“This is the special occasion,” Minarette said. “It’s the first time I’m hanging out with my new friend Rick.” She put her hand on mine for a second, and I thought I was going to explode. My throat went tight and my heart raced.
Stay cool. Keep it together. She’s just a girl. Just a girl.
There was just so much more to it than that, though, wasn’t there? Always was with me. I raced through a relationship with her inside my mind. I imagined us getting a dress, then getting dinner, then strolling through Central Park, and then even more. Kissing. Lovemaking so sweet. Moving in together. Our dreams coming true. So many events. A wedding by the sea, somewhere out west. A little child. Two. Three. Holding hands in old age. All of that raced through my thoughts, like fast forwarding through a movie, as we drove along the FDR Drive, the silky black Hudson River to our right. Across the river, I looked over toward the Jersey side and wondered which little town she came from.
“Hey?” she said. “Did I lose you there?”
She’d caught me drifting.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
“Make it a nickel and I’ll sing.”
“How about dinner at Polly Esther’s?”
“Really?”
“Sure. No problem,” she said. “Speak, young man.”
I sighed. She’d gotten me. I looked over to her, and she had a little smile. Somehow, I suspected she’d read my mind, as impossible as that was.
“All right,” I said. “I was just thinking about what it’d be like to have a nice life with someone…you know…a great relationship…a great and true love. That stuff.” I was a little nervous and didn’t want to give anything away.
“Huh,” she said, one eyebrow arched up. She kept her eye on the road. “Anyone in particular?”
You can’t lie to her.
Don’t lie.
Even about something this small.
“Yes,” I said.
“Who?”
I waved my hands. “That’s on a need-to-know basis.”
“Your dinner’s in jeopardy.”
“Crap.”
She laughed.
“I’ll give you until the ride home to tell me.”
“Okay,” I said. “Fair enough.”
Minarette turned the radio back on.
We passed the glorious skyscrapers of the city, her little car bringing us to the magical section just outside Greenwich Village. The people changed. The sidewalks were a little smaller than they were uptown, but there seemed to be a lot more going on than in other parts we’d driven past.
Minarette turned down the radio. “I’ve been thinking,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“You should completely break up with Vanessa. I mean, I know and you know it’s not going to last forever. Life can be short,” she said. “But it can be really long if you’re miserable.”
“True,” I said. “Right on. I did tell her that it’s over between us. Hope she knows it’s final.”
“And I also think that, tonight, I’d like to be your girlfriend.”
My heart went hollow.
Whoa.
“You know, in case anyone asks,” she said. “For safety.”
I turned away.
Damn it.
“All right,” I said, not wanting to upset her. “It’d be my honor. No problem.”‘
She nudged me. “Come on,” she said. “You’ve got a new girlfriend. For the night. Show her a good time.”
I lit up. Maybe it was her way of testing me—to see if I was boyfriend material. All the time, too, I felt real guilty for having such a good time and thinking about my heart and romantic feelings, and meanwhile Mikey and Jimmy were lost. A part of me couldn’t help myself, but another part of me knew I was looking for something—needing something—that might take away the pain, salve the wound and help me heal safe and sound. Nothing like a good, pretty girl on his arm to help a guy like me get over stuff. Anna told me that was codependent and that I didn’t need anyone else to complete me and all that jazz, but honestly? I always thought life was made for two and was better that way, so why resist? Of course I could survive and be fine if I were alone, but life was much better the other way around.
“Where’re we going to park?” I asked. “One of the lots?”
“I always find street parking. Things seem to work out for me that way,” Minarette said.
“Cool,” I said. “Use it before you lose it, right?”
She was right. We pulled up on a side street by Bleeker, and there were several empty spots. Cars were leaving in front of us. “There you go,” she said. “They knew we were coming.”
When we got out of the car, Minarette held my hand. “Remember that you’re my boyfriend tonight?” she said. “They won’t try and hoodwink me if they know I’m with you. You’re all tough and handsome.” I thought her using the word “hoodwink” was weird.
My face flushed. All I could think to say was, “Yeah.” I thought about Vanessa for a split second. Was I cheating? Was I going against who I was? Then I thought about all the horrible things Vanessa had put me through, and I no longer cared. I told myself to stop worrying about it. This was a special night, one I was going to remember forever. Enjoy it.
“The air is so nice and chilly,” she said. “Fall is my favorite time of year. I love the way everything smells, and I love that I can wear my favorite cozy outfits.”
“I’ve always been a fan of bad weather,” I said.
“For me bad is good,” she said. “Bad is best.”
“I feel so elegant tonight,” I said. “Like a movie star. The way your heels sound. The way you carry yourself.”
She laughed a little. “That’s because I come from a different time,” she said. “I belong in the late fifties.”
“Yeah,” I said. “You definitely have that Marilyn Monroe and Grace Kelly thing going on. Probably more Grace. That’s for sure.”
“A little different than the sweat hogs you’re used to, eh?” she said.
“My uncle Dave says all the Whistleville woman look winterized,” I said. “But I always think a lot of them look kind of like Benjamin Franklin.”
Minarette laughed. “That’s harsh,” she said. “Wow. But I can see that. I can definitely see that.” Her arms were thin, but unusually strong. I hadn’t expected her strength and physical confidence. To top it off, she walked faster in heels than most people walked in sneakers.
We turned a corner. “Do you have a place in mind to find a dress?” I asked.
“There’s so many down here,” she said. “I thought we could just go in and try a few. That okay?”
“Sure. I’ll even hold your purse.”
She squeezed my arm. “A real man, and the first one ever to offer to hold my purse. Maybe we should head to JFK and get married in Paris. I think you’re a keeper.”
“I’m up for it,” I said. “I probably have enough on my card to take care of it.” I wondered if she was serious. I felt, in that moment, like the luckiest man alive. How could we have gone so quickly from barely knowing one another to having such a spectacular date? And I knew then that that was what it was—an actual date.
“Well, that would be awfully silly,” she said. “We haven’t even slept together yet. What if we ended up not being compatible? That’s really important.”
“I’ve got a feeling,” I said.
“Yeah? A feeling about what?”
She wasn’t letting me off easy.
“That you and I…”
“This is a great place.” She cut me off. Damn it. “Let’s go in here.” Ahead of us, there was a converted brownstone with shop windows. There were so many clothes crammed inside I couldn’t even see through them.
“Things are really open late here,�
� I said. “Nothing’s open in Whistleville except bars and convenience stores.”
“It’s Manhattan,” she said as she pulled me up the stairs. “Do I even need to tell you?”
“The city that never—”
“Shh! We all know that.”
There was no escaping the smell of clothes in the little shop, or the sounds of the New Age music playing, punctuated every few seconds with the squeaking sounds of clothes hangers being moved on their racks. Minarette went straight for the back, where there was a great one-piece red dress on a mannequin. From the back room, we saw a petite girl, Manic Panic hair, frowning. She said, “Can I help you?” with all the enthusiasm of a dying badger.
“I’d like to try that on,” Minarette said.
“It’s on display,” Manic Panic said. “I don’t have one to try on.”
“That one looks like it’d fit.”
“What am I supposed to do if you don’t buy it? Do you know what a pain it is putting it back on that plastic witch?” Manic Panic said.
“So much for the customer is always right,” I said.
“Hey, smart-ass, who asked you?” she said to me.
I was speechless.
Minarette said, “Fine. We’ll just take it. I’m sure it’s perfect.”
Manic Panic looked at her, then me, and then her again.
“Serious. I want it,” Minarette said.
Manic Panic didn’t budge.
Minarette took her purse from me—took out her wallet and card. “Go ahead and ring it up first,” she said. “If you’re nervous I’m not good for it.”
“You haven’t asked me how much it is,” Manic Panic said. “Don’t you want to know?”
Minarette shook her head. “I’m sure you won’t overcharge me.”
I wanted to butt in. The frugal Yankee in me was freaking out. Minarette was nothing if not impulsive. That could lead to trouble. Where was she getting her money? I didn’t know. For all I did know, she was a rich girl, and it really didn’t matter. I sure wasn’t used to living like that.
Manic Panic came back with a slip to sign. I did my best to only look at it for a second, so that Minarette didn’t think I was prying. Be cool, I thought. Don’t be that guy. I was relieved when I saw the dress was just under two bills. Not cheap, but not outrageous, and hardly something that’d get Minarette in any long-term trouble. “I can help you get it down,” Minarette said to Manic Panic, “and help you pick out something to replace it.”
Manic Panic laughed. “I think I’m okay,” she said. “But thanks.”
We were out of there a few minutes later.
“Wasn’t that the easiest dress shopping you ever did?” she asked.
“Easily,” I said.
She grabbed my arm again and ushered me along, her new dress dangling inside a bag on her opposite arm. “Now we need to go somewhere where I can try this on for you.”
All I wanted to do was kiss her. More than anything in the world.
The second shop we found was around the next block. It was called Jet. “This place is awesome,” I said.
“One of my favorites,” she said.
“You’ve been here before?”
“Many times.”
Inside, the shop was much better organized than the first. There were fewer clothes, but they were of an entirely different class. The shop was roomier. I didn’t feel nearly as suffocated as in the first. There was also an abundance of help. Everyone inside Jet looked like a glamorous drag queen.
“Honey? We’ve got some crazy stuff he’s going to love,” said one, whose name I hadn’t caught. Something exotic and vaguely Latino.
“I’m ready,” Minarette said. “Show me.”
We hurried toward the back of Jet, where the most prized articles were hanging.
A shiny silver dress both caught our eyes.
“Wow,” she said. “That’s totally me.”
The queen spelled out Minarette’s name. “Damn right it is, girl.” He took it down and handed it to her. “Go on.” Then he said to me, “You’re going to love her in this.”
“Pretty sure I already do,” I said.
Minarette gave me a small kiss on the cheek. Her mouth was warm and soft…one of the best things I’ve ever felt, bar none. She handed me her purse again. “Do you mind?”
“No,” I said. “Not at all.”
Then she disappeared into the changing room.
The queen tapped me on the shoulder, said, “She likes your ass.”
It only took a few moments until I heard Minarette call me. “Rick? Are you ready?”
“Yeah.”
The door opened, and I gasped.
There she was, perfect, her body wrapped wonderfully in the silver dress.
“You look like you just stepped off a magazine cover,” I said. “Wow. Jesus.”
She laughed. “Of course I do,” she said. “I’m in the Village. Anything can happen here.” She winked at me. “Anything.”
“Damn,” I said.
She swirled around, showing off her long legs. Minarette wasn’t a stick, but she wasn’t too heavy, either. She was perfect. One hundred percent woman.
“So you think I should take it?” she asked.
“Yes. Absolutely.” Pretty sure I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“All righty, then,” she said. “It’s ours.”
From across the store, the queen asked, “You wearing that out, hon? Or are we wrapping it up for you?”
“I don’t know,” she said and looked at me. “Would you be seen with me looking like this?”
“Of course,” I said. “Holy cow. I just feel underdressed compared to you.”
She turned, spinning on her heel. I thought I was going to die. What the hell was I doing with such a beautiful woman in my company? I was just a lowly working stiff with dreams of playing guitar in a band of some sort. Without a doubt, I was out of my league.
“Don’t be silly, silly,” she said and came out of the room. “You look wonderful. You always do. Guys have it easy. All you have to do to look hot is to wear a good pair of jeans and a decent T-shirt. That’s it. But us? We have to hire a stylist every morning.”
“I’m sure you look pretty smashing when you wake up,” I said.
“Depends how many gallons of virgins’ blood I drank the night before,” she said.
I laughed at that. “Positive it’s in your DNA, girl,” I said.
“All right,” said the queen. “I don’t want to interrupt this little lovefest, but I’ve got to ring this up so I can go on break. A girl’s gotta go when she’s gotta go.”
We went to the register, where Minarette said, “You can wait outside for me. I won’t be long.”
I got the hint. “Sure,” I said. “No problem.”
Outside, there was a guy busking with an invisible guitar, singing Eric Clapton’s “Layla” out of tune. He was drunk. I looked down and saw he’d put a Big Mac container on the ground for tips. There was some small change in it, along with a few splotches of McD’s magic sauce.
“Only in New York,” Minarette said, coming up from behind me. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” I said.
Clapton piped in. “I’m hungry, too, kids.”
“Sorry,” Minarette said. “I just blew all my money on my dress.” She spun around a few times, her hair flowing.
“I’d eat that,” Clapton said.
She pointed at him. “I’d eat you first,” she said. “I can taste your blood from here.” She made a purring noise. “Want to open a vein for me? Come on, Sugar Daddy.”
Clapton was dumbfounded. He just shook his head, then turned to me, said, “Man, are you in for a hell of a ride with that one, Billy Bob.”
“I hope so,” I said and then ushered us out of the
re. When we got around the corner, we both busted out laughing. “I had no idea I was hanging out with Bela Lugosi.”
“I’m worse,” she said. “Much worse, in case you haven’t noticed.”
* * * * *
Polly Esther’s was pretty empty by the time we got inside. It was late, but they were still serving. On the walls, there were huge murals of seventies pop culture. A painting of the Jaws poster had the Fonze and John Travolta as a sweat hog from Welcome Back Kotter in its mouth. There was a painting of Frampton Comes Alive next to a cutout of Shaun Cassidy, where you could put your face through so it looked like you had his unmistakable haircut. Next to all that, the iconic poster of Farrah Fawcett in her red bathing suit, flanked by Pamela Anderson in her own red Baywatch suit. “Hey. That’s not from the seventies,” I said.
“Look under her arm,” Minarette said. There were several vinyl records from the likes of Black Sabbath, Jackson Browne and ABBA.
We sat at a table that was underneath a huge mural of Springsteen’s Born To Run album cover. Other tables had Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. The best, though? The small stage was made to look exactly like a KISS concert, complete with flashing logo in the background, made from Christmas lights. “This place is too fun,” I said. “How’d you find it?”
“Just walking around,” she said.
I looked over the food. Chose a good chicken sandwich. When the waiter came, Minarette said, “I’ll take one of those, too. Just like he’s having.” Then she whispered something in the waiter’s ear. I was worried: up until then, Minarette had been filled with all sorts of surprises. I wondered what she had up her sleeve. It didn’t take long for me to find out.
As soon as I was almost done with my food, we were surrounded by a group of waiters who looked like they were from the Partridge Family or the Brady Bunch. They were carrying a cake with candles lit. They started singing “Happy Birthday.” To me. It wasn’t my birthday. Minarette was cracking up, looking at my face. I couldn’t help but crack up, too.
The crew left us, and we devoured the cake.
“You didn’t eat any of your dinner,” I said. She’d had it delivered in a to-go bag.
“I don’t want to bust my new dress,” she said. “It would suck if it ripped.”
Ghost Heart Page 9
