“Hey, Geoff,” she says as a slightly pudgy, dark-haired guy joins our booth. “This is my new friend, Alex.”
He extends his hand and smiles warmly. He’s got a kind face and green eyes that sparkle behind his black-rimmed glasses, and I think I pick up a bit of a gay vibe but I can’t be sure. Either way, I immediately like him.
“You two get to know each other,” Cat says, pushing to her feet. “I’ll go get you a drink, Geoff.” She swivels towards the bar, and this time she heads straight for Cory.
Geoff turns to me with a smile. “So, how do you know Cat?”
“She’s friends with a friend of mine from back home. She rescued me today when I got stuck,” I say. I’m not sure I want to go around telling everyone what an idiot I was to get sucked in by an internet scam because I made a major life decision while blackout drunk.
He nods. “She’s good like that.”
“She didn’t seem very impressed when we met,” I confess. “Something about her ex ruining her day.”
“Yeah, Mark is a total dick.” Geoff raises his eyes to the ceiling. “He makes her life a nightmare. But it’s okay, because she’s going to meet Mr. Right soon.”
“Oh?”
“She’s on a dating kick. Didn’t date much for a couple years after her divorce, but now she’s ready to meet someone new.”
I give him a puzzled look. “That’s weird. Earlier she said men are the worst.”
“Oh, they are. Just last week I had a drink with a guy who wanted me to go home with him after he called me fat.” Geoff laughs bitterly. “The dating scene here is rough. Cat’s met loads of guys but, you know, you have to kiss a lot of frogs and all that.” He folds his hands on the table. “So, what are you doing in New York?”
I tell him about coming to write, leaving out the details about my ex and my parents. When I do that, it makes it sound more like an adventure born out of a restless free spirit rather than a desperate attempt to reroute my disappointing life.
He listens intently, genuinely interested, and I notice I feel very comfortable with him.
“I love your necklace.”
I touch the book charm. “Thanks! It was a gift.”
“I should sell them. I run a bookstore in the West Village called Between the Lines.”
“Oh, I love books! I was assistant manager at a bookstore back home.” I decide not to tell him that romance novels have always been my preferred genre. I don’t need another person making me feel stupid right now. “Do you have any job openings?” I ask hopefully. I know I didn’t come here to do the same thing as back home, but I’ll need to find something to survive on until I start making money from my writing. I picture myself in a charming little bookstore in the Village, with worn leather armchairs and jazz music playing softly, while rain beats against the pavement outside and—
“No, sorry.” Geoff gives me an apologetic smile, pushing his glasses up his nose. “We’re fully staffed and I have people coming in to apply for jobs all the time.”
“Oh.” The image vanishes from my head and I nod. “Of course.” As if it would be that easy for me to evengeta job, let alone one in a lovely bookstore where I could meet other writers and maybe even mingle with New York’s literary crowd.
No. I’ll probably end up stuffed into a shrimp costume, waddling through Times Square and handing out fliers to a local restaurant for three dollars an hour. And that’s if I’m lucky. I don’t even want to contemplate the alternative.
I look down into my wine glass with a heavy sigh. Cat and Geoff are friendly but that doesn’t help with the fact that I’m homeless and jobless—and now, thanks to that apartment scam, nearly broke. If I don’t find a job soon, I won’t have any choice but to go home with my tail between my legs.
6
I’m dreading today. Apartment hunting in Manhattan is not for the faint of heart. Well, that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve never tried it, and given the choice I wouldn’t be. But I’m determined to find my new home in this big city. So, I’ve lined up a few apartments to check out.
The first is only a few blocks from Cat’s place and I walk over mid-morning. I let myself wander slowly, taking in the neighborhood. The streets are cute, with small gardens and trees, beautiful brick facades and arched doorways. In the distance I hear the ever-present soundtrack of sirens and car horns, but most of them aren’t nearby. In fact, this area is sort of quiet. It really does feel like its own village.
I turn down a pretty street, lined with golden Gingko trees, and find the building I’m looking for. Pressing the buzzer, I wait nervously.
“Hello?” a voice says behind me, and I turn to see a middle-aged man.
“Oh, hi. I’m here to view the apartment?”
He nods and gestures for me to follow him through a gate, down from the street level. We enter through a heavy door into a small space. No, it’s not small. It’s tiny.
“So, this is the living room,” he says with a grand sweeping gesture, as if he’s showing me a suite at The Ritz and not what is, essentially, a basement.
