Katwalk

by Maria Murnane

  “You play soccer here?” she asked. “How could there possibly be a soccer field here?”

  Shana pointed south. “Three blocks that way. There’s a little park.”

  “We’re going to be late.” Josh looked at his phone.

  Grace patted him on the knee. “We’re always late, pumpkin face. Don’t fret your terry-cloth-covered head over it.”

  “Suck it, Gracie.” Josh patted her knee in return.

  “You two play nice now,” Shana mock-scolded them.

  They finally made it to the other side of the intersection, and a few minutes later the cab dropped them off at a park located smack in the middle of Chinatown. Nearly every storefront had signs in Chinese, and nearly all of them were restaurants or markets, although Katrina couldn’t help noticing several bail-bond agencies, with signs in English, sprinkled among them. In the past ten minutes, she’d seen countless paper lanterns in an array of bright colors, bushel upon bushel of herbs, fruits, and nuts, and more chickens, pigs, and ducks—all hanging from hooks front and center in the windows—than she’d seen in all her years on earth.

  And there were people absolutely everywhere.

  The small, turf soccer field was flanked by a basketball court and a garden on one side, and a second garden and an ornate building resembling a temple on the other. The gardens and temple area were packed with people of all ages, most of whom were Chinese, either milling around or sitting on the many benches scattered about. The basketball court was packed with people who appeared to be doing a form of tai chi.

  As Katrina and the others hurried toward the field, she began to feel nervous. She had never been especially coordinated or athletic, and from what little she knew about soccer, those were the two biggest requirements for playing it.

  “Well, Team Rotten Oranges, here’s to a game . . . played.” Josh stood at the front of the picnic table and held up his plastic cup. The team was on the crowded back patio of Whiskey Tavern, a half block from the field and the only Irish pub in the neighborhood. They had lost twelve to zero. Katrina had only touched the ball a few times, but she was relieved she hadn’t broken an ankle—hers or anyone else’s.

  “Maybe you guys should have put one of those big orange pylons out there in my place,” she said to Shana. “It might have done more for the team.”

  Shana waved a hand in front of her. “Shush. You did great. Twelve to nothing isn’t bad for us.”

  Katrina was beginning to doubt there could be anyone in all of New York who was nicer than Shana.

  The bartender arrived with a pitcher of beer and a tray lined with shot glasses. As he began to pass out the shots, Katrina eyed them warily.

  “What are those?” she whispered to Shana.

  “Picklebacks.”

  “Pickle whats?”

  “Picklebacks. It’s a shot of whiskey followed by a shot of pickle juice. They’re super yummy.”

  The guy across the table from her nodded. “I love ’em.”

  “Delicious,” said the guy next to him.

  “See there, Kitty?” Grace handed her two glasses. “You’ll love it.”

  Katrina smiled and shook her head. “Oh, thanks, but I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “Oh please, be a man.” Grace set the glasses in front of her.

  “You ditched us last night, so you can drink with us today,” Josh said.

  “That’s right. We missed you last night. Did the couch monster get you?” Shana asked.

  Katrina gave them a sheepish look. “I was pretty beat. I’m sorry.” She’d actually spent much of the evening working on her résumé and had also e-mailed those contacts her mother had passed along, but she didn’t want to admit that was how she’d spent her Saturday night, especially not to this group.

  “No worries, rookie. You can make it up right now.” Grace held up both of her shot glasses and looked around the table. “You losers ready?”

  Everyone nodded and held up their glasses. Katrina reluctantly followed suit.

  “To the Rotten Oranges!” Gracie shouted.

  “To the Rotten Oranges!” the rest of the team shouted back.

  “No one can stink it up better than we can!”

  “No one can stink it up better than we can!” they yelled back. Katrina got the impression it was their standard chant. Not surprising. They really were terrible at soccer, she thought. She doubted they would disagree with her—or even care. They clearly had a ball on and off the field.

  At Grace’s signal, everyone tossed back their Jameson’s shots, Katrina included. She tried not to gag. As she struggled to finish, she watched them all reach for the pickle-juice chaser, which she finally did too—albeit long after everyone else.

  Josh leaned across the table to pat Katrina on the shoulder. He also handed her a full beer. “Well done. What did you think?”

  She scrunched up her nose and blinked a couple of times. “Brutal at the beginning, but by the end it wasn’t half-bad. The pickle juice tasted sort of good, actually.”

  Grace put her arm around Katrina and gestured to the bartender. “That’s my Kitty Kat! Let’s get her another one.”

  An hour later, Katrina squinted across the table at Josh and hoped she wasn’t stumbling over her words. “Did you really dump Shana?”

  “Yes.” Shana nodded.

  Josh shook his head. “Revisionist history.”

  “What happened?” Katrina asked.

  “Here we go again.” Josh gestured for the waiter. “This requires another pitcher.”

  Shana laughed. “Stop it. It was a misunderstanding.”

  “How so?”

  Grace touched Josh’s shoulder. “Squishy here didn’t believe that Shana could actually like him more than farm boy at home, so he folded.” She turned and looked at Josh. “That about right, pumpkin? You got up, threw your cards on the table, and walked away.”

  He grimaced. “I saw a picture. He’s a lot better-looking than I am. And bigger.”

  Katrina squinted at him again. “You mean bigger taller?”

  “Cha!” Grace pumped her fist. “Kitty’s calling chubs out.”

  Shana put her hand on Josh’s head. “I was so sad when you folded. I really like chubs.”

  “And then you ran into each other two years later?” Katrina asked.

  “Yeah. What are the odds?” Shana said with a smile. “It was very romantical.”

  Katrina made a confused face. “Romantical?”

  Gracie held up her glass. “After a few drinks, farm girl tends to add al to random adjectives. You’ll get used to it.”

  “For extra emphasis,” Shana said. “Like italics. It’s italical.”

  “Romantical. I think I like that,” Katrina slurred and stared off into space.

  Grace laughed. “My friends, it looks like the kitty is officially buzzed.”

  “Are you okay, Kat?” Shana asked.

  Katrina nodded. “I’m not used to drinking like this. I’m having fun though.”

  “All the more reason to have another beer.” Josh refilled her glass.

  “What about you?” Katrina turned to Grace. “Are you dating anyone?”

  “I have a pretend boyfriend. I call him Married Guy.”

  “He’s married?”

  “Long story. So hey, have you worn the necklace yet?”

  Katrina sat up straight and smiled. “Yes! I wore it the same night you gave it to me, in fact. It’s beautiful.”

  Grace slapped her tiny palm against the table. “Damn right it is. It’s about time some buyers noticed it too. What the eff is wrong with them? Can’t they see how fabulous my stuff is?”

  “Your stuff is fantastical,” Shana said with a heavy nod.

  “And it’s not even that expensive. Maybe that’s my problem. I’ve been sucking up and hoping i
t will pay off, but maybe I need to raise my prices instead. Is that what needs to happen here?” Grace looked around the table.

  Katrina nodded, but she wasn’t thinking about jewelry. Right now she was fixated on something else.

  Grace is involved with a married man?

  Is it serious?

  How long has it been going on?

  Is he going to leave his wife?

  Maybe Deb had been right about how common infidelity was. She wanted to ask Grace more about it, but her brain wasn’t operating at regular speed, and before she could figure out how to bring it up without sounding intrusive, or worse yet, rude, Josh spoke again.

  “Don’t get Gracie started on her jewelry. She’ll never shut up.”

  Grace pointed at him. “I’ll shut you up, doughnut hole.”

  He winked at her. “I heart you too.”

  “Anybody want water?” Shana stood up. “I’ll get a pitcher on the way back from the ladies’ room.”

  Grace stood up too. “I’ll go with you. Damn if it I don’t need to urinate like a racehorse.”

  As they walked away, Katrina gave Josh a quizzical look. “How can someone that tiny have such a foul mouth?”

  “You haven’t heard anything yet. Just wait until she’s drunk.”

  “She’s not drunk?”

  “None of us are. Not yet, at least.”

  Katrina tilted her head in amazement. “How can you not be drunk? I’m pretty sure I am.”

  He smiled. “We live here, Kat. We’ve had a lot more practice than you. Sunday Funday has barely begun for us.”

  “Huh?” Barely begun? She would be ready for a nap soon.

  As Josh began chatting with the other guys on the team, Katrina reached for her purse to check the time. How long had they been there? It seemed like hours. Had the day really just gotten started? New Yorkers operated in a different gear. Could she ever get used to this pace?

  When she pulled out her phone, she saw two new text messages.

  The first was from Deb, complaining about all the mullets in Fresno.

  The second was from Reid, asking what she was up to.

  She squinted at the screen. His message was short and friendly and didn’t say anything about what had happened at Soho House the other night.

  Maybe she’d gotten it all wrong?

  Had she blown it out of proportion?

  Whatever it was, she was clearly overthinking it.

  She squinted at the screen again and tried to remember her plan for responding to him.

  What was the plan?

  I had a plan. I know I had a plan.

  What was the plan?

  Her head fuzzy, her fingers slow and clumsy, she wrote back that she was at Whiskey Tavern with her new soccer team. Given her performance, she knew it was unlikely they would ever ask her to play again, but for today at least, it was fun to think of herself as part of a real team.

  She hit send and put the phone down on the table. Reid answered immediately, asking if he could come join them for a drink.

  She flinched and suddenly remembered that she’d decided not to see him again, that her plan was to cut off contact.

  She stared at the phone.

  No, she told herself.

  Don’t reply.

  She deleted the text, tossed her phone back into her purse, and stood up, then wobbled toward the restroom, proud of having done the right thing. The line was six women deep. Katrina had never seen a bar at home this packed on a Sunday afternoon. Then again, she realized, she had never been to a bar at home on a Sunday afternoon.

  Home.

  Had she really been gone only a week? Mountain View seemed a lifetime ago.

  She already felt so different.

  So much . . . happier.

  So much . . . lighter.

  Except for her bladder, which felt uncomfortably full at the moment.

  She watched the line inch closer to the door and wished it would move faster.

  When she finally returned to the table, Josh had refilled her glass with cold beer, but Shana mercifully had set a fresh glass of water next to it. Josh had also ordered several platters of appetizers for the table, and they all dug into chicken fingers, buffalo wings, garlic fries, and onion rings.

  Grace dipped a garlic fry into ranch dressing. “I’m going to smell so bad after eating all this crap, but it tastes freaking amazing.”

  “I shouldn’t be eating any of it if I ever want to get another audition,” Shana said. “My face might break out.”

  “All the more for me,” Josh said.

  Grace patted his stomach. “Like Uncle Josh needs any more fried food.”

  One of the teammates sitting across the table looked at Shana. “How’s the stage stomach these days?” he asked.

  Katrina looked up from her plate. “Stage stomach? What’s that?”

  Shana stuck out her tongue. “Blech. Let’s just say I suffer from performance anxiety.”

  “That’s an understatement,” Grace said.

  “I get stage fright pretty bad,” Shana said to Katrina.

  “Define pretty bad.”

  “Like throwing up bad.”

  “That sounds terrible,” Katrina said.

  “It’s not good,” Josh said. “It makes me worry about her.”

  Shana chomped on a chicken finger. “I get sick before every audition, every performance.”

  Katrina raised her eyebrows. “Throwing up sick?”

  “Yep. Never during rehearsals though. Just anytime there’s pressure. I’ve been like that since I was a kid.”

  “Isn’t that hard on your system?”

  “Really hard.”

  “She needs to stop,” Josh said.

  Shana picked up an onion ring. “That’s why I started doing yoga. My doctor thought it would help with the anxiety—calm my nerves and all that. I never thought I’d become an instructor. It just sort of happened.”

  “Has it worked?”

  She offered a weary smile. “I’m not sure. I haven’t had an audition in months. It’s my own fault though. I haven’t been all that proactive lately.”

  “I think that’s a good thing,” Grace said. “Screw what your parents want.”

  “Like that’s so easy to do,” Shana said.

  Grace rolled her eyes. “Dude, my mom could have written Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. There’s no way your parents could be any worse.”

  Katrina was about to ask Grace if she had any siblings, but before she could say anything, she saw a man approaching their table.

  She froze.

  It was Reid.

  What is he doing here?

  “Hey, Snow White,” he said with a grin. “Can I join you?”

  Half the table looked from him to Katrina. The other half was facing the other direction, their eyes glued to an NFL game on a big screen.

  Katrina felt her face get hot. “Everyone, this is my friend Reid. Reid, this is, um, everyone.”

  “Hi, Reid,” said those who had noticed his arrival.

  Grace squeezed Katrina’s knee under the table, then stood up and sat next to Josh on the opposite bench to make room for Reid. As he took a seat between her and Shana, Katrina wondered what had compelled her to tell him where she was. Why hadn’t she just said she was at a bar, if anything at all? Then again, she hardly thought he would come looking for her. That sort of thing didn’t happen in her life.

  “Can I pour you a beer?” Josh held up the pitcher.

  Reid grinned again. “You can’t pour one fast enough.”

  Josh passed a full glass to him across the table, then turned back around to watch the game. If anyone thought it was inappropriate for Reid to be there, no one was acting like it.

  “So you were all playing socc
er?” Reid asked Katrina and gestured to the group.

  “We got killed,” Shana said with her usual smile. “I’m Shana.”

  “We suck,” Grace said. “I’m Grace. So how do you know Kat?”

  “Through a mutual friend,” Reid said. “She introduced us right when Kat moved to town.”

  Grace narrowed her eyes at Katrina. “You have other friends here? I gotta say, I’m a little hurt by this information.”

  “Not many.” Katrina reached across the table and put a hand on Grace’s tiny head. “Don’t worry. I’m not very popular.”

  Grace picked up an onion ring and pointed it at Reid. “Well, Reid, I’m sure you’re very nice, but just so you know, no one is as fun as we are. Or as I am.”

  “Duly noted,” he said with a laugh.

  Josh turned around to grab an onion ring, then elbowed Grace. “Did you hear what you just said? That was sort of high up on the cockiness scale, even for you.”

  She nodded. “I heard myself, and I liked it.”

  “I’m not sure how to respond to that,” Josh said.

  “Shana and Grace live in my building,” Katrina said to Reid. “Josh is Shana’s boyfriend. The rest of the team I just met today.”

  Grace waved another onion ring at Reid. “You’re cute, but you’re wearing a wedding ring. What’s your story? Where’s your wife? Why are you here with us right now?”

  “Gracie!” Shana laughed.

  “I’m buzzed, I say things,” Grace said. “So sue me.”

  “It’s okay,” Reid said. “I hope to be buzzed soon too.”

  Grace nodded at him. “I like your attitude.” She turned in the direction of the waiter. “Let’s get this man a pickleback.”

  Katrina couldn’t help but notice how Reid had deflected the questions. Where was his wife? Why was he here with them?

  By the time they finally left Whiskey Tavern, it was getting dark. Although Katrina had long ago switched to water, there was no sugar coating her lingering state of intoxication. The others were also drunk by then, thanks to many more pitchers of beer and several rounds of picklebacks. The group filed out of the front door and congregated on the sidewalk.