Katwalk (11 page)

Whoever chooses the music here has good taste
, she thought.

She picked up her mug, deciding to get a refill.

The barista with the green eyes was behind the counter, his back to her. She cleared her throat to get his attention. “Excuse me, could I get another skim latte, please?”

He turned around and took the empty mug. “Sure thing. How’s that newspaper treating you? You seemed pretty focused over there.”

She felt embarrassed that he had noticed. “Not quite finished.”

“You read it every day?”

She nodded. “I try to.”

“It’s nice to see someone reading a real newspaper. Most people these days just seem to scan the headlines on their phones, if that. They’re all too busy texting or updating their Facebook status.”

She smiled. “I think you may be right about that. Personally, I get a headache if I read too much on a tiny screen. Too much squinting.” She tapped her palm against her temple.

He laughed. “I do too! I bet half the kids who come in here are going to need reading glasses by the time they’re thirty. We might have to keep a pair on the counter to help them make out the menu.”

She smiled again as she paid for the latte, hoping sh
e’d
smoothed over whatever slight sh
e’d
inadvertently committed. She took a step away from the counter, then hesitated before returning to her table.

H
e’d
be a good person to ask,
she thought.

She looked back at him, poised to speak.

“Did you want to order something else?” he asked. “Another scone?”

Suddenly she felt uncomfortable. “No, I’m fine. Thanks for the latte.” She visibly stiffened, disappointed in herself, in her inability to control her nerves.

He gave her a strange look, clearly picking up on her swift change in demeanor. “Gotcha.”

She began walking toward her table. Why hadn’t she asked him? It was a simple request. Why was she so timid?

Halfway there she stopped.

It’s just a question, Katrina.

You can do it.

Stop being so afraid of normal human interaction.

This is your chance to change things.

She forced herself to return to the counter.

“Excuse me?” She cleared her throat again.

He looked up, an amused expression on his face. “Yep. Still here.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure thing.”

She swallowed. “Well, I’m in town for just a couple of months, and I’ve made a long list of things I want to see
. . .
or do
. . .
while I’m here. But I’m learning that some of the best things about New York don’t necessarily appear in guidebooks, so, um, I was just wondering if you could offer any suggestions of other things I should see
. . .
or do.” She cringed at how awkward she sounded. By now he had to have noticed how socially inept she was.

He smiled. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated before responding, which made him chuckle.

“It’s not a trick question,” he said.

She took a quick breath. “Katrina
. . .
er
. . .
Kat
. . .
I mean
. . .
either is fine, I guess.”

He chuckled again. “You sure about that?”

She nodded weakly.

“Okay then, we’ll go with Kat. Kat from
. . . 
?”

“California. Silicon Valley, to be precise.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really?
I’d
have pegged you as a Midwestern girl.”

She understood why he thought so. Silicon Valley was hardly known as a hotbed of reserved personalities. She shrugged and held up her palms. “Sorry.”

“Well, Kat from Silicon Valley, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Justin from Long Island.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” She flinched at her faux pas. Why hadn’t she asked him his name back? She hoped she hadn’t offended him
. . .
again.

If she had, he didn’t let on. He placed his hands on the counter. “So, sightseeing
. . .
I assume you’ve already got the basics on your list.”

She nodded. “I think so. The Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, Times Square, the 9/11 Memorial, a Broadway show. I’ll be sure to do all that stuff.”

“So you’re looking for cool things that aren’t on the first page of every guidebook? A little off the beaten path?”

She nodded. “I guess you could say that. I’m trying to be adventurous, but I’m thinking more along the lines of
a
hidden gem of a museum
than
a
secret underground rave
. I’m not much of a partier, if you couldn’t already tell.” She managed a weak smile.

“You? Never.” He picked up a wet rag and began wiping down the wooden counter. “Hmm. Just going off the top of my head here,
I’d
say some good ones up north are the Bronx Zoo and the Cloisters, but those are probably already on your list. And renting a bike in Central Park might sound a little touristy, but it’s definitely worth doing. Off the beaten path in Brooklyn,
I’d
suggest checking out Bedford Avenue over in Williamsburg, a stroll through the Fulton Mall downtown, and of course the Brooklyn Flea, a weekend market in Dumbo filled with all sorts of homemade everything. And while you’re over there, you’ve got to eat at Grimaldi’s Pizzeria—and check out the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, too. Oh, and since it’s right in this neighborhood, I highly recommend an afternoon of people-watching in Tompkins Square Park.” He pointed in the direction of the East Village. “And you
must
check out the—”

Katrina held up a finger to interrupt him, then glanced over at her table. “I’m so sorry, but would you mind repeating all that for me when I have a pen and paper in hand? It’s a fantastic list, but I’ll never remember it all.”

He smiled. “No problem, Kat. I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks, Justin.” She found herself smiling slightly as she went to retrieve her purse.
That wasn’t so hard
, she thought. She pulled out a notebook and was digging around for a pen when she heard her phone chime with a new text message. She took it out and looked at the screen.

It was from Reid.

How goes the adventuring? Any interest in grabbing a drink later?

She read the message again.

Today was Friday.

He wants to have a drink with me on a Friday night?

He couldn’t be suggesting a
date
because he was married, so maybe he was just being friendly. They had clearly enjoyed talking with each other the other night. They could be friends even though he was married, couldn’t they?

Glancing at the counter, Katrina saw that Justin was busy serving a new customer. She took a seat and considered the invitation, which seemed harmless enough.

Would it be okay to go?

Is it appropriate?

Things are different in New York, right?

She tried to think of the best way to reply to the message. She began typing a response several times but deleted each one and started again. Nothing she wrote seemed to convey the attitude she wanted to project, probably because she wasn’t even sure what that was.

She sat there for a few moments, staring at her phone, then finally typed a brief note saying sure, i
t’d
be fun. It was just a drink, right? That was allowed. He didn’t need to know she found him attractive. They could have a friendly chat about how she was settling into New York, and maybe h
e’d
give her some good tips on things to see while she was in town.

As soon as she pressed
send
she noticed someone approaching her table. She looked up and saw the skinny young barista standing over her.

“Justin asked me to give this to you.” He handed her a folded piece of paper.

“Oh, thanks.” She opened the note and read it as he walked away.

It was a list of insider things to do in New York.

She looked over at the counter, but Justin was gone.

Katrina spent an hour or so exploring the East Village, which was sprinkled with dozens of boutiques, antique stores, thrift shops, and sidewalk vendors, each of which somehow managed to be unique and trendy in its own highly distinctive way. Every few steps she spotted something sh
e’d
never see in Mountain View. A girly pink purse covered in peace symbols hanging next to a black tank top painted with an angry skull and crossbones. An array of coffee mugs featuring vulgar yet humorous slogans that made her blush. A vintage lace dress on a headless mannequin. A small mountain of well-worn political and religious books piled atop a sagging card table.

The gritty streets were a veritable bastion of the hip and cool, with just enough touristy knickknacks on display to make more mainstream visitors like Katrina feel comfortable. At first she felt like a fish out of water as she popped in and out of bohemian stores and browsed the myriad sidewalk displays of funky jewelry, clothing, artwork, and albums, but there were so many other people there from all walks of life that she soon relaxed and began to enjoy the energy pulsating around her. By the end of her jaunt, she felt almost like a veteran. In one postage-stamp-sized shop she even bought a pink neck scarf, a knitted blue hat, and a pair of dangly silver earrings, all three of which breached the boundaries of her normal conservative style—but which she found absolutely adorable. Whether or not she would ever feel comfortable wearing any of these things was another story, but she was proud of herself for having purchased something other than yet another pair of black pants.

She bought a ham-and-cheese sandwich at a deli on East Seventh Street and stopped by her apartment to pick up a fresh canvas before heading out to Tompkins Square Park, the place Justin had said was good for people watching. Once there, she sat on a bench and set up her easel, then unwrapped the sandwich and took in the scene as she ate.

Justin hadn’t been kidding. It was a crisp weekday afternoon in October, but she could just as easily believe it was a warm summer Saturday, given how much was going on around her. To her left, a group of older men were intently watching two of their peers battle it out in a game of chess. To her right, a young couple lay side by side on a blanket, fingers interlaced, each holding an e-reader in the air with their free hands. Nearby, a young man with a long ponytail played guitar and sang folk songs, the large case propped open at his feet to collect tips. A boisterous pickup game of street hockey was being waged on the basketball court behind him. And in the midst of it all, a constant stream of foot traffic—young and old, hipster and business casual, every skin color—was crisscrossing the cement pathways that cut through the grass in all directions. Katrina estimated that 25 percent of the people were carrying Starbucks cups and 40 percent were wearing headphones.

After watching the world go by for a few minutes, she neatly folded the empty paper sandwich wrapper in half before tossing it into a nearby trash bin. Then she began to paint. For her subject sh
e’d
chosen the bench where sh
e’d
been sitting, which was now empty and framed by a background buzzing with passersby.

Calm, surrounded by chaos.

Another unusual juxtaposition, yet it was exactly how she felt at that moment.

When she was done painting an hour or so later, she picked up the canvas and folded up her easel, then stretched her arms over her head, satisfied with what sh
e’d
accomplished. She dropped two dollars into the ponytailed guitarist’s case and decided it was time to head back to the apartment.

She ran into Shana on her way into the building.

“Hey, Kat. How’s your first week in New York going?”

“So far, so good. There’s just so much to do here, I almost don’t even know where to begin. I’ll never be able to fit it all into just two months. I seriously think I could spend several days just watching people in Tompkins Square Park. It’s a whole world unto itself.”

“Tell me about it. I think I could live here for five more years without even scratching the surface. But that’s why New York’s so fun, right? It’s nothing like where I grew up. Going to the mall is a big deal in rural Ohio.” She pointed at the canvas. “Were you just painting?”

Katrina felt her cheeks flush and nodded.

“Can I see?”

“I’m not very good. I’m pretty rusty, actually.”

“I draw stick people, so let me be the judge of it.” Shana reached for the canvas and turned it around, then let out a little gasp. “Oh, wow, Kat, it’s beautiful.”

“You think so?”

“I love it. What are you going to do with it?”

Katrina shrugged. “I have no idea. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Before this week I hadn’t painted in years.”

“
I’d
love to hang it in my living room.”

“Really?”

“You bet. I don’t have money to pay you for it though. I’m sorry.”

“Oh gosh, don’t worry about that. I can’t believe you think it’s worth hanging.”