Truly (New York Trilogy #1)

by Ruthie Knox

  “I’ll have you know I’m very fast at getting ready. It only took me a few minutes this morning.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t have any of your woman crap this morning. I was about to ask if you want to run down to the drugstore before you shower to buy some stuff. You know, soap, toothpaste.”

  “Is there one nearby?”

  “Yeah, there’s a Duane Reade down the block if you hang a left at the front door.”

  May hopped off the stool. “I’m on it.” She held out her hand. “Can I borrow your key?”

  “Sure.” He picked his key ring off the counter and handed it to her, separating the apartment key from the rest. “It’s this one.” He retrieved his wallet and pulled two twenties from it. “Take this, too. No arguments.”

  She frowned at the cash but accepted it. “I’ll pay you back.”

  “I know you will.”

  “And I bet I’ll be showered, dressed, and ready to go before you’ve got that pot clean, changed your clothes, and had your coffee.”

  “You have to have some coffee, too.”

  “Sure, sure. You can set it on the bathroom sink while I shower.”

  A quick flash of something in his eyes, and that smile flirting with the corner of his mouth again. “Deal.”

  May closed the door behind her and rushed down the steps with a lightness in her heart that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

  * * *

  “I look like a gym teacher.”

  He glanced up and smiled. “More like an athlete.” In the white T-shirt, gray hoodie, and track pants he’d given her, her hair dark and slicked off her face again, she reminded him of an Olympic swimmer waiting for her heat.

  “Yeah, well, the shoes are going to kill the whole effect.” She slipped them on, then came over and stood next to him, making a show of drumming her fingers on the countertop while she looked pointedly at his sock-clad feet. “Aren’t you ready to go yet?”

  Ben took a sip of his coffee and filled in another clue in the Times crossword. “I’ve been ready for a month.”

  In fact, he’d had to scramble to get dressed when he heard the shower cut off. She hadn’t been kidding about being fast.

  “You’re sweating,” she pointed out sweetly.

  “You’re smug.”

  She batted her eyelashes. “Who, me?”

  He pivoted on his bar stool and stood, scooping the keys off the counter. When he turned back toward her, he realized his mistake.

  Way too close.

  With her hair wet, her face was all angles and planes, broad cheekbones, and short-fringed eyes. He’d expected her to buy makeup at the drugstore and to come from the bathroom transformed. That was what Sandy would have done. His ex was a beautiful woman with or without all the crap on her face, but she wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving home without lipstick. He’d liked that about her—the way she’d always seemed so pulled together.

  May had freckles all across the bridge of her nose and dusting her cheeks. A square face. When you looked at her features one by one, she wasn’t exactly pretty. Her upper lip was a bit thin, the bottom plump but chapped, as though she’d been abusing it. If it weren’t for that lush bottom lip and her big brown eyes, she would look almost mannish. Severe.

  He couldn’t stop staring.

  “Do I have toothpaste on my chin?” she asked.

  If you did, I’d lick it off.

  “No. Sorry. Give me a second.”

  He went into the bathroom and ran water in the sink so there would be some white noise to cover up the sound of him muttering curses at himself.

  Could he not just hang out with the woman for a few days without wanting to climb on top of her? Yes, May was … interesting to look at. Pretty, even. An unusual kind of pretty. And yes, he liked her. But so what? Another man had asked her to marry him at lunchtime on Thursday, barely forty-eight hours ago. She wasn’t available to be mounted, and even if she were, he knew better.

  He made his face stern and uncompromising in the mirror. “No kissing, no touching, no fucking,” he told himself. “Be normal.”

  When he went back into the living area, she was rinsing her coffee cup in the sink.

  “So I figure we shop first,” he said. “After shopping, we grab some dinner, and then I have to check on the bees before it gets dark. You can come with me to the roof if you want, or if bees freak you out, you can stay here. And then after, we can do laundry down in the basement, so if you’ve got new stuff you want washed, you’ll have it for tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “Do you need to call anybody—tell them where you are?”

  “Yeah, but I can do that later. This nice lady at Starbucks let me use her phone, and I already called my friend who was going to pick me up. She said she’d leave a message at the store to let my family know I won’t be getting to the cabin tonight. Maybe I can write my sister an email later.”

  “Cool.” He rubbed his hands together. “Tonight won’t count for your vacation. I’m going to ask you some questions to find out what you hate about New York, and then I’ll plan your tour experience for the next couple days. Tonight is just chores.”

  “You’ve given this some thought.”

  He already had a mental list of a whole bunch of places he wanted her to see. Way too many—he had to pare it down. He crossed to the front door, shoved his feet into his shoes, and knelt down to tie the laces.

  “New York is counting on me to do it proud,” he said. “What kind of clothes do you want?”

  “I don’t know. I have less than twenty bucks.”

  “I’m going to get you some cash, first thing. That way, if this vacation doesn’t work out and you need, you know, some space or that hotel room you wanted, you’ll be able to afford it.”

  “That’s really nice of you,” she said. “I just hate the idea of—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “What?”

  “You were going to say impose again.”

  She smiled, ducking her head.

  “Whatever you take from me, it’s a loan, okay? Pretend I’m your friend at home giving it to you, and pay me back next week. What was her name, Dana?”

  “Anya.”

  He stood, opened his wallet, and handed her a credit card. “Here’s Anya’s credit card. I think the limit on that one’s something like twenty-five thousand dollars. Spend less than that, okay? But she spells her name funny, so you’ll have to sign it B-E-N-H-A-U-S-M-A-N.”

  She ran her fingers over the raised numbers. “All I need is a pair of jeans and a couple T-shirts. We could go to Walmart.”

  “We don’t have Walmart in Manhattan. And you’re supposed to be on vacation, right? Be on vacation. Go crazy. Buy something you like. You get to keep the clothes, so you might as well enjoy them. Now, where do you want me to take you?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been shopping in New York.”

  He unlocked the deadbolt and held the door open for her.

  When she brushed past him, he looked down, an automatic response to the soft pressure of her arm against his. She couldn’t possibly know what her ass looked like under the smooth, shiny material of the track pants, bouncing down the steps.

  “I’m just going to take you to Macy’s, okay?” he asked. “It’s huge. I’m sure they’ve got something you’ll want.”

  Preferably something big and shapeless. Which, once you start wearing it, I’ll begin to find inexplicably hot.

  “Macy’s it is.” She hit the landing and disappeared around the bend to the next flight.

  “And buy some decent shoes.” His voice and his footsteps echoed off the concrete walls. “Yours suck.”

  Her loud laughter filled the stairwell, and he hurried to catch up.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  This was why the Internet was invented, May thought as she trudged toward the escalator that would take her to womenswear and the inevitable flogging. So nobody would ever have to try on j
eans in a public dressing room again.

  But she would make the best of it. She wouldn’t be one of those girls who let a few minutes in bad dressing-room lighting destroy her day. She could be in and out of the store in fifteen minutes, and she could manage not to think any hateful thoughts.

  It’s like going to the gynecologist for a Pap, she promised herself. Quick, necessary, and afterward you can buy a cookie.

  She found the store directory and took the escalator to the right floor, where she discovered that the reign of the skinny jean continued unabated. There were cheetah prints and brightly colored solids and one pair with giant blue and white flowers that reminded her of old women and teacups.

  With a deep sigh, she craned her head toward the back wall, looking for the ghetto where they kept the fat-girl jeans.

  SHOP PETITE STYLES! one sign shouted.

  “Shove it where the sun don’t shine,” she muttered.

  She was once again reminding herself not to be negative when someone plowed into her.

  “I’m so sorry,” an older woman said. “That was entirely my fault. I was trying to peek over there to see if—But you know, it was completely inexcusable, so I won’t offer you an excuse.” She straightened her shirt, which bore a Macy’s tag with her name, Celestine. Her steel-gray hair was cut in one of those short, slightly mussed cuts that only elegant older women ever pulled off. “Can I help you find something?”

  May would have said no, but Ben was waiting. “I need jeans,” she said. “And maybe a few plain shirts. I’m going to be walking around the city a lot, so it doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just, you know …” She looked down at Ben’s Packers track pants. “Not this.” She gestured at a rack of brightly colored skinny jeans. “And not that. Jeans. Ordinary jeans.”

  “Of course,” the woman said. “Let’s see what we can find for you.”

  Celestine led May through the racks, and ten minutes later she had her in the fitting room trying on six different pairs. Two of them were too big, two too small, and one gave her muffin top. The last one was a size bigger than she usually wore, but they fit. Not too short, and they didn’t pooch out at the waist and show the whole world her butt crack.

  “How’s everything working?”

  “These are okay.” May emerged from the dressing room, still wearing Ben’s T-shirt on top.

  “Those look fabulous.”

  “Thanks.” For two hundred bucks, they should make her look fabulous.

  But could she really buy two-hundred-dollar jeans with Ben’s money? She’d never been comfortable spending Dan’s, and the prospect of signing a credit card slip with Ben’s name on it didn’t appeal.

  On the other hand, she’d already taken the five hundred dollars he’d withdrawn from a bank on the way here. May’s emergency fund, he’d called it. You can give it back right before you board the plane in a few days.

  Once she got access to her bank account again, she had the money to repay him for jeans and whatever else she wanted to buy.

  And she was on vacation.

  “Come look in the mirror,” Celestine told her. May dutifully obeyed. She squinted at her hips in the three-panel mirror.

  Not too huge. Acceptable.

  The jeans really did fit okay. When she turned sideways, she saw that the embroidered back pockets were placed in a way that magically made her butt appear smaller and tighter than it was.

  “We need to get you in some heels,” Celestine said. “Your legs will look miles long in these jeans and the right pair of heels.”

  “I don’t wear heels.”

  “You should. I would, if I were you.”

  “They hurt.”

  “There are so many comfortable styles!”

  May wrinkled her nose. “They make men feel short.”

  “If you’re with a man who has a problem with your height, you’re with the wrong man.” Celestine winked. “Stay put. Now that you’ve found the right jeans, I’m bringing you more fabulousness, and I’m going to find a friend in the shoe department who can locate some great, comfortable-heeled boots that you can walk in for miles.”

  May stayed put, turning side to side to look at herself in the two-hundred-dollar jeans.

  You get to keep the clothes, so you might as well enjoy them. That’s what Ben had said.

  Had she ever enjoyed clothes? As a kid, when she’d gone shopping with her mother, she had mentally counted down the seconds until the nightmare would end. Not that her mom was cruel—far from it. It was only that for the period their shopping session lasted, she would turn her complete attention on the problem of May’s body. How to make her look smaller, shorter, less chubby. How to find pants to fit her all-wrong adolescent shape.

  Meanwhile, Allie would be gleefully choosing clothes off the rack. Can I have this one, Mom? How about these?

  Everything fit Allie. Everything looked good. These days, she wore unusual ensembles she’d concocted over weekends spent thrift-store shopping. Mom thought the clothes made her look eccentric, but men turned to watch when Allie walked by. She was striking. Memorable.

  Celestine came back with a single pair of pants. “Try these on.” She handed May some sort of faux-snakeskin horror.

  “They aren’t really me,” she said doubtfully.

  “Oh, indulge me. My personal shopping appointment didn’t show, and I’m getting a kick out of dressing you. You’re so fantastically tall.”

  Dutifully, May struggled into the pants, which were odd and tight but which, she had to admit, made her thighs look kind of impressive.

  “Those are amazing,” Celestine said with approval.

  “I have anaconda thighs.” May gazed at herself in the pants. Strangely, she felt neither approval or repugnance, but something in between. “I look like I could squeeze a man to death with them.”

  “I know. Like some kind of marvelous Amazon warrior.”

  “Terrifying.”

  “Sexy.”

  “You think?”

  A brusque nod. “I do. I’m getting more styles. You stand there looking at yourself in those pants for a moment, and try to see yourself as I do.”

  May stood as instructed. After a few seconds, she got bored at gazing directly at her hips. She looked at herself as a whole person, head to toe.

  The longer she stared, the more alien her own image became.

  That wasn’t her in the mirror. Not May Fredericks from Manitowoc, Wisconsin, who sometimes bought the same top in three different colors to avoid having to think about it too much. It wasn’t Dan’s May, plain and steady.

  This was a tall stranger whose honey-blond hair had dried wavy and windblown. An unknown woman in snakeskin pants who looked like she might eat you up and spit out your bones if you crossed her.

  This was the woman who’d exacted vengeance against Dan for wrecking what was supposed to be one of the most beautiful moments of her life.

  A powerful, impolite, passionate woman.

  And the weird thing was, May recognized her.

  She was the person May had always known she was, deep down. The person no one had ever encouraged her to be.

  But in New York, she could be whoever she liked. If she wanted to leave the store wearing faux-snakeskin pants, no one back home would ever find out, and New York wouldn’t bat an eye.

  Celestine returned with a rolling rack of pants, and then her friend Leon brought some shoes to look at. Another salesperson, named Mona, arrived with tops. It all became kind of a blur, and somehow fun, having all these people fuss over her while calling jeans “denim” and tossing around words like peplum and marled. Mona handed her a loose-fitting sweater with wide stripes, and May said, “I can’t wear stripes.”

  “Honey, you can wear anything you want.”

  Thinking of herself in the snakeskin pants, May whispered the words beneath her breath as she walked back into the changing room holding the striped sweater. You can wear anything you want.

  Of course she could. She’d kn
own that. But she’d never really felt it. Every time she bought clothes, she listened to the nagging voices inside her head that said, No, not that. God, no. Not for you. Sometimes, she found a shirt that was so beautiful she wanted to cry, and she bought it for Allie.

  May pulled the sweater on. She poked her head through the cowl neck and brushed her hair out of her face. Her loud bark of laughter echoed through the changing room. The sweater had dolman sleeves, and it looked awful.

  But so what? It was just a sweater. Not commentary on her value as a human being.

  Mona found her another one that was great—a soft, expensive, caramel-colored cardigan with a weird asymmetrical cut that May never would have glanced at twice if she’d been the one flipping through the rack. The front panels hung down almost to her knees, but she liked the way it draped over her body. She was forever buying sweaters that were too short, riding up toward her waist. This one knew where it was supposed to lie.

  She tried it on with jeans that were tight enough to show off her hamstrings, which she’d never really noticed before. They looked good in the jeans. Taut and strong.

  “You know what I want to wear with these?” she mused. Celestine looked up from putting shoes back in the boxes Leon had brought her. “Cowboy boots.”

  Leon found her some. Mona picked her out a new purse on clearance.

  Half an hour later, May walked out of the store in her new boots and her tight jeans, striding so that the long front panels of her sweater swirled around her legs.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The place where Ben took her for dinner was about as wide as a single lane at a bowling alley, not quite as long, and far more crowded. Two-seater tables lined one wall. A counter with stools marched along the other. The aisle in between was barely broad enough to walk.

  Behind the counter, two men in white aprons took orders and worked a grill in a long, narrow space they couldn’t have polkaed in if they tried.

  “What is this place?”

  Ben led her to the only open stools at the counter. “The B&H Dairy. An authentic kosher vegetarian Eastern European diner.”