dull," she responded, "Two people eating together and eating the same thing. It seems like the sort of thing that old married couples would do. I’m not old and I’m not married, so what’s the point of it? If I feel like having some Denver omelet, I can just as easily have a bite of yours. So why shouldn’t I have something else that you can try? There wouldn’t be much point in trying someone else’s food when you already have a copy of it yourself, is there?"

"I can’t say as that ever even crossed my mind," I answered honestly. What she said made sense in its own bizarre sort of way, though the fact she was very attractive helped it along. "Is this the sort of thing that keeps you awake at night?"

"No, but it does ruin my meals at restaurants. I mean not just if I’m eating the same thing as someone else, I don’t like when other people are eating the same things. Although, in a big enough group, you’re obviously going to get some repeats of meals, there usually aren’t that many things that sound good on a menu, so that is one thing. But if a couple orders the same dish, I just find it ridiculous."

"So what about if two people split a meal?" I asked, rather wondering how that fit into her grand scheme of ordering etiquette.

"Well that’s something else, isn’t it? They’re only having one meal between them, not two of the same meal. There’s no point in both people getting an entire entree if they only want half of one. Suppose you’re someplace where you can’t easily take leftovers, then what would be the point?"

"Indeed," I agreed amusedly.

She smiled a little smile as she asked, "Are you having a laugh at my expense?"

"No, no," I quickly responded, I certainly didn’t want her offended or uncomfortable. "I’ve just never seen such definite opinions on the proper way to pick meals among company. I usually just pick whatever it is that I feel like eating and don’t pay attention to anybody else’s order."

"You’re seriously missing out," she admonished, "You should be picking your food based on maximum options for trying other people’s food and allowing them to try yours."

"I guess I’m not much of a food sharing kind of guy. I presume you don’t mind people who double-dip, then."

"Actually, I can’t stand when people do that."

"See, sharing food falls under the same heading for me. I don’t like double-dipping, so I can’t see a reason why I would want to eat off of other peoples’ plates either."

"How about if somebody switches the chip around to the side she didn’t bite?"

"Nope, doesn’t work."

"That I don’t mind. I see no point in eating a plain chip when there is plenty of salsa or guacamole or something like that sitting there."

"I know, but I still find it nasty. If you want stuff on the entire chip, break off pieces before you go diving into the guacamole or just spread the stuff on with a spoon."

By this time we were finished with breakfast and had been given our check. After a good five minutes of both of us offering to pay for the other’s food, we compromised that she would pay for breakfast and I would pay for lunch. After settling up, we headed outside.

"So, where do you want to go and what do you want to see?" she offered.

I still had not figured that out. I knew there were plenty of things to see and do but I was drawing a blank on what that those things were. "What do you recommend?" I asked.

"Oh come on, you have to have heard of something in this city."

"Well, all I know are some touristy spots and I figured you might be able to show me some stuff that isn’t in the guidebooks."

"The problem there is that I don’t know you well enough to know what you would find interesting. There’s something for every taste here."

"I work with computers, I’m paid to have no taste."

"I’ll tell you what. We’ll hit a few of the touristy spots and if you see something that interests you, we’ll stop in."

"Sounds good. If nothing else, I can say I’ve been to those places other people have heard of."

#

We took a subway and got off at Fifth Avenue, where we began heading generally south. I looked down the street in the direction we were heading and was stunned as I thought to myself, "Now that is most definitely a skyscraper."

The Empire State Building was, to say the least, an imposing structure. Located in Midtown Manhattan, it was much larger than the surrounding buildings and its presence tends to demand, "Hey you, look at me. I’m a National Historic Landmark." As we walked south on Fifth Avenue, it loomed in front of us. The size of it made it appear closer to us than it actually was. I realized Fifth Avenue ran in a straight line, but my mind would not allow me to believe it. I reached a mental compromise by deciding the road ran smack into the corner of the building, probably causing a major traffic tie-up. Lord knows the traffic was dense enough to attest to it.

Lacking any better idea of what to say, I simply said, "That’s big."

"It still manages to surprise me sometimes."

"It’s not what I thought the Empire State Building looked like, though."

"Yes, that’s the Chrysler Building you’re thinking of."

I was surprised at the sureness of her response, though unsure of what she was talking about. I shook my head a bit before turning to her with a, "What?"

She looked back at me, appearing as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Very shiny? Very art deco? The top of it looks like a stack of rounded arches with a central spire?" she asked rhetorically.

"Uh...yeah." I suppose the best way to describe my emotions at that point was "freaked out".

"Yes, that’s the Chrysler Building."

"Um...how did you know that?"

"How did I know that you thought the Empire State Building was the Chrysler Building?"

"Yes."

"Oh everybody thinks that," she remarked offhandedly.

The real Empire State Building, not the pretend one that looks nothing like it, is a rather typical blocky structure that just happens to be one hundred two stories tall with an antenna that stretches the height of what would be another seventeen stories. It was also surprisingly wide when I viewed it in person. I assumed it was due to the fact most skyscrapers I was familiar with were, in fact, fairly narrow. Even viewing pictures of the building later, it appeared to be a typical, narrow skyscraper. Proportionately, it is. However, the aforementioned pictures do not give any comprehension of the phenomenal height of the building and, let’s face it, girth is a secondary concern when people think about skyscrapers. I suppose that is true of buildings of any kind. For instance, I seriously doubt there is a listing in Guinness’ Book of World Records for the World’s Widest Building.

We walked, nee strolled down Fifth Avenue toward the colossus.

"So is Saks Fifth Avenue actually on Fifth Avenue?" I asked aloud before my head informed me that was a really ridiculous question.

She looked up, as though unsure of what I was really asking. "What’s that?" she asked, seemingly a bit off-guard.

"Oh, sorry, I guess I’d never thought about the name Saks Fifth Avenue before, and it occurred to me that it might actually be located here on Fifth Avenue."

"Actually, it is located on Fifth Avenue," she began, "It’s a little farther north than where we got on. I suppose it should be surprising that people don’t associate Saks Fifth Avenue with Fifth Avenue, but it really isn’t. It’s now such a brand name that it has a life of its own without needing to be associated with the actual street. I doubt any of the other Saks can be found on any other city’s Fifth Avenue, for instance. I’m sure it was handy for them, in the early days of the company, having the street in their name.

She continued her free associating with, "I wonder if it’s possible to put your entire address as the name of your store? That would sure save some advertising concerns. Nobody would have to call to find out where you were. Of course, 304 Boerum St. is really nothing that would roll off the tongue, now is it?" She seemed to be finished as she turned her attention back to the stores’ merchandise displays.

We passed the rest of the walk quietly as we both looked in the shop windows that lined the sidewalk.

"We made it," Lori piped up.

"So we did," I said as I looked straight up the side of the Empire State Building. It made me a little woozy to look up at it like that, so I looked back down at Lori, who was smiling back at me.

"Shall we go up?" she asked me.

"Let’s."

#

"So, what do you think?" she asked me as we stood atop the observation deck.

"It’s quite a view. I’m glad I’m a tourist today." And I was. The view seemed to go on forever. To the south, I could look out across what could best be described as a gap between Midtown and the gleaming titans of Lower Manhattan. To the north, the green, wooded glens of Central Park mingled and flirted with the glass, steel and concrete surrounding it. To the east and west were Queens and Hoboken. Neither of the latter pair is the most poetic of locations, so we’ll leave those two to themselves. Either way, I was at the building that had so long the focal point of the city and, I suppose, still is. Though the World Trade Center is taller, the Empire State Building still brings to mind a structure that is larger than life.

"So, does anything intrigue you yet?" Lori finally asked me.

"I wouldn’t mind seeing that area down there," I mentioned as I pointed southward to the area of tall buildings.

"Any particular part?"

I was unsure how to answer. Being unfamiliar with the area I asked, "How many parts are there?"

"Well, Lower Manhattan is a fairly big place. I’d like to know where to start you off."

"Since I’m a tourist today, where would a tourist go?"

#

After a trip to the Statue of Liberty we walked down Wall Street for the hell of it and viewed the Brooklyn Bridge from the South Street Seaport.

"So, what next? Do you want to hit the World Trade Center?" Lori inquired after we’d viewed the bridge. A nice structure and all, but there is only so long you can view a marvel of engineering before hitting the interest ceiling. We’d just begun heading off the dock.

"What’s there to do and see at the World Trade Center?" She had been a very good tour guide so far and I figured she would have some good information on it.

"The big thing is the view from up top."

"It seems like it would be a wasted trip, what with starting the day at the Empire State Building."

"True, but some people have a thing for observation decks."

"It doesn’t seem to make much sense to hit too many of them, though. I’d prefer to be thoroughly wowed when I get up there. It’s kind of like seeing too many Elvis movies in one night. Eventually they just look the same instead of allowing you too see the subtle and important nuances between, let’s say, Viva Las Vegas and Clambake."

Lori let out a little laugh as she looked at me. "I’ll have to remember that the next time I decide to watch Elvis movies," she told me as she looped her arm around mine.

"Oh yes," was the thought crossing my mind. Then, "yes, yes, yes," while I pictured a little dance I felt like doing. I figured I would keep that thought, as well as the jig, to myself, though she had to have noticed I was suddenly walking much taller.

We subwayed back to Grand Central Station and did a little more sightseeing, hitting Times Square and St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

"We’d better be getting back," she told me as we were walking out of St Patrick’s, "it’s getting late."

"It certainly is," I agreed as I looked at my watch. In reality, I’d been anxious for this time to arrive. I had paid little attention to Times Square and I was oblivious to St. Patrick’s. At the time, my concerns were not with seeing the sights but, rather, seeing how far around the basepath I could get with Lori. The entire time in the church I had been trying to think it out: "She’s been flirting with me. Maybe she’s just a flirty type. She’s been smiling at me a lot, though. She did put her arm around mine. How do I handle trying to kiss her? Do I try that today? Of course I try that today! How and when do I try? I don’t know. Shit. Oh yeah, sorry about that, God." It suddenly occurred to me that I was walking through a church trying to figure out how to score with some girl I’d just met. I couldn’t decide if that was blasphemous or pathetic. In an attempt to make up for whichever way I had gone wrong, I left a significant offering in the alms box.

"So what are your big plans for the evening?" I asked Lori as we got onto the bus taking us back to our neighborhood.

"I’m going to hear Andy play this evening."

I had heard nothing about this so I asked, "What does he play?"

"Oh, I didn’t tell you? He plays the cello in a few ensembles. I guess you would say that I’m not so much seeing him play this evening as much as I am seeing his chamber orchestra. But since I’m going as his guest, I guess you could say I am going to see him play."

"He plays the cello?" I wanted to make sure I had heard that right; the engine noise drowned out words here and there.

"Oh yes, he’s very good. He’s tried out for the New York Philharmonic a few times but he’s never quite been able to break in. I think that’s mostly due to the fact they haven’t had any open chairs for cello in the last few years."

Okay, how do I move conversation to find out her relationship with him? "So how do you two know each other?"

"Oh, it’s a long story. I guess you could say we were travelling in the same circles and ended up doing a lot of things together. We moved into the building you’re in about two years ago. Rent’s not cheap in this city, in case you hadn’t noticed."

I was still unsure as to their exact relationship and we were going to be getting back to our apartment building soon. I figured I would just plow right into it. "So are you two dating or anything like that?"

Lori looked at me with a smile that said, "so that’s what is on your mind" but she simply said, "No, we’re not dating, he’s just a very good friend."

I tried not to let a little smile appear on my face. I don’t think I managed to do that very well.

#

Things were looking good as we arrived at our apartment building. Lori had been laughing and smiling for a while, and I was feeling pretty good about my chances.

"So, do you want to catch some dinner yet this evening?"

"Love the idea."

"Well, I need to go upstairs and check my messages, do you want to come up for a bit?"

The answer I felt like giving was, "Yes, yes, dear God, yes!" but instead I calmly replied, "Sure, why not?"

We walked upstairs to her place. I was desperately hoping Andrew would not be there. I had to think he would not be, otherwise why would she invite me upstairs? Things were looking very good, indeed, and I walked up the stairs as calmly as I could in anticipation of a very good early evening.