Katwalk

by Maria Murnane

  One of her favorite spots turned out to be Chelsea Market, where she found a vintage black cocktail dress and enjoyed the best peanut-butter cookie she’d ever tasted. As she walked home that day, carrying her shopping bag like a real New Yorker on her way home from work, she felt like pinching herself to make sure this was really her life.

  Her fitness was improving too. She had attended several more of Shana’s evening yoga classes, and one day she rented a bike and pedaled up the West Side Highway to the Cloisters museum—though her legs were so tired by the time she got there that she ended up riding the subway home, bike in tow. She even went for a thirty-minute walk/jog, although it was about twenty minutes of walk and only ten minutes of jog. Still, she was proud of those ten minutes. The regular exercise was beginning to make her feel stronger and healthier—and it gave her the stamina to keep plowing through her list—her endless list—of things to see and do in New York.

  She also continued to paint. Every few days she found herself inspired by something she’d seen during one of her walks or sightseeing ventures, and she’d often return later with her easel and a fresh canvas. Before she knew it, she’d completed three more paintings. When she lined them up against the blank wall of her bedroom one evening, she immediately noticed a pattern she hadn’t intended: none of the images included a well-known building or monument, and all of them featured a contrast of some sort.

  A shiny pair of pink galoshes on a dusty front stoop.

  A crisp stack of newspapers neatly tucked against the chipped paint of a kiosk.

  Bright-white curtains peeking out of a rain-splattered windowpane.

  Katrina didn’t know why she was drawn to this approach, or what it meant, but she tried not to think too much about it. Instead, she did her best to follow her artistic intuition and enjoy the newfound feeling of stimulation that came with it.

  She was painting!

  What she wasn’t doing was working on her résumé. Or her LinkedIn profile. Or her job search. The acquaintances her mother had suggested she contact hadn’t replied to her e-mails yet, and while she knew she should reach out again, she just . . . didn’t.

  One Thursday evening, after a marathon outing during which she’d ridden the ferry to and from Staten Island, seen the Wall Street bull, visited the 9/11 Memorial, and covered what felt like a dozen miles on foot, popping in and out of art galleries and boutiques, she arrived home exhausted. As she peeled off her shirt and tossed it in the general direction of the hamper, she looked around the bedroom and realized she hadn’t cleaned the apartment in more than a week. At home, she scrubbed her place every Sunday afternoon, whether it needed it or not. Part of her was upset that she had let things slide without even noticing—but a bigger part of her wasn’t.

  She glanced at the hamper, which was surrounded by a small pile of clothes that had somehow missed their target.

  She smiled to herself.

  It was just a pile of clothes.

  But it was also more than that.

  Her phone rang from the living room. When she went to pick it up, she grimaced at the name on the display.

  Mom.

  She debated whether or not to answer. She’d already answered an earlier text her mother had sent requesting an update on the job search—in that reply, she’d promised to send an update “soon,” without being more specific than that. Katrina could tell by the tone of her mother’s texts that she was disappointed in her daughter’s recent lack of effort. In her mother’s mind, Katrina was being selfish and letting both her parents down, and she wasn’t hiding how she felt.

  Katrina set down the phone without answering it and walked back into the bedroom. She glanced at her laptop on the desk but didn’t approach it. Instead, she opened a drawer and pulled out some workout clothes, suddenly in the mood to take a yoga class despite her fatigue.

  On the way out the door, she took one last look at her laptop and decided she’d e-mail those women again when she got home.

  And work on her résumé.

  And perhaps tidy up the apartment.

  Then, maybe, she’d get back to her mother.

  “Hey, lady,” Shana whispered as Katrina entered the studio. “Gracie and I are going for a bite after class. Want to join us?”

  Katrina looked around the room. “Grace is taking a yoga class?”

  Shana stifled a laugh. “Now that would be a sight: Grace ‘I hate yoga’ Fong finally joining me for a session. No, she’s meeting me afterward at Beyond Sushi on Fourteenth. You should come with us.”

  Katrina felt her shoulders stiffen. “I’d like to, but I’ve got to work on my job search tonight. I’ve been neglecting it, and it’s catching up with me.”

  “Are you sure? Gracie finally got her first retail order today, so we’re going to celebrate.”

  “She did? That’s wonderful.”

  “Isn’t it? I’m thrilled for her. Are you sure you can’t join us? I know it would mean a lot to her. Plus this place has super-yummy spider rolls.”

  Katrina frowned. “My mom is sort of on my back for slacking off, and now I’m feeling really guilty. I’m sorry.”

  “I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “More than you know.” Shana squeezed Katrina’s shoulder and smiled, then walked to the front of the room. She lit a candle and sat down cross-legged on her mat.

  Katrina closed her eyes and tried to relax as Shana began to speak.

  “I was on the Lower East Side the other day and came upon some construction that was blocking the sidewalk. I wasn’t really in a hurry but was still slightly annoyed to have to make a detour, which I imagine is a pretty typical response for a New Yorker, even a yoga teacher. But when I switched to the other side of the street, the most amazing thing happened. I saw this tiny little storefront I’d never noticed before.”

  Katrina nodded slightly as she thought of how much she enjoyed stumbling upon little stores and boutiques not found in any guidebook, of how much she’d come to treasure the list Justin had written for her.

  Shana continued. “The shop was adorable, but I’d never noticed it because for some reason I never walk on that side of the street when I’m in that neighborhood. And until then, I hadn’t even realized I had a routine in that neighborhood. The windows were decorated with pretty lace curtains and a gorgeous display of candles and crystals, so I decided to go inside. The owner immediately approached me to welcome me to her store. She was this tiny old woman who wanted to know all about me, and when I told her I was a yoga instructor, you should have seen her eyes light up. She said she’d once been a yoga teacher as well. Then she put her arm around me and led me to the back of the store. She handed me a CD to play in class and refused any kind of payment. When I asked why, she said it was her gift to me for sharing my gift with my students, and that she was honored I’d chosen to visit her shop.”

  Katrina felt a little shiver down her spine.

  “I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d stumbled across her store by accident, and I certainly didn’t feel right leaving without buying something, so I bought the candle I’m burning right now. Then, when I got home later, I listened to the CD, not sure what to expect.” Shana giggled. “The music was so gentle, so soothing, so perfect for me that it almost made me cry. I’m going to play it during class today, and I hope you will enjoy it as much as I did.” She stood up and walked over to the stereo. “That little old lady’s simple act of kindness had a profound impact on me, and I only met her because I took a tiny detour across the street. So today I’d like you to think about how wonderful things can result from the slightest changes in our routines, the result of the smallest wrinkles in our plans. Now let’s meet in downward dog pose.”

  As she moved into downward dog and began to stretch her legs, Katrina thought of her own routines.

  Her lists.

  Her struct
ure.

  Her expectations.

  After class, Katrina sat quietly by herself until the other students had left, then rolled up her mat and walked over to where Shana was putting away the candle. She tapped her on the shoulder.

  “I’ve changed my mind about sushi. Count me in.”

  Shana’s eyes brightened. “Nice!”

  “Shana, you went over again.” The sound of a woman’s voice made them both turn their heads. Blair, in her standard black yoga gear and bun, was standing at the door. Her thin arms were crossed in front of her, a frown on her face.

  Shana closed the cabinet door and hurried over to the broom closet. “I’m so sorry, Blair. I’ll get the floor swept right away.”

  “Do you even want to be an accountant again when you go home?” Shana asked Katrina as she dipped a pot sticker in soy sauce.

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Katrina said.

  “No it’s not.” Grace stabbed a piece of spider roll with a chopstick and popped it into her mouth.

  Shana pointed at the chopstick. “Are you ever going to learn how to use those?”

  Grace shrugged as she chomped. “I’m a disgrace to my Chinese heritage. What can I say?”

  “The thing is, I don’t know how to do anything else,” Katrina said.

  “So?” Grace said. “You could learn.”

  “But I don’t know what else I’d even want to do.”

  “What about painting?” Shana said. “You seem to really love that.”

  Katrina smiled weakly. “I do, but I’m not very good at it.”

  “Yes you are, Kat,” Shana said. “You’re very good at it.”

  “Thanks for saying that, but I don’t know the first thing about how to sell paintings. Like zero.”

  Grace speared another spider roll. “You think I know a damned thing about how to sell jewelry? I’m literally flying by the seat of my pants.”

  “And I’ve only been teaching yoga for like a year,” Shana said. “I waitressed before that. And my degree was in drama.”

  “You two make it sound so easy,” Katrina said. “But you don’t know my mother.”

  “We’ve already been down the demanding-mother road,” Grace said. “I beat you.” She tapped her temple with a chopstick. “It’s all up here. That’s what’s holding you back, Kitty Kat.”

  Shana put a finger to her chin. “Hmm . . . I like that. I may have to use it in one of my classes.”

  “Don’t forget to cite me as the source. Chinese wisdom, you know.” Grace bowed her head.

  Katrina sighed. “Do you think I could put you two on the phone the next time my mother calls?”

  “I don’t pick up when mine calls,” Grace said. “That works just fine for me.”

  Katrina didn’t feel like talking—or even thinking—any more about her mother right then, so she redirected the conversation. “You were right about that Blair,” she said to Shana. “She’s kind of scary.”

  “I know, right?” Shana’s shoulders slumped just slightly. “Kind of an energy vampire.”

  “Who’s Blair?” Grace asked.

  “The owner of the studio,” Shana said.

  “Oh, you mean Cruella de Vil?” Grace stuck out her tongue. “Total witch.”

  Katrina nearly choked on her salmon roll. “Oh my gosh, she does look a little like Cruella de Vil! I feel so mean for saying so, but it’s true.”

  “From the stories I’ve heard, I sure as hell don’t feel mean for saying so,” Grace said. “After sweeping up the studio, that woman could fly out of there on her own broom.”

  Shana put a hand on Grace’s arm. “Be nice, Gracie. That’s my boss you’re talking about.”

  “Since when are bosses off limits? Besides, that woman is horrible to you. I don’t know why you still work for her.”

  “What else am I supposed to do? Go back to waitressing? The theater thing clearly isn’t working out, and I need to pay my bills somehow. It’s not like I have a lot of options right now.”

  Grace pointed a fork at her. “Too bad you don’t have any stock options. Then you could tell that bag of bones what to do with her scrawny ass.”

  Katrina laughed and gestured to Grace. “I still can’t wrap my head around how such vulgar comments come out of someone who looks like a porcelain doll.”

  Grace shrugged. “You should hear my sister. I’m the nice one.”

  When Katrina got home later that night, she sat down at her laptop to follow up with her mother’s contacts. Regardless of where her heart lay, she had to be practical and plant some seeds. She hoped that sending out some résumés, maybe even setting up a couple of phone interviews, would ease the creeping sense of anxiety she’d begun to feel whenever she thought about the future. Like Shana, she knew it was important to have options.

  Chapter Eleven

  Before Katrina knew it, another Saturday morning had rolled around. She got up early, bought her New York Times from the little man at the kiosk, and walked over to the coffeehouse. The weather had grown noticeably colder, and she wished she’d worn a scarf. Maybe she’d take a stroll through the Village later and buy a cute knitted one from a street vendor.

  Inside the coffeehouse, she didn’t see Justin or Peter anywhere. April was behind the counter, playing with her phone. Though she greeted Katrina with a friendly smile as she approached, she didn’t seem interested in chitchatting.

  “Good morning. What can I get you?”

  Katrina looked up at the menu board, then glanced at the glass canisters on the counter. She pointed to a tray of muffins topped by a glass cover. “Are those good?”

  April smiled. “Delicious. They’re chock full of fat, but they’re to die for, especially the poppy-seed ones.”

  “Okay, I’ll try one. And I think I’ll have a hot chocolate too. Large, please.”

  “Sure thing.”

  As April rang up her order, Katrina smiled to herself.

  It’s amazing how good little changes can feel.

  She took the muffin and hot chocolate to her favorite table and began reading the paper. Soon she was swept away in a story about yet another corruption case in New York’s state government, which seemed to produce an endless supply of scandals from both sides of the political aisle. Self-proclaimed righteous candidates who rode into office on promises of reform . . . then were tossed out on their backsides, facing bribery charges.

  Katrina frowned at the paper.

  They all pretend to be something they’re not.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  She looked up and saw Justin standing there. “Huh?” She blinked.

  “Wow. You were really gone there, and scowling a bit as well.” He took a seat. “You okay?”

  She blinked again. Had she been scowling? “Just have a lot on my mind, I guess.”

  He chuckled. “Talk about stating the obvious. Anything you’d like to talk about?”

  She didn’t reply.

  He waved a hand in front of her. “Earth to Katrina . . .”

  She took a deep breath, then looked him in the eye. “Was it hard for you to . . . um . . . pursue a nontraditional career?”

  “Hard for me how?”

  She swallowed. “I mean, it’s clearly worked out for you, but were your parents ever disappointed that you didn’t take the safe road? You know, do the corporate thing?”

  He laughed. “My dad’s a cardiologist and my mom’s a partner in a law firm. What do you think?”

  “So I can take that as a yes?”

  “You can take that as a yes.”

  “How did you deal with it?”

  He shrugged. “To be honest, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. After business school, I got a good job at a management consulting firm, but despite all the perks, from the minute I walked into my office, I kne
w that life wasn’t for me. It was just too . . . confining. And every time I met with a big client to discuss how to grow their business, I felt like a phony because I wanted to be building something of my own, not helping some faceless organization figure out how to make more millions. And I didn’t want to have to wear a suit to do it. One day I remember thinking I was either going to suffocate in my tie or hang myself with it. I didn’t last long in corporate America after that.”

  “Well, I for one am glad you didn’t hang yourself. I wish I had your conviction.”

  “You’re a smart cookie. You’ll figure it out. I’m not worried about you.”

  “Thanks, Justin. I really appreciate how nice you always are to me.”

  “It’s my pleasure. You’re good people, and I like good people.”

  She blushed. “Thank you.”

  “I like good people, and I’m also good at reading people, and you looked like you needed to talk, so here we are, talking.” He discreetly cocked his head in the direction of a woman seated at a table across the room and lowered his voice. “For example, I can read her too.”

  Katrina lowered her voice too. “Her what?”

  “Every time she comes in here, she orders a cappuccino. Today, however, she ordered a skim cappuccino. From that, I’m inferring she’s trying to lose a few pounds.”

  Katrina wrinkled her nose. The woman looked at least thirty pounds overweight, if not more. “That fairly obvious observation makes you good at reading people?”

  Justin smiled and scratched the top of his head. “If it gets you to tell me what’s bothering you, then yes.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you this nice to all your customers?”