Katwalk

by Maria Murnane

  If she stayed in Mountain View, she’d soon be sitting in front of that computer screen, probably down the road in her childhood bedroom at her parents’ house, where she’d be forced to live until her subletter’s term was up. She’d be meticulously updating her résumé and then embarking on a job search that—when completed—would bring her right back where she’d started.

  She glanced at the laptop again.

  If I don’t do this, will I regret it for the rest of my life?

  Before going to bed, Katrina headed to the bathroom to perform her nightly routine.

  Remove eye makeup with cotton ball.

  Wash face with gentle foaming cleanser.

  Apply night cream.

  Floss and brush teeth.

  She carefully returned her toothbrush to the cup on the sink, looked at herself in the mirror, then turned and walked into the living room to get her phone. If she didn’t call Deb tonight, she knew she’d lose her nerve. She had to say it out loud to make herself accountable, to make her decision real.

  Deb answered on the first ring. “Please tell me you’re still going.”

  Katrina closed her eyes as she replied. “I’m still going.”

  Deb’s surprise came leaping through the phone. “You are?”

  “Yes. I just need to get on the plane before I change my mind. Will you go shopping with me tomorrow to help me pick out some new clothes? Maybe a good coat? I need to be prepared for the New York weather.”

  “Definitely. I’ll call you right before I leave work. And I’m proud of you. I knew you could do it.”

  “You really think I can do this?”

  “I know you can. And trust me, you’re going to have the most memorable time of your life.”

  Katrina sighed. “I hope you’re right. But I’ve got to move fast before I change my mind.”

  The following Monday evening, a few minutes after six o’clock, Katrina turned her apartment keys over to the subletter. Then she drove her silver Audi to nearby Los Altos Hills. She was spending her last night in town at her parents’ house.

  The sky was clear and bright as she merged northbound onto Highway 280. She looked at the dashboard to check the time. Her parents were expecting her for dinner, and her mother got upset if she was even five minutes late. Given their less than enthusiastic reaction to her recent news, she didn’t want to upset them further by not showing up on time. She was already dreading the inevitable conversation about her decision to quit her job, and the one to spend eight weeks—alone—in New York even more so.

  The sun was just beginning to set as she took the Page Mill exit and made her way up the winding roads to her parents’ secluded ranch-style house. She pulled into the spotless garage, careful to park equidistant from her dad’s shiny black Range Rover and her mom’s pristine silver Lexus sedan, stopping precisely when the tennis ball attached to an overhead string gently touched her windshield to indicate she’d pulled in far enough—but not too far. When she stepped out of her car, she glanced at the gleaming tools hanging on the opposite wall, then removed her suitcase from the trunk and rolled it across the cement floor.

  At the entrance, she kicked off her shoes and lifted the bag to avoid tracking anything onto the white carpet, then carried it into one of the guest bedrooms. She took out a fold-out luggage stand from the closet and set the bag down on it, then stopped in the bathroom to wash her hands and check her hair. After one last look in the mirror, she took a deep breath and walked through the large house to the kitchen. As she approached, she could hear her parents’ voices and the classical music they always had playing.

  Her dad was stirring something in a tall pot, her mom chopping celery on a sleek wooden cutting board. They were both standing in front of the island that divided the kitchen from the expansive entertainment room behind them.

  Her dad smiled. “Well, hello there, sunshine. Always nice to hear the sound of your footsteps in the house.”

  Katrina pointed to her stocking feet. “You know I’m not wearing shoes, Dad.” No one ever did, except for guests.

  “Did you shut the garage door?” her mom asked.

  Katrina walked over to peer into the pot. “Park the car, check. Shut the door, check. Something smells really good. What are you making?”

  “Roast beef, homemade vegetable soup, and a fresh tomato-and-mozzarella salad. You better have brought an appetite, young lady,” her dad said.

  “Henry, please don’t encourage her to overeat,” her mom said. “Once she turns thirty, it isn’t going to be so easy for her to maintain her figure without exercising.”

  Katrina plopped down on one of the bar stools bordering the island. “Bring an appetite, check. Don’t overeat after I turn thirty, check. It’s been a while since I had a real home-cooked meal. Are Eric and Emily coming over?” Her older brother and his wife lived up in San Francisco.

  Her dad tossed a cup of chopped celery into the soup pot. “He canceled, unfortunately. Said he had to work late.”

  “Again? He’s always working late.” Eric was an investment banker at a big firm in the city.

  “At least someone is,” her mom said.

  Katrina sighed. “Mom, it’s been less than a week since I quit. Can you please not start?”

  Her mother set down her knife and put her hands on her hips. “Your father and I just think it would have been smarter to line something up before traipsing off to New York like this. It’s not like you to be so . . . reckless.”

  Katrina felt her whole body stiffen. “You think I’m being reckless?” She looked at her dad for support.

  He gave her a sympathetic frown. “It is a bit impetuous.”

  Katrina balled her hands into fists in her lap. She had worked at the same job for eight years, and her parents thought she was rash?

  She took another deep breath, then calmly stood up and walked across the kitchen toward the cabinets. “What time do you think we should leave for the airport?” She pulled down a large glass.

  “Remember, you promised us you’d look for a job from there,” her mother said. “You can’t go back on that promise.”

  Katrina opened the refrigerator to retrieve a pitcher of water. “I won’t.” Even though looking for a job was just about the last thing she felt like doing, she’d never broken a promise to her parents and didn’t intend to now.

  Her mother picked up the knife and started chopping again. “It’s important to keep up with your networks, however limited they may be. If you let them idle for too long, you may be in trouble when you get back, especially in this economy.”

  “I know, I know,” Katrina said. “You told me that yesterday, remember?”

  “Well, it’s worth repeating. You know networking isn’t your strong suit.”

  “Yep, got it.” Her back to both of them, Katrina set the pitcher on the counter and closed her eyes. Please stop.

  She heard her dad’s voice behind her. “Not that you’re not a top-notch accountant, sunshine. We know how smart and capable you are with numbers.”

  “Got it,” she said without turning around.

  He cleared his throat. “We just know you have a little trouble . . . on the social side of things . . . you know, putting yourself out there.”

  “Uh-huh.” She squeezed the handle of the pitcher.

  “Now, if it were your brother going, we wouldn’t be so concerned. He’s so charismatic he’d be able to land a job from anywhere,” her mom said.

  Katrina slowly poured herself a glass of water, then turned around and forced a smile. “Of course. Now, what time do you think we should leave for the airport?”

  Chapter Three

  The following evening—after battling a last-minute bout of cold feet wrapped in self-doubt—Katrina landed in New York.

  It was the last week of September, and as she stepped outside baggage
claim, the evening wind swirled up and around her with an intensity she’d never felt in the Bay Area. Her hair flew into her face, blocking her vision. She dug around in her purse to find a ponytail holder, then pulled her hair out of her eyes and into a haphazard bun.

  Now she could see.

  She soon found the taxi station, and despite what she’d read on the Internet about monstrous waits at JFK, there were only a dozen or so people in line. A few minutes later, she found herself in the back of one of New York City’s famous yellow cabs.

  “Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked.

  “Oh, here you go.” She leaned forward to hand him the address, then exhaled and sank back into the leather seat.

  “Long flight?”

  “Sort of. From San Francisco.”

  “Never been, but I hear that’s quite a pretty city.”

  She gazed out of the window. “Yes, it is.”

  “First time in New York?”

  “Yes.” She was surprised at how chatty he was. Weren’t New York cabdrivers famous for their sullen demeanor? Her mother had certainly warned her enough times about getting ripped off by anyone and everyone.

  You know how naïve you can be, Katrina.

  They’ll eat you alive if you let your guard down, Katrina.

  “Well then, welcome to town. I’m Enrique.”

  “I’m Katrina. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She closed her eyes, and Enrique let her rest as they merged onto the expressway.

  In a few minutes—and for the next two months—she would officially be one of New York City’s eight million inhabitants.

  Eight million inhabitants, of whom she knew a grand total of one.

  If she counted Enrique.

  Actually, that wasn’t exactly true. Thanks to social media, she knew that a tiny handful of people from college lived here, and she’d already made plans to meet up with one of them tomorrow night. She was planning to contact the others as soon as she got settled. Granted it had been almost a decade since they’d graduated, but at this point, seeing any familiar face would be a good thing.

  Forty minutes later, the cab slowed to a stop in front of her temporary home in Manhattan, a modest brownstone on East Twenty-Second Street between Second and Third Avenues. Enrique unloaded her suitcase and handed her a card. “Enjoy your time in New York. I’m starting my own car service next week, so let me know if you ever need a ride anywhere,” he said with a smile.

  “Thanks. I will.” She hated that she was suspicious of him just for being friendly, hated that her mother had succeeded in instilling doubt about her ability to navigate the city on her own.

  After paying Enrique the standard flat airport rate—no, of course he hadn’t tried to gouge her—plus a tip, she stood at the bottom of the steps looking out at her surroundings.

  Both sides of the street were filled with parked cars, but there were only a couple of people strolling by, so it was relatively quiet. The entire block was lined with brownstones, most of them similar in size and color and most of them in need of a power wash. The street was pretty enough, but she couldn’t help but think it looked like a slightly neglected version of Sesame Street. Deb had found the place through a rental agency and had assured Katrina that the neighborhood was safe, centrally located, and the best they could do in their price range.

  As the cab pulled away, she turned around to face the four-story building. She looked up at the windows, wondering which one belonged to her new apartment.

  Despite her nerves, she felt a small shiver of excitement.

  I can’t believe I’m really here.

  She lugged her suitcase up the front steps, then set it down and hunted around in her purse for the set of keys the rental agency had mailed her. As she struggled with the lock to the front door, two women opened it from the inside. The first, a blonde who looked to be in her midtwenties, was dressed in workout gear. The second, a tiny Asian closer to Katrina’s age, was wearing a sleeveless purple dress and carrying a cardboard box the size of a small microwave oven.

  “Looks like you could use some help.” The blonde took a step backward and held open the heavy wood door. On the other side of it was a small vestibule with mailboxes along one wall. Beyond that was another door, this one glass, leading to a steep staircase covered in dark-green carpet.

  Katrina smiled as she wheeled her suitcase into the building. “Thanks. I think I packed too much.”

  “Are you moving in or just visiting?” The short woman pointed to the suitcase.

  “Subletting, actually. For a couple of months.”

  “Which apartment?”

  Katrina looked at the key in her hand. “Three A.”

  The blonde smiled. “Cool. That’s Ben’s place. I remember he said he was leaving the country on some research project. I’m Shana, by the way. I’m in Two B.”

  “I’m Grace.” The second woman saluted. “Commander of apartment Four A. Welcome to the building. God knows we could use some fresh blood around here since the murder, no pun intended.”

  Katrina’s eyes got big. “Murder?”

  Grace waved a tiny hand in front of her. “Just kidding. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Katrina. It’s nice to meet you both.”

  Shana tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Where are you from?”

  “California. Silicon Valley, actually.”

  Grace pumped her fist. “Cali—nice! I grew up here but went to law school at UCLA and loved it. You’ve never seen an Asian girl so tan.”

  “I’ve never been to California, but it’s on my list,” Shana said. “I’m from Ohio. Haven’t made it to the West Coast yet.” She pressed her hands against her milky-white cheeks. “And I’m never tan. Are you here for work?”

  Katrina shook her head. “I just quit my job, actually. I’m here . . . I guess, just to relax and have fun for a couple of months.”

  This was the first time she’d said those words aloud, and she could only imagine the look on her mother’s face if she’d heard them.

  Shana smiled. “Groovy. Well, listen, I’m off to teach a yoga class right now, but my boyfriend and I are grabbing a drink a few blocks away later. Want to join us?” She turned to Grace. “You’re coming too, right, Gracie?”

  Grace tapped the top of the box with her free hand. “I may be a little late, depending on how this goes, but I’ll try to stop by if I’m not too wiped.”

  Shana looked back at Katrina. “What do you think? Want to come along?”

  Katrina looked at her watch. It was eight fifteen.

  “What time?” she asked.

  “Probably around ten.”

  Katrina stifled a cough. Ten o’clock on a Tuesday night? The streets in Mountain View would be deserted by eight.

  She was about to politely decline out of sheer habit, but something stopped her. Instead, she found herself nodding with a small smile.

  “Okay, sure. Why not?”

  Shana smiled and turned to go. “Coolio. I’ll knock on your door on my way out. See you soon.”

  “Okay, thanks. I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “Catch ya on the flip side,” Grace said with a nod.

  Katrina watched them walk down the block until they turned a corner and disappeared. Then she picked up her suitcase and hauled it up the stairs.

  Drinks at ten o’clock on a Tuesday night.

  Wow.

  Welcome to New York.

  The small two-bedroom unit was fully furnished, and while it was very clean, it was clearly a single man’s apartment. Black leather couch. Big flat-screen TV. Black halogen lamp. The three staples of every bachelor pad Katrina had ever seen. Not that she’d seen many. She’d gone on dates from time to time for as long as she could remember, but her dance card had never been exactly full. And she’d nev
er been in a serious relationship, which was a greater and greater source of embarrassment to her the closer she got to thirty.

  In the first bedroom she stepped into, she was greeted by a shiny black bedspread and multiple posters of Metallica and various other heavy-metal bands, so she immediately turned on her heel.

  The second bedroom was a bit smaller, but its white walls were bare save for a modest print of a flowerpot above an old wooden desk. The queen-size bed was covered with a thin white quilt embroidered with small green flowers, plus two large white pillows with green trim and matching shams, an ensemble that, while pretty, looked decidedly out of place in a single man’s apartment. Katrina figured the entire bedding set had to have been a gift from Ben’s mother, if not his grandmother. This was definitely the guest room, but she found it much more appealing, so this was where she would stay.

  She pulled her bathrobe and slippers from her suitcase and decided to rinse off before unpacking the rest of her things. After dropping her clothes into a hamper in the corner of the bedroom, she took a towel from the hall closet and headed to the bathroom, wary of how clean it would be. She was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was spotless—or at least as spotless as the old fixtures and floor tiles would allow. She performed a quick inspection.

  Tub, check.

  Toilet, check.

  Sink, check.

  Floor, check.

  Medicine chest, check.

  All clean.

  Ben had certainly fulfilled his end of the rental agreement. Even Katrina’s mother couldn’t have disapproved of the state of things.

  She turned on the showerhead and held her hand under the water until it got hot, then took off her robe and stepped inside the tub. As the soothing water ran over her neck and shoulders, she closed her eyes and tried to forget the seeds of concern her parents had planted in her mind during dinner the night before.

  It wasn’t easy.

  It’s foolish to quit a job without a new one lined up, Katrina.

  Being an adult means having responsibilities, Katrina.

  Life isn’t just about having fun, Katrina.