The sky was dark, but the streets were bright with light spilling out from offices and apartments, 24/7 diners that oozed grease and grit, jam-packed gyms where impossibly beautiful people sprinted on treadmills in the windows as if determined to evoke envy among the plebian passersby, and from the headlights of bumper-to-bumper traffic where the impatience of being late to something veryimportant was one of the million emotions swirling in the grimy, glorious potion that was the Manhattan night.
Between blocks, Rae could catch a glimpse of the Empire State Building’s iconic spire, lit up like a manmade lightning rod and shifting colors like a mood ring. The landmark was something of her north star in New York, helping recenter her when she got disoriented.
She was on her way to meet up with Tim at Bathtub Gin, a speakeasy whose entrance was located through the back of Stone Street Coffee Company, an unobtrusive little spot that was easy to miss if you weren’tin the knowor following explicit directions from Google Maps, like Rae was. It couldn’t be more than forty-five degrees out, and on another night, Rae might have found humor in how she was somehow perspiring through goose bumps. But not tonight.
“Natural deodorant works,” Ellen assured her. It was a weeknight, and Ellen was away for work on a project in Ohio—“making PowerPoint slides summarizing made-up data and common sense,” as she described her management consulting job. She’d sneaked out to take Rae’s call from an office bathroom stall. “You just have to put on a couple layers.”
“I put on five,” Rae said, nerves sharpening her voice.
Ellen had been preaching the perils of regular deodorant—a fast track to cancer with its aluminum toxins, apparently—and Rae had chosen today to try out a natural variety. It had been an elegant idea, ringing in this newI’m a midtwenties woman who’s ready to meet her true loveera with eucalyptus-extract armpits, but the sweaty reality was making her regret not sticking to her trustworthy routine of extra-strength sport gel.
Ellen was not the type of person who had to choose between smelling good and plugging her pores with carcinogens. Rae found it as fitting a metaphor as any for the differences between them.
“I’m sure you smell fine,” Ellen said. “You have your exit plan in place?”
As part of the predate coaching lessons, Ellen had told Rae about the importance of limiting the first date to an hour to avoid getting trapped. The key, Ellen said, was to let the guy know ahead of time about the time constraint so he didn’t take it personally in the moment.
“Yes,” Rae said, proud of her execution. “I told him I have to dial into a conference call in Asia in the evening at ten, our time.”
“A conference call?” Ellen said, and Rae could feel her cringing from her toilet seat perch. “You had to pickthatas your excuse?”
“What was I supposed to say?”
“Literally anything else! A friend’s birthday, a furniture delivery …”
“A furniture delivery at tenP.M.on a Wednesday? A conference call in China is way more believable.”
Ellen sounded like she was about to refute the point, but the toilet flushed beneath her. “Damn automatic flushes,” she said. “Just try not to talk about work the whole date, okay?”
“Okay,” Rae gulped, mentally reciting the safe topics Ellen had given her.Family, hobbies, dogs, vacations, roommates.She’d written the acronym FHDVR on the margins of her work notebook all week. “Can I just have a chip in my ear so you can talk me through it?”
“You’ll be great, Rae-bae. My boss is calling me, I have to run. But text me right after! And he’s an idiot if he doesn’t fall in love with you within the first five minutes, overactive sweat glands and all.”
And just like that, Ellen hung up.
New York shuffled around her with its midweek pulse, and Rae felt cripplingly alone. Ellen had helped make her dating app profile, Ellen had lined up the first date, Ellen had coached her on what to say, but now it was just Rae walking to the bar to meet up with a complete stranger.
Her feet felt heavy as they clacked against the cement sidewalk. As if protesting being forced along, one of her heels got stuck between the grills of an iron drainage grate. Yanking herself free, she wanted to turn around and go back to the penthouse, stopping by Percy’sPizza for some comfort slices, but she soldiered on, determined to make Ellen and the rest of the Scramblettes proud and determined to get one date closer to her wedding day.
Not wanting to arrive early, she did a lap around the block and circled back at 9:03 to wait outside the speakeasy, doing her best to dodge the mystery liquid dripping from the rickety scaffolding overhead. Tim still wasn’t there, unless he was the fiftysomething man pacing the sidewalk, ranting about “fucking double standards.”
Rae looked down at her phone, willing herself to emanate aNo rush at all, I’m just calmly and coolly catching up on my vibrant social lifevibe.
He’s late,she texted the Scramblettes’ group chat.What if he doesn’t show?
How late??Mina asked.
3 mins,Rae texted.
Give him 10!
Agreed,Sarah chimed in.Probably just subway delays.
Ellen added,But if he bails, I’ll find out where he lives and deliver a gift basket of cockroaches!
Plz take the ones from my apartment?Mina texted.
After I get rid of the clan in my dresser … but you’ve got this, Rae!
