“She’s a college graduate. I hired her.”
“Not my type. Her name isKitty.”
“All right, now you’re just being mean.” He seemed minimally offended on Kitty’s behalf.
“I’m fine. Why is it everyone’s mission in life to set me up? I’mfine.”
“Clock’s a-tickin’.”
“Guys don’t have clocks.”
“You’re thirty-six.”
“That’s young.”
“Not compared to Kitty.”
The elevator doors opened and we stepped into the lobby. A giant print of one of my photos ran the length of a wall.
“See that, Matt? That gets women wet.”
“It’s a picture of an Iraqi child holding an automatic weapon.”
“The Pulitzer you got for it, genius, not the picture.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “That was a good year for you.”
“Yeah, it was. Professionally, anyway.”
“I’m telling you, you have to use that to your advantage. You have a moderate amount of celebrity because of that photo. It’s worked in my favor.”
“How did it work for you, exactly?”
“I might’ve borrowed your name for a night. Once or twice.”
I laughed. “That’s disgraceful, man.”
“Kitty’s into you. You should give that little hottie what she wants. You know there’re rumors about her.”
“Even more reason to stay away.”
“No, good rumors. Like she’s crazy. A little animal.”
“And that’s good how?”
We made our way outside and headed for the subway station on West 57th to catch the F train. Midtown is always congested at that hour, but we were nearing the end of winter. The sun beating down between the buildings drew even more people out onto the street. I weaved in and out of the masses while Scott trailed me.
Right before we reached the station entrance he spoke loudly from behind.
“She’d probably be into anal.”
I stopped and faced him at the top of the steps goingdown. “Scott, this conversation is wrong in so many ways. Let’s just end it here, okay?”
“I’m your boss.”
“Exactly.” I trotted down the steps toward the turnstiles.
There was an old woman playing a violin at the bottom of the steps. Her clothes were dingy and her hair was a gray, matted mess. The strings on her bow were hanging off, like floating foxtails, but she was playing Brahms flawlessly. When I threw five bucks in her case, she smiled. Scott shook his head and pulled me along.
“I’m trying to keep you happy and productive, Matt.”
