“Another woman,” Katie said.
“He cheated on you,” Vivienne said, some of the spice returning to her speech, “and you’re this together right now? I knew you had some bounce to you, Katie, but sweet baby Jesus.”
“It’s kind of funny,” Katie said. “I don’t really miss him. I mean, I thought I’d miss him more than I do. Instead I feel like I’m learning what I like to do now.”
Vivienne’s comb and scissors returned to their task. She was working on automatic, temporarily dumbfounded.
“Like if I never go to another art opening for as long as I live,” Katie said, “where I have to listen to some dude talk nonsense about how his arrangement of a bunch of mirrors is a Borgesian statement on perception, it’ll be too soon, you know?”
Vivienne politely nodded.
Katie wanted to tell her more. She wanted to tell Vivienne everything. From her and Cassidy’s crazy first meeting, to their fast friendship, to their kiss, to their weekend getaway—right up to the past ten days of sexual bliss. Just running it through her mind, Katie could hardly believe how close she and Cassidy had gotten, how inseparable they’d become in such a short amount of time. How they were maybe falling in love. Katie wanted to try out the words.
“Well good for you.” Vivienne seemed to click back into place. “Best thing now,” she said, “is to not get involved with anyone else for a while. Take some time, have some fun. Whatever you do, don’t jump back into a relationship right away.”
Katie watched the split ends of her hair fall from her head to the floor. “Yeah,” she said. “You’re probably right.”
Vivienne snipped, combed, snipped.
“So tell me about your latest dating adventure,” Katie said.
Vivienne went on to regale Katie with her latest escapade with an acupuncturist who picked her up using the line I can’t wait to get my needles into you.
“He’s a little freaky,” Vivienne told her. “But my lower-back pain has never felt better.”
By the time Katie stepped out of the salon freshly cut and styled, she was convinced there was little an hour with Vivienne couldn’t make better. She was also newly certain of how impossible Vivienne’s casual attitude toward dating would be for her. If taking some time to have fun, not getting involved with anyone too seriously too soon, required a willingness to be some weirdo’s sexual pincushion, well, forget it.
Katie walked west till she hit Sixth Avenue, where the street was closed for a food festival. Tents and tables displaying everything from dinosaur-size turkey legs to handmade ice-cream sandwiches lined both sides of the sidewalk. Cassidy was supposed to come over later with takeout, but Katie couldn’t resist trying a free sample or two before heading home.
Katie scanned the offerings, homed in on a vendor giving out Dixie cups of artisanal beef jerky, and was making her way over when she caught sight of a familiar-looking shark-fin fauxhawk alongside a purple do-rag. It was Gina and Becky.
Katie’s first instinct was to turn the other way and bolt, but what if they saw her seeing them? She couldn’t chance such a rude gesture, so instead she urged herself to continue forward.
“Hey there,” she said, once she was just beside them.
“Well hello.” Becky smacked Gina on the shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“Just passing through,” Katie said. “You?”
“Our friend has a booth.” Becky nodded toward a table where a woman with asymmetrical bangs and tattooed forearms, whom Katie could have sworn she’d met before, was slinging fried fish cakes shaped like baseballs.
“You should check it out,” Becky said. “Best fritters you’ll find outside the Caribbean. Ask for the special sauce if you think you can handle spice.”
Katie smiled. “I can handle spice.” Before she found herself challenging Becky to a hot-sauce-eating contest, Katie looked to Gina, who was scarfing down some kind of meat on a stick. “Looks tasty,” Katie said.
“You can’t have a bite,” Gina mumbled back.
“That’s okay, I’m good.” Katie glanced left, then right, to decipher her most efficient escape route. “Well, it was nice running into y’all,” she said. “But I better get—”
“Not so fast.” Becky caught Katie by the wrist. “While we have you here . . . I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that we’ve noticed you and Cassidy have been spending a lot of time together.”
Katie rechecked her getaway paths. “Uh-huh,” she said.
“So . . .” Becky toggled her head from side to side.
“So what’s up with that?” Gina said.
Katie could feel her ears beneath her fresh blowout getting hot. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I guess we’ve just been curious,” Becky said, “about your intentions. The thing is, we haven’t seen much of Cassidy lately, and we’re worried she’s not really processing everything going on, with the bar closing and all . . .”
“Cassidy’s putting all her eggs in the Katie basket right now is what we’re saying,” Gina interjected, mouth full of meat.
“Cassidy’s uncharacteristically vulnerable right now,” Becky continued. “Even though it may not look like it from the outside. So if you’re not . . .”
“If you’re just playing with her,” Gina said, “now’s not the time. Have you ever even do-si-doed with a girl before?”
Katie did a double take. “Excuse me?”
“Allow me to translate.” Becky put up her hands in the little shark’s defense. “What Gina means is, are you even gay?”
“I don’t know,” Katie said. “What difference does that make?”
Gina coughed, nearly choking herself with her meat stick.
“Hey, that’s cool,” Becky said. “Nobody here has a problem with that.”
“I do.” Gina pounded her chest till she stopped coughing. “You should know,” she said to Katie. And then to Becky, “She should know.”
Katie had had just about enough of this. “Look, I appreciate that you’re looking out for your friend,” she said. “I admire that, I really do. Loyal friends aren’t easy to come by; trust me, I know this firsthand. But if you’ll excuse me—”
“It’s a simple question.” Gina cut her off. “Do you like girls? Is. That. A. Thing. You. Do?”
“I don’t know if I like girls,” Katie shot back. “But I like Cassidy. And you should be ashamed of yourself for passing judgment on me. You of all people should be wary of trying to put people in boxes. My feelings for Cassidy are real, and you’re right, we’ve been spending a lot of time together, mostly in bed doing the four-legged foxtrot, not that it’s any of your damn business.”
Gina swallowed down a last bite of meat, licked her lips, and tossed her empty stick to the ground. “Okay,” she said to Becky. “She’s growing on me.”
TWENTY
When the reminder popped up on Cassidy’s calendar for that evening’s appointment with Gerard, she could hardly believe three months had already gone by. Last time she saw him, she’d just gotten out of that misguided, short-lived affair with Hot Sarah from hot yoga, but here it was already time to get fitted for next season’s shirts and suits and jackets, and Katie was a name that Cassidy could no longer utter without smiling—and Gerard had yet to hear of her.
How had so much happened in so little time? It made Cassidy wonder if things with Katie were moving too fast.
Cassidy sent off one final email before heading out. Then, briefcase in hand, she continued worrying along Seventh Avenue.
Had she been too hasty buying those tickets to the Met Opera gala? Her sudden lack of confidence on the matter felt like more than simple buyer’s remorse. It was stress. Anxiety.
When was the last time Cassidy had felt anxious about a girl? When she was eighteen? How the hell was she supposed to know if this kind of fancy date was too much too so
on? She never dated. She didn’t woo girls, or bow and twist into new shapes to get someone to like her back.
Cassidy checked her watch, then her phone, then her reflection in a passing storefront window.
Caring too much made a person weak. It opened you up to all sorts of vulnerabilities, and it was making Cassidy do ridiculous things—spending hours online searching for the perfect night out, envisioning Katie and herself together in extravagant clothes surrounded by fairy-tale glamour like something from a storybook. As if anything so conventional and ceremonious, such normalized enchantment, could ever be hers.
She could give the tickets away or forget about them altogether. No one would ever have to know she’d been drawn to spend her hard-earned money on anything so queasily romantic. But just the idea of doing that almost took her breath away.
Cassidy checked her watch again, to see she’d arrived only six minutes late. Not bad. She swung open the tall glass door and entered with confidence in her step.
The elevator operator, a mustachioed young man in a houndstooth waistcoat, greeted her and escorted her upward. A moment later he unfolded the vintage lift’s scissor gate and Cassidy stepped through to where Gerard was waiting.
“Hello, hello.” A cheek kiss left, a cheek kiss right. As always, Gerard was dressed in a flamboyant mix of patterns and jewel tones only a dandy with a stylist’s courage could get away with. It helped that he was a beautiful mix of Puerto Rican and Greek, which he proudly referred to as Puerto Greekan.
“How are you, my favorite? I’ve set out a selection of new fabrics for you.” He led Cassidy to a long table covered in a mosaic of cloth swatches. “Shirts here. Suits and jackets there. But first, you must tell me the latest gossip from the lipstick jungle. I heard your beloved Metropolis is not long for this world.”
“That is true.” Cassidy approached a faceless, fully dressed mannequin.
Gerard followed after her. “It’s absolutely heartbreaking, isn’t it? To lose a place like that after all these years.”
“What’s this sport coat?” Cassidy asked. “It’s really soft.”
“Honey.” Gerard stood still. “Aren’t you the least bit upset? I assumed that bar was where they’d sprinkle your ashes after you died.”
“I guess they’ll have to come up with a new plan for my ashes,” Cassidy said.
“So tough, aren’t you. Never let them see you sweat.” Gerard shook his head. “That’s a new arrival,” he said, indicating the sport coat Cassidy was interested in. “It’s a blend of cashmere and vicuna, but it’s unstructured, only half lined. This is a much more casual, relaxed fit than you usually go for.”
“I like it,” Cassidy said. “I’ll give it a try.”
“Well aren’t you surprising today?” Gerard stripped the jacket from the mannequin. “Just when you think you know a person’s inner-layer preference, they throw all caution to the wind.”
“That’s sort of been my mood lately, I guess.” Cassidy returned to the shirt swatches.
Gerard picked up one that was a shade of pale blue. “You’ll probably like this. It’s similar to the broadcloth you usually get, but with a higher thread count, giving it a slightly smoother, silkier feel.”
Cassidy felt the swatch between her thumb and forefinger. “That’s nice.” She reached across the table to the far corner for a pin-dotted swatch. “This is kind of fun and different.”
“A pattern?” Gerard was taken aback. “What’s gotten into you?” He narrowed his eyes, looked Cassidy up and down. “You seem lighter.”
“You think I lost weight?”
“Lighter like brighter,” he said. “Happier. In spite of the fact that the center of your world is about to be jackhammered to bits.”
Cassidy smiled. “I think I’m in love.” The words came spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them, but what safer space did she have to try out these words? Gerard was the greatest lover of love she’d ever known.
He gasped, then brought the back of his hand to his forehead and pretended to pass out onto the table of fabrics.
“Okay,” Cassidy said. “That’s quite enough.”
“Forgive me.” He returned to standing and began fanning himself. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Me neither,” Cassidy said. “Believe me. But this girl is special.”
“Are you talking”—Gerard brought his voice down to a conspiratorial whisper— “monogamy?”
Cassidy nodded. “Maybe . . . ?”
“Are you capable of that?”
“I guess we’re going to find out,” Cassidy said.
“Tears. I’m weeping tears of joy.” Gerard whisked a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at the corner of his eye.
If only everyone in Cassidy’s life could be so encouraging. Although Gerard was a rare and special believer in happy endings. He’d married his so-called high school sweetheart, a boy who’d savagely bullied him throughout adolescence until he kissed him senior year while drunk on a post-pep-rally bottle of Boone’s. They’d been together now for eighteen fairy-tale years.
“Who is this spell-casting girl?” Gerard asked. “Do you have a picture?”
“I do.” Cassidy reached into her pocket for her phone. “It’s not the best photo, though. She was sleeping when I took it.”
“You photographed her while she slept?” Gerard covered his mouth with his hands. “This is serious.”
He dashed to a shelf of fabric binders and pulled one down. “You have to let me design your wedding tux. We’ll do a purple paisley just like the one I wore.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Cassidy said.
TWENTY-ONE
Katie had been crouched over her living room table struggling to compose this letter since she’d arrived home from her haircut more than an hour ago. The dodging of her mother’s phone calls and lying by omission had to stop. If she didn’t give the woman something of substance to chew on soon, Minnie Daniels just might hire a bounty hunter to drag Katie home.
The wooden stationery box her mother had bought her sat on the couch beside Katie with its lid open, flaunting its neat compartments, everything in its rightful place. Paper in the center section. Pens on the left. Envelopes and stamps to the right. All with the geometric command of a divided lunch tray.
Katie had never expected to enjoy writing letters home or for the ritual itself to be soothing, but over the years she’d come to look forward to the ceremony of it, like a fortnightly meditation.
Sometimes it was easier than talking to her mother on the phone.
But not tonight.
Katie tapped the back of her roller-ball pen on yet another blank sheet of ecru monogrammed paper. Numerous failed attempts lay in crumpled balls at her feet.
She began again.
Dear Mama, I’m sorry it’s been a while since my last letter. It hasn’t been for lack of trying. In fact I’ve sat down a few times now to put my thoughts into words these past few weeks, and each time I’ve failed.
Katie thought for a second, probing her mind for the right words now.
Something’s happened. I’ve met someone.
No.
I have news. I’ve met someone!
No.
I’ve made a new friend, Katie wrote. A wonderful friend.
I thought my life was over when Paul Michael betrayed me, but I’m beginning to realize . . . that I might be . . .
Nope. Katie crumpled the page into a ball and tossed it onto the floor with the others. Her mother would throw a proper Southern fit if she knew how much of this fancy bond paper was going into the trash.
Okay. Here we go.
Dear Mama,
I’m sorry it’s been a while since my last letter. I know you’ve been worried about me since Paul Michael left, but I’m happy to report that I feel more ali
ve than I have in years.
You were right all along, Mama. He wasn’t right for me. He never was.
Like you suggested, I’ve tried to go out and socialize and make some new friends. I’ve met some truly interesting new people.
Katie paused.
I’ve even gone on a few dates?
No.
I went on one date . . . with a handsome man named Jeremy. He had excellent manners and . . .
Katie crossed out and with a single strikethrough.
. . . but I don’t think I’ll see him again.
Perhaps I need more time before seeking out love or romance. It might be better to take things slowly and remember how to be alone. In the meantime, I’m very much hoping to cultivate new female friendships. What do you always say? Friends are God’s way of apologizing to us for our families? Haha.
A knock at Katie’s door caused her to startle. She put her pen down onto her letter and went to the peephole.
“It’s me,” Cassidy said. “The downstairs door was open.”
“You’re early.” Katie unbolted the lock.
“Only by a half hour.” Cassidy stepped inside with a takeout bag in one hand and her briefcase in the other. “I picked up Dig Inn.”
Katie glanced at the clock and realized just how long she’d been sitting there trying to compose her letter.
Cassidy dropped her briefcase at the door and headed toward the living room to set down the food on the table. “Whoa, what’s all this?”
“Nothing.” Katie lunged for her letter in progress. She swept it up before Cassidy could get a look at it and folded it in half.
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a secret pen pal?”
“My mom.”
“You write your mom letters in longhand?” Cassidy placed the takeout bag down onto the floor. “Is she Amish?”
“She thinks email is too impersonal.” Katie picked up each of the crumpled rejects from the floor, gathered them together into one tight ecru paper ball, and stuffed it into her stationery box.
When Katie Met Cassidy Page 15
