“I told her to try the Columbus Circle mall. My nieces like to go there when they’re in town. I said, ‘All you gotta do is walk south along Central Park West until you see the pointy statue.’ Then she left.” He heaved a big, philosophical shrug.
“Thank you,” I said.
We walked on.
“You want any of this?” Berron said, brandishing our very expensive snack.
“Leave the dogs, keep the waters.”
“What?” he said, chucking the hot dogs in a trash can. “Too good for street meat?”
“I don’t see you chowing down.”
“I’m a vegetarian,” he said. “I wouldn’t eat them if they were from Nathan’s on Coney Island.”
“You’re missing out. Although personally I think Gray’s Papaya has it all over Nathan’s. Nathan’s is just coasting on reputation at this point. If you want a dog from a cart, though—”
“I don’t.”
“Shut up, you might learn something. If you want a cart dog, there’s a guy who sells ’em out front of the Met. Marine veteran. Fought the city to get that spot. Good story.” I swigged the water until half of it was gone.
Berron drank some of his. “I’ve never been to Coney Island.”
I almost said,Eh, you’re not missing much, but I swallowed it along with another sip of water. It had been too easy to take for granted how easily I could go where I wanted, anytime I wanted. If I were trapped in the same twenty-two square miles forever, Coney might sound pretty good. “Maybe we’ll go there someday,” I said. “I’ll buy you a funnel cake, and you can throw it up after you ride the Cyclone.”
“And then to Sparkle Beach,” he said, getting into it. “Where I will bathe in Suntan Queen lotion and fry myself to even more of a crisp than a funnel cake.”
“You remember Sparkle Beach and Suntan Queen? I think I’ve mentioned them to you, like, once.”
Berron looked offended. “Ilisten, Zelda.”
I smiled to myself, a little, picturing Berron in swim trunks and a floatie, with a stripe of brightly colored zinc sunscreen down his nose.
When we reached Columbus Circle, traffic had slowed to a crawl—and not from rush hour. The massive roundabout had five lanes circling a small island of concentric flowerbeds and a ring of fountains, all framing a marble statue of Christopher Columbus atop a tall pillar decorated with boats. The usual swirl of movement had been slowed by a car that had managed to jump the curb and hit a direction sign on the edge of the island.
A crowd of onlookers had joined in the owner’s effort to push the car off the bent sign, where it appeared to be stuck.
Berron surveyed the scene. “You’d have had to make a real effort to swerve hard enough to leave the innermost lane and make it onto the sidewalk.”
“Probably avoiding hitting your sister, who walked into traffic,” I said.
He nodded solemnly. “Better go get her before she tries to cross again.”
We joined the rush of pedestrians crossing to the closest side of the monument island. Chris Columbus loomed overhead, attracting pigeons with nothing better to do. We reached the other side of the island and waited our turn to cross the traffic circle again.
The mall itself rose in layers of steel beneath a bank skyscraper. It reminded me of Daniel and his condo: modern, polished, money. The glass-fronted atrium towered many stories above, each shop window promising a different brand name famous for luxury, while escalators carried passengers below street level to an upscale grocery store.
We stopped in front of a mall directory.
“Where do we even look?” I said. Then I thought of the leafy fairy money she’d given the hot dog vendor. “And how do we cover what she bought? I can’t cover a shopping spree at Whole Foods, let alone Burberry.”
“Maybe she hasn’t bought anything yet.” Even Berron didn’t sound like he believed himself.
“At least she already has a knick-knack, so maybe she’ll leave Swarovski alone.”
“Very funny.”
“I think we can safely rule out Hugo Boss, unless she’s shopping for you.”
