by L. W. Clark
I had that happy, exhausted feeling on the subway ride back to Brooklyn. I couldn’t wait for my next day off in the city.
Every time I went to Brooklyn, I’d buy Vogue magazine. When I went to Peter’s I’d bring the magazine with me, and while he was napping or sleeping, I’d read it. I’d read every single article, with my helpful dictionary by my side. Vogue was my English textbook. It would take me such a long time to finish one article. I’d stay up late and read all night. I couldn’t sleep in Peter’s house anyway. Articles would teach me so much about fashion and fashion people. Other articles would tell me about Manhattan: the lifestyles and the places where people went for parties and charity events; the restaurants and bars, the museums and galleries, with various exhibitions. I was learning about restaurant dinner menus and cocktails. It was all new to me. I wanted to know about the high-end stores and where the wealthy shopped. I wanted to know about new, hot items arriving in stores. Every city has its own fashion and lifestyles. I wanted to learn about Manhattan’s. I’d write down all the popular places. Any place where the Manhattan crowd would go socialize.
Now when I went to the city on my day off, I’d grab my list with the addresses to see the places, at least from the outside. I was learning about the city and how to move around the areas and streets. I was downtown, uptown, midtown and downtown again. I was all over the place.
I’m preparing myself to live in Manhattan. One day, when some gentleman asks me out, I’ll know things. I’m not going to be some silly girl who just moved here, who doesn’t even know what a cosmopolitan martini is, or has no idea how to eat sushi. Or where to go shopping for a nice pair of shoes or a handbag.
I was in a hurry to learn and live in this city. Vogue magazine was my teacher and my best friend. It gave me so much information about how to be fashionable. It motivated me to look pretty and stay slim so I could fit into one of those beautiful dresses I saw in the magazine.
Most importantly, Vogue helped me improve my English, which I still needed. I used to watch the fashion television channel a lot back home. I could watch for hours and would never get tired of it. I love fashion. I never had any high-end designer clothes or accessories, but I knew all about them. I even knew the annual designer collections. Reading Vogue and seeing familiar designer names was cool. There were also American designers that I never heard of before. It was interesting and fun to learn about them. Vogue inspired me even more to be part of the fabulous city crowd.
From Vogue I learned that Bergdorf Goodman sold high-end designer suits that a young Goldman Sachs vice president might buy, like a dark pinstriped suit from Giorgio Armani’s Black Label collection. Or Purple Label by Ralph Lauren, or a suit from Ermenegildo Zegna, at about $2,000 a suit. I discovered that Barney’s New York was a favorite store for busy New Yorkers, who hire personal shoppers to buy their clothes. I read about the famous Fifth Avenue, where there seemed to be an unending number of high-end stores, right next to each other.
I want to shop for a beautiful Dior dress, or extremely fashionable Prada clothes. I want to experience the distinct style of Chanel, or the sexy girly-girl style of Dolce and Gabbana. I want to feel so feminine in the La Perla store, buying the sexiest lingerie I can find.
I read about the Balthazar restaurant on Spring Street in Soho, where celebrities like Calvin Klein, Isaac Mizrahi, Spike Lee, Robert De Niro and Steve Martin mingled with a stylish supporting cast. I stopped outside there once. As I looked through the window the entire place seemed to vibrate and glow, like the Folies-Bergère painting by Manet.
And there was the 21 Club, which started as a speakeasy in Greenwich Village and moved a few times before settling into its current 52nd street location in 1929. It was popular with the Wall Street elite, who would finish eating and then head over to the Oak Room and Bar at the Plaza Hotel for whiskey and cigars.
The more I read about these Wall Street financiers, the more I sensed their power—and money. All these smart, highly educated men taking risks and getting big paydays. I’m attracted to them. I admire the fearless, hard-working and fashionable man.
Vogue described the Four Seasons and St. Regis hotels, where rooms and even suites were booked all the time by Hollywood stars and executives. It made me want to stay at those hotels forever. I couldn’t even imagine how beautiful they must be on the inside.
There were nightclubs like Tunnel, The Limelight and Twilo, where DJ Junior Vasquez was spinning. I wanted to hear him live. The hidden bar Magnum in SoHo was the best place to go on Mondays, when you might run into Lenny Kravitz. It was his favorite place in the city. Or the Pangea nightclub, where it was almost impossible to get in without being on the guest list.
I’ll have to be creative to get my name on that list.
I read and read. So much information. I really believed that one day I’d put all this knowledge in practice. I became an expert about places without ever being there. My favorite place was downtown. I liked walking around the West Village and seeing the townhouses. They looked like dream homes, like you might never die if you lived in one. I loved looking through their windows, stopping for a second to look inside. I was so curious about who lived there, and what they looked like inside. I imagined the people who owned them were secretive, famous and interesting.
One day while walking I saw an old townhouse with wide, high windows that didn’t have any shades. The lights were on even though it was still light out in the early evening. I could see inside. It looked enormous. Pale green walls in an open room, with old antique furniture, and a large painting and a big mirror on the wall.
Imagine living in a place like that, in a city like this? It must be magical. It looks huge, with that open room, old antique furniture and large paintings on the wall. I wonder …
“Hello, can I help you?”
I turned to see a guy standing on the stairs picking up a package. He came out of the house I was staring at.
Well, this is embarrassing. What the hell do I say?
“I’m sorry,” I said. “The chandelier caught my attention.”
I started to turn away as he came down the stairs and walked towards me. He turned and looked through his window.
“Chandelier?” he asked. “There’s no chandelier in there.”
I looked in the window.
He’s right. There’s no chandelier. Damn. I used the wrong word. It’s a lamp. Lamp. Why is he staring at me? Am I in trouble? Maybe I should just …
“My name is Jeff,” he finally said, extending his hand.
“Hello,” I said as I shook his hand.
“And your name is?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Alyssa”
Why am I nervous?
“Do you live around here?” he asked.
I wish. It’s cool he thinks I could be from this neighborhood. Maybe I’m starting to look like a Manhattan girl?
“No. I live in Brooklyn, but I love Manhattan.”
He was curious about my accent and where I was from. We continued talking, and it ended up being a long conversation. Me, with my broken English, and him with his super-fast talking. And I mean really, really super-fast. He spoke so fast it seemed like he wasn’t even finishing one sentence before starting another.
Every time I respond to one of his questions, he becomes impatient and finishes my sentence for me. He does seem to understand what I was trying to say. He’s always looking right into my eyes. It’s kind of unsettling. He’s staring at me as if he knows me. What is going on inside his head?
“Well, I really should be going,” I said, trying to end the conversation. “My friend is waiting for me.”
“Oh, OK,” he said. “Hey, would you like to go out to dinner sometime? I know a place that makes great cocktails.”
Wow, an invitation to dinner? He lives in Manhattan and wants to take me out, to some cool place? He seems like a good guy.
“Yes, that would be nice,” I said. “But I won’t be around for a while. Let me look at my calendar.�
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I took my notebook out to find out when I’d be in Brooklyn again. I pretended to be confident, like this happened all the time.
It is so nice that he asked me out. I miss being with a guy so much, how can I say no?
“I’ll be back in two weeks,” I said. “Is that OK?
“Yes, that works. Maybe I can get your number so I can call you before, to make sure we’re good to go?”
“Sure,” I said.
I gave him the Brooklyn phone number.
“Great, I’ll call you around 6 p.m. in two weeks.”
“Sounds good,” I said as we exchanged goodbyes.
I walked away feeling both happy and confused. Happy to be asked out and confused that I said yes.
I don’t even know this guy! Maybe it’s the weather. It’s a warm, sunny day in March. The air is fresh, and everything and everyone was coming back to life after the long winter. Maybe I have spring fever or something.
Whatever it was there was a smile on my face and a bounce in my step as I made my way to Silvia’s.
“So, what does he look like?” Silvia asked.
“You know, I really can’t describe him,” I said, puzzled as to why I couldn’t remember his face or body. “I guess he’s not that memorable.”
“Well I’m shocked,” she said. “How is it possible that I’ve lived here for years and have never been out with an American man, and you go into the city a few times and meet someone, just like that? Are you making this up?”
“No, no. Not at all,” I said laughing.
“Well I don’t get it. What the hell?” she said smiling as she poured us both a glass of wine.
I worked hard for the next two weeks, hoping the time would go by quickly. I was getting excited about my next day off. Maybe my look changed as well.
“You look different somehow,” Anna said one night.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “You look … happier. What’s going on?”
Why are they so suspicious? Maybe they’re worried I’m planning to leave them for a better job or some other reason. They always seem to be asking if I’m happy. Even Kalian mentioned that I look and even sound different.
I just shrugged my shoulders.
“Nothing’s going on,” I said. “I’m the same girl as before.”
But my intuition proved correct.
“We’re friends so I feel like I have to tell you,” Kalian said.
“Tell me what?” I asked.
“Anna asked me to try and find out what’s happening with you. She’s worried you might be quitting.”
Nosey people.
“They shouldn’t worry,” I said laughing. “I’m not going anywhere, at least not for a while.”
I’m still making payments to Viktor, so I need this job, more than they know. But it’s not going to be forever. Let them think that one over.
Martha’s replacement was hired but Peter asked me to continue working, and I agreed. My days with Peter were easy. I kind of got used to him but I never got used to his house and its atmosphere. As soon as I walked into the house my appetite went away. The house was my fasting place. Peter was chatting away, as always. But since I was in a better mood, I chatted with him. I told him my story about meeting Jeff. I was practicing my English while also making Peter happy. But I didn’t tell him about my dinner date with Jeff. He had a big mouth. If I told him the whole neighborhood would know.
Lately, I was going to Brooklyn right after I would finish my work on Sunday, so I’d have a full day off. I got in late, so I’d go straight to the apartment and wait for Silvia. The next day I was always on my mission to go explore the city and learn more. By the time I returned home I’d be exhausted. I’d go to sleep as soon as possible since I had to get up at 4:30 a.m. (having learned my lesson). But I never really walked around the Brooklyn neighborhood. All I knew was the subway and supermarket.
I was expecting a phone call from Jeff later, so I decided to go around the neighborhood instead of going to Manhattan. I wanted to check out the stores where I might find a pretty but inexpensive dress for my night out. Silvia told me there were a bunch of low-cost stores in the neighborhood. I wanted to go to the stores I read about in Vogue, but I was still far away from that. Whenever I got paid, I had my loan payments to deal with.
It was a warm day, so I took a walk and ended up on a busy avenue, with very loud people and a lot of stores. I didn’t realize in just a few blocks from the quiet apartment there could be such a lively place. It looked like some kind of festival. I kept walking, astonished. Right next to the stores was a barbershop with a group of young, big-muscled guys hanging out. They were wearing sleeveless shirts and white boxers, with baggy pants and cool sneakers. They were gathered around a big, portable stereo playing loud rap music, listening and shaking their heads. They moved like Eminem. It was like I was watching one of his music videos right there on the street.
A group of girls walked by with large gold jewelry on, wearing tight dresses. So tight it seemed like they could rip at any minute. They wore high platform heels or bright colored sneakers. They reminded me of the girls in music videos. Then I realized, I was in the middle of a black community. I was so drawn to all the activities that I stopped and watched for a while.
How do the girls braid their hair like that? Everything is so colorful and loud. It’s energizing. It seems like I’m the only white person around, but I don’t feel out of place. No one’s paying any special attention to me. I’m just another person hanging out on the avenue. It’s so alive. I could stay here all day. But I should get going.
I had no luck shopping. The prices were right, but the styles weren’t. Most of the clothes I saw were vivid colors. I wanted something a little subtler. I did see and even tried on some black but dramatic dresses. I laughed out loud when I tried on a couple of dresses. I tried on a sundress that I thought would fit but it was two sizes too big. It looked like I borrowed it from a large neighbor. The dresses were either short and tight, or long, and still tight. I started walking back to the apartment.
When you wear those dresses, everyone knows what your body looks like. I might as well be naked. I’m not going to show Jeff all the details of my body the first night out. I’ll have to go with my spring and summer dress I brought with me. I’ve had it for years, but it’s still pretty.
EIGHTEEN
“Hello?”
“Hi Alyssa. This is Jeff, we met the other day?”
“Hi Jeff, how are you?”
Wow, the phone rang right on time. Not like the guys back home. They never called on time. I hated waiting for them. This guy is different. Maybe he’s anxious to see me?
“I’m well, thanks. I’m even better since you picked up the phone. I hope you’re still available for dinner?”
“Yes, I’m still available for dinner.”
I’m starving.
“I can pick you up if you give me the address.”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that. I don’t mind taking the subway. I can meet you in Manhattan. Wherever you tell me.”
“Where would you like to go? What kind of food do you like?”
What? Why is he asking me? Aren’t men supposed to figure out where to take a girl? Back home no guy would ask such a thing. They take you where they want to go. They were in charge. But I do like that he’s asking. It sounds polite.
“Well, I like all kinds of food. Wherever you would like to take me will be fine.”
“Ah, great.”
He sounds relieved. He probably already has a plan.
“How about seafood?”
“Sure. I love seafood.”
I have no idea what seafood is. I don’t remember reading about that place in Vogue. Wait. Is seafood a restaurant, or is seafood … food? I’m confused.
“Great. The name of the restaurant is Aquagrill. It’s one of my favorite places. It’s at 210 Spring Street in Soho. Let’s meet there say … 7:00?”
So, seafood is food. Good to
know.
“OK. I’ll see you there,” I said.
It’s 6:05 already. Why did I agree to 7:00? I could’ve said how about 7:30? Damn. Sometimes I’m too shy or too accommodating to others. I need more time to get ready. He lives in Manhattan. It’s easy for him. The subway ride alone will be at least 45 minutes for me.
I never liked being late, so I just brushed my hair, put on some mascara and lipstick and left for the city. As I got closer to the restaurant, I could see Jeff standing outside with another man from across the street. They were having an animated conversation. The man seemed angry, or maybe he just looked like one of those angry guys? He was doing most of the talking.
Why would he come to meet me with another man? Was I going to dinner with two men? I don’t want to do that. It would be too much for me. I never went out for a dinner date with anyone in the city yet and now, all of a sudden, I’m going out with two men? Maybe I should turn around and go back to Brooklyn. But I want to be on a date and have this dining experience so bad. I’ve been waiting two weeks for this.
It was 7:15. I just stayed, observing the two of them. I didn’t want Jeff to see me. He was looking around the street, but the other guy just kept talking. At one point when Jeff looked around, I stepped behind the phone booth to hide. When I slowly took a peek from my hiding spot the other guy was gone.
Is he really gone? It looks like it. So, I’m not going to meet two men after all. Great.
I crossed the street and approached Jeff. He was medium height and skinny. He wasn’t handsome but did have an interesting look. His face was thin with small dark eyes. His nose was a little big compared to his thin face and lips. He had a nice smile. His hair was light brown and cut short. He looked professional and polished. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a white shirt and a light blue patterned tie. He looked older than me. I would guess about thirty-two.
“There you are,” he said as he smiled and gave me a big hug. “Let’s go inside so we can talk. I hope you’re hungry. I am.”
