by Jason Starr
Instead, he walked down Third a couple of blocks, then cut over to Lexington and hailed a cab. He had the urge to call Katie from his cell and arrange a time to meet up, but he stopped himself. He knew that getting a girl was just like getting a job—attitude was everything. If he came off as desperate, impulsive, overzealous, it would turn her off and he’d take a major step backward. He had to stay cool, keep telling her what she wanted to hear. Every girl has a fantasy of her perfect guy. The trick was to transform yourself, to become the fantasy.
From observing Katie when she was a teenager and from watching her lately, Peter had figured out a lot about her. He knew that she was a good dresser and cared about her appearance. He also knew that she was very close with her father, and that she was looking for a strong, conservative, good-looking guy to protect her. At the ice-cream parlor in Lenox, she used to talk about her father a lot and Peter used to see her with Mr. Porter all over—at the supermarket, playing tennis, at the beach at Laurel Lake. Sometimes he’d see her walking down one of the side streets in Lenox, holding hands with her dad, or sitting with her arm around his shoulders at the movie theater at the Berkshire Mall.
From watching her in Manhattan, Peter had figured out that not much about her had changed. She wasn’t ultra-high maintenance, but she liked to take care of herself—going to the nail salon on Third Avenue once a week, getting her hair cut and highlighted at Amour de Hair on Madison Avenue, shopping at Bloomingdale’s, J. Crew, and Ann Taylor Loft, and, of course, working out at the Metro Sports Club, which cost her seventy-four dollars a month. He knew that with the money she was making at her entry-level job, there was no way she could afford this type of lifestyle and that her father, Dick Porter, was probably helping to support her. He was probably paying her rent and perhaps giving her additional money. Peter also got the sense, by Katie’s mannerisms, such as the way she twirled her hair self-consciously and occasionally glanced in mirrors in a dissatisfied way, that she was insecure, that despite everything she had, she still felt like something was missing. Whenever she arrived at her apartment building alone, after going out with her friends, or when she came home from work, she’d look around nervously, obviously afraid that someone was going to try to follow her into the vestibule. Peter couldn’t help thinking of her as a baby deer, alone in the dark, dangerous woods of Manhattan, desperate for a strong, secure guy, a father figure, to come along and protect her.
Peter knew that he could be that guy, that rock. All he had to do was play up to her fantasy, give her what she wanted. He was five years older than her, which already gave him a big leg up; girls who idolized their fathers were always attracted to older guys. She wanted a guy who was secure, mature, who could take care of her, make her feel safe, like she used to feel safe when she was daddy’s little girl. She was probably used to dating guys in their early twenties who went on and on about themselves and treated her like crap, but what she really wanted was a more mature guy who cared about her, who listened. As for appearances, she seemed to be attracted to guys who had the same general features as her father. When she was walking along the street, or sitting in a restaurant or at a coffee bar, or that time last Saturday night, when she went out with her friends to that bar in Chelsea, she seemed to notice the clean-cut, conservative-looking guys. When Peter came to New York, his hair was long, almost down to his shoulders, and he had a scraggly beard. But before he interviewed for the job at the gym he got a close-cropped, military-style do and trimmed his beard to a goatee. Afterward, when he looked in the mirror, he was surprised and delighted by how much he resembled Katie’s dad, Dick Porter.
When Peter said hi to Katie at the gym he knew right away that his makeover had been successful. He could tell by the way she kept smiling and blushing that she was attracted to him. Because he knew she was insecure and would respond well to compliments, he made sure to tell her, in a very sincere way, how beautiful she looked. That scored a lot of points for him, and he knew he’d also won her over big-time by hanging on her every word, being genuinely interested in what she had to say.
The traffic was stop-and-go in the East Sixties and it probably would have been faster for Peter to get out and walk. But then he had another thought—maybe he should just go for it and tell the driver to make a left at the next corner and head back uptown. Peter imagined going to Katie’s building and buzzing her apartment. She’d wonder how he knew where she lived, but he could cover for it easily—tell her that he’d gotten her address from the health club’s database. She’d invite him up, and since she’d have just gotten out of the shower, her hair would be wet. She’d be wearing baggy sweats and a long man’s T-shirt, and would look great with no makeup. Although he’d never seen the inside of her apartment, he pictured the whole place being pink and very girly, like a teenager’s room. And it would smell flowery, like potpourri or the perfume she was wearing at the gym today. She’d look warm and cuddly and he’d want to give her a big, long hug. He’d look into her eyes, showing her how caring he was, and say, “I figured, why wait? Let’s go for that coffee right now.” He’d have to deliver that line carefully, so he wouldn’t sound too pushy or overanxious, but he was sure he could pull it off. Then they’d go out to a dimly lit coffee bar and sit next to each other on a fluffy couch and talk and laugh and look into each other’s eyes for hours. As long as he said the right things, treated her the way she wanted to be treated, she’d start to fall in love with him, and then they’d start seeing each other all the time, become inseparable, and when the time was right, he’d propose, giving her the Tiffany two-carat diamond engagement ring, and it would be the happiest day of their lives.
Beyond Fifty-ninth Street, as the traffic thinned and the cab started moving at a steadier pace, Peter decided to hold off on going over there. It would be better to just relax, to let things take their course. Although he knew he could go over to her place and everything could work out perfectly, there was no reason to rush things. He’d stick to the plan and call her tomorrow night and suggest that they meet for coffee the following day—Monday.
He had taken out the business card with her number on it and now he stared at the handwriting. It was very neat and controlled; every letter in “Katie” and every digit in her number was easily readable. This was another sign that she was into him. If she didn’t like him or didn’t care if he called her, she would’ve scribbled her number; obviously she wanted to make sure there was no way for him to dial a wrong number and not be able to get in touch.
Zoning out, thinking of things to say to her on the phone when he called her and when they went out for coffee, he didn’t hear what the driver had asked him.
“What?”
“What side?” the driver asked, annoyed. “Right or left?”
“Oh, left,” Peter said. “Across the street.”
The cab pulled in front of the Ramada Inn on Lexington and Thirtieth. Peter gave the driver a twenty, which was nearly double the fare, and told him to keep the change. The driver seemed surprised and suddenly cheerful and told Peter to have a great day.
Hector, the young Puerto Rican guy, was working at the hotel’s front desk. When he saw Peter, he cupped a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and said, “Yo, Peter, I gotta talk to you. Hold up one sec.”
“Sure,” Peter said.
Peter knew what Hector wanted to talk about. Peter had been giving him advice on how to break up with his current girlfriend so he could get back with his ex. It was a sticky situation because the two girls lived in the same building in the Bronx and Hector didn’t want his ex to know that he had been dating the other girl. Peter’s advice was for Hector to be honest with the girl he wanted to break up with, because when you came right down to it, people always appreciated honesty.
Hector hung up and said to Peter, “Yo, you’re a genius, man.”
“It worked?” Peter asked.
“Hell yeah, man. I mean, I wasn’t gonna do it. I went over to Jessica’s place last night and I was, like, I g
otta be crazy doin’ this. She gonna be freakin’, know what I’m sayin’? I gotta lie to her, make up somethin’. Then I was like, Naw, maybe Peter’s right. So I tried. I mean, I did everything you said I should do, man, said everything you said I should say. I was lookin’ into her eyes, being nice and sweet and all that shit, and I just told her, I was like, We gotta break up ’cause I’m in love with Lucy and that’s just the way it is. I didn’t say it like that, but that’s kinda like what I was sayin’, you know, and she was like, ‘Yeah, you wanna break up. That’s cool. I just want you to be happy, I wanna be friends.’ I’m serious, yo, that’s what it was like.”
“I’m really happy for you, man,” Peter said, consciously trying to talk like Hector, even taking on a bit of a Puerto Rican accent.
“Yo, I owe you, man,” Hector said. “Serious. Anything you want’s on me. Tonight, do any pay-per-view, take whatever you want from the mini bar, whatever, and you won’t get charged for nothing.”
“That’s okay—I’m just glad I could help you out. I’ll talk to you later, all right?”
Peter took the elevator up to the twelfth floor and went into his suite. He was still very excited about how well everything had gone with Katie and he couldn’t stop replaying their conversation in his head. There wasn’t one thing he’d said that he regretted; if he’d written his lines in advance and read from the script, it couldn’t have gone any better. Again, he took out the business card with her name on it and, touching the writing gently with his forefinger, he had to resist calling her. He wanted to hear her voice. He wanted to know if she sounded different on the phone than in person and he wanted to make sure she was okay. Of course, he didn’t think anything bad had happened to her, but suddenly he felt protective over her, as if she were his child, and he knew it would make him feel better, more relaxed, if he could just talk to her.
But he reminded himself that this was only the beginning. There would be days, months, years, a whole lifetime of talking on the phone. Soon they’d have so many phone conversations that calling her would be something he wouldn’t even have to think about or prepare for; it would come as naturally as eating or breathing.
Peter felt grimy from the city, so he took a quick shower. Afterward, he opened the closet, which he had filled with his new wardrobe—upscale, conservative clothes that he knew Katie would like—and picked out beige chinos and a black mock turtleneck. He didn’t want to leave anything to chance. If something went wrong between him and Katie and things didn’t work out as perfectly as he imagined, he didn’t want to look back later and wish he had done something differently. He knew there would be a greater chance of winning Katie over if he looked and acted the right way.
He was planning to have a mellow day alone. He figured he’d take a walk downtown, hang out for a while at a Barnes & Noble or a Starbucks, grab some sushi for dinner, and then maybe go to a movie. He had to go somewhere because if he stayed in his hotel room all day, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Katie, and he didn’t want to do something stupid that he’d regret.
It was a beautiful November afternoon—clear sky, chilly but not too cold, leaves whipping around on the sidewalks. Before heading downtown, Peter decided to stop by the co-op he had purchased in the brownstone on East Thirty-second Street, to see how the renovations were coming along.
He opened the door to the building and went up to the second floor. The door to the apartment was propped open with a piece of wood and a worker was using a power tool in one of the back rooms. Peter checked out the dining room and kitchen, very pleased with how things were progressing. The crown molding was up and all the painting was done and the new Brazilian cherry strip floors had been laid down. The new Silestone breakfast bar had been installed in the kitchen and all of the maple cabinetry was in place and looked great. The stainless steel refrigerator and Viking stove hadn’t been delivered yet, but that was scheduled to happen sometime next week.
Peter went down to the main bedroom where two Mexican men were installing shelves in the walk-in closet.
“Cómo están?” Peter said to the men.
“Muy bueno,” the older man said. “Gracias.”
“Me gustan todos. Seriously—it really looks great.”
“Gracias.”
“Cuándo ustedes acabarán?”
“Dos días. Quizás tres días.”
“Ah, muy bueno. Muchas gracias. Estoy muy, muy contento.”
Peter peeked into the master bath, glad to see that the renovations were about halfway done and looked fantastic, and then he went across the hall to one of the bedrooms, which he planned to use for a home theater. The two leather chairs from Restoration Hardware had been delivered and were facing the wall where the sixty-four-inch LCD TV would be placed. He imagined him and Katie, wearing comfy sweaters on a cold winter night, sipping hot chocolate while watching a movie, a love story, and then he peeked into the room across the hallway that would be their first child’s room. The room was empty now, but he imagined it filled with toys, a rocking chair, a crib. It was going to feel so great to sit in the rocking chair and rock his child to sleep, knowing that the baby was his and Katie’s, that they had created a life together.
After spending another several minutes checking out other odds and ends, he left the apartment and headed downtown. He walked around Gramercy Park and then along Twentieth Street for a few blocks before cutting over toward Union Square. Although he’d only been living in New York at the hotel for about a month, and before then had only been to the city several times—a few short trips with his parents when he was very young, and then, more recently, the trips in from Mexico to look at apartments and to close on the co-op—he already felt very comfortable in New York, like a native. This surprised him a lot because when he was growing up he could never have imagined living in Manhattan, or anyplace urban. He always imagined himself living in the mountains, maybe in Vermont or New Hampshire.
A few months ago, he’d been planning to move back to New England, but then, surfing the Net one day in Guadalajara, he decided to Google Katie Porter. He didn’t find out much about her, except that she had gone to college at Wesleyan and was living in Manhattan, but he knew he had to be with her, that he couldn’t live without her. He also knew that he would have to reinvent himself in many ways to win her over, and becoming a New Yorker was one of them. Since she obviously viewed herself as a city girl nowadays, he figured if he was a city guy she would be much more likely to fall for him, and he also knew it would be nearly impossible for any single girl in Manhattan to resist a guy who owned a huge, spectacular apartment. So Peter shelled out the $975,000 for the co-op, figuring he’d unveil it to her at the perfect time, when all the renovations were complete and their relationship was in full swing.
As Peter walked through the Saturday farmers’ market at Union Square, he decided that waiting until tomorrow night to ask her out could be a big mistake or, at the very least, create unnecessary awkwardness. He knew, from following her around, that she usually went to the gym on Saturdays and Sundays. This didn’t necessarily mean that she would work out tomorrow, but she was a very regimented person, sticking to a tight routine for most of her activities—leaving for work between eight ten and eight fifteen every morning, stopping at the same coffee cart outside her office for a breakfast of coffee and a raisin bagel, “nothing on it,” returning from work every day between five forty-five and six, except that one day last week when she went out to a bar after work with friends and didn’t get home until later—so he figured there was a decent chance that she would be going to the gym tomorrow morning. If he saw her tomorrow and hadn’t called her yet, she might get the wrong idea, think he wasn’t interested in her, and it would put him in an uncomfortable position.
He went to ABC Carpet and did some shopping for the apartment, but then he couldn’t take it anymore. He took out his cell and dialed Katie’s number, which he had memorized.
“Hello?” God, her voice was amazing.
<
br /> “Hey, it’s me, Peter.”
There was a pause. It only lasted a second or two, but it was plenty of time for Peter to get paranoid. He wondered if she wasn’t really expecting him to call and was upset that he had, or if she thought it was weird that he was calling so quickly, or if she was with that guy she’d been dating.
But Peter’s fears were alleviated when she said, “Oh, wow, Peter. Sorry, I just walked in the door and I didn’t check my caller ID. What’s up?”
“Not much. I was just wondering if you had any plans for tomorrow afternoon.”
Damn, he sounded too pushy. He should’ve had a short conversation with her first. Why didn’t he think all this through?
“No, I don’t,” she said. “Not really.”
“Great,” he said, relieved. “So how about we meet for coffee at around two?”
“Yeah, okay. That sounds great.”
“Cool. I’ll stop by your place after I get off work.”
“I better tell you where I live.”
“Yeah, that would be a good idea.”
She gave him her address and he pretended that he was writing it down somewhere. He was angry at himself for making that slip-up, implying that he already knew where she lived. He hoped she hadn’t picked up on it.
“You know, I have a better idea,” she said. “Since you’re gonna be working, how about I just come by the gym and meet you there?”
Peter wasn’t crazy about this plan, but didn’t want to be difficult.
“Okay,” he said. “Whatever works best for you.”
They exchanged some small talk about how they were going to spend the rest of their afternoons—she said she was going to do some laundry, which he expected because she’d done laundry on two other Saturdays at around this time, and he said he had to “do some errands around the neighborhood”—and then they said goodbye and clicked off.
