Ripped at the Seams

by Nancy Krulik

  The sound of the driver’s voice shocked both Sami and Bruce back to reality.

  “This is fine,” Bruce mumbled as he sat up abruptly.

  Sami opened the door of the cab and stumbled out. Her legs felt all weak and jellylike as she stood on the pavement. Bruce paid the driver and got out onto the sidewalk beside her. “Oh, you don’t have to—” Sami began.

  “Door-to-door service,” Bruce assured her. “Besides, I’m not ready to say goodbye to you just yet.”

  Sami smiled at him as she fumbled around in her handbag for her keys. Then she opened the door and she and Bruce began the long climb up the stairs to the apartment.

  Sami could hear music coming from her apartment before she reached her door. There were also the sounds of people laughing, and a strange smell she didn’t recognize leaking out into the hall.

  “Sounds like your roommate’s got a party going on,” Bruce remarked.

  “Well, it’s Saturday night. I wonder who’s here?” Sami replied as she unlocked the door and walked inside.

  There certainly was a party atmosphere in the apartment. Rain was sitting on the floor surrounded on either side by tall, thin, blond boys. One had long straight hair; the other, a crew cut and a soul patch growing on his chin. All three of them were laughing and sipping on beers. Across the room, Vin was busy by the stereo, looking through the CDs with the help of a tall, willowy brunette who was obviously flirting with him. Vin, however, didn’t seem to be noticing.

  “Hey, look who’s home—it’s the design darlings!” Rain shouted across the room. She stood up and waved her arms. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the toast of the New York fashion world, Sami Granger and Bruce … Bruce … what did you say your last name was?”

  “I didn’t,” Bruce replied. He turned to Sami. “I think your roommate is drunk,” he noted, rolling his eyes slightly.

  “Shows what you know,” Rain told him. “I’m not drunk. I’m not high. I’m just in a great mood. We’re celebrating.”

  “What are we celebrating?” Sami asked.

  “I got a gig!”

  “A what?” Sami asked.

  “A gig. A job,” Rain explained. “I’m going to be on the runway when Mollie Mack displays her new line in the fall!”

  “Oh, Rain! That’s awesome!” Sami raced over to hug her roommate.

  “Mollie Mack, eh?” Bruce mused. “Is that old hag still designing?”

  “Of course she is,” Sami replied, not noticing the disparaging tone in Bruce’s voice. “Mollie Mack is huge!”

  “She’s been around forever,” Bruce commented.

  “And she’s still really hot!” Rain informed him.

  “I guess,” Bruce agreed. “I just meant that she’s sort of yesterday’s news.”

  “Oh, and you’re today’s news?” Rain asked.

  “Well, Ted Fromme is, anyway,” Bruce said. “And I design for him.”

  Sami began to sense the tension growing between her roommate and Bruce. “I think this is great, Rain,” she congratulated her. “And maybe one day you can be in one of our shows too.”

  “You never know,” Rain agreed, lifting a bottle of Diet Coke to her lips.

  “So, did you have fun?” Vin asked as he made his way across the room and gave Sami a friendly peck on the cheek.

  Immediately, Bruce moved closer to Sami and put his arm around her waist. “We’ve been dancing the night away,” he told Vin. Then he stuck out his free hand. “Bruce Jamison,” he introduced himself. “And you are …”

  “Vin DeSanto. I live across the hall from these two wild women.”

  “Vin’s an unbelievable carpenter,” Sami told Bruce. “A real artist.”

  “Is that so?” Bruce murmured. He seemed utterly uninterested.

  The two men eyed each other, but neither said a word. Instead, Rain stood up and raised her soda bottle high. “To New York’s fashion world!” she shouted. “Long may we reign!”

  “Speaking of which,” Bruce said, turning his attention back to Sami, “could you bring that portfolio of yours to work on Monday? If the designs in there are anything like this dress you’re wearing tonight, I think Ted would be very interested in seeing them.”

  Sami threw her arms around Bruce’s neck. “Oh, Bruce! I could just kiss you!” she exclaimed.

  That was all the encouragement Bruce needed. He placed his lips on hers and kissed her long and hard, running his hand through her hair for extra effect. For a moment there was an uncomfortable silence in the room.

  “Marking his territory,” Sami heard Vin whisper to Rain.

  “Like any other dog,” Rain whispered back.

  Seven

  Sami was sitting in the living room sketching when Vin knocked on the door on Sunday morning. “Hey, wake up, you sleepyheads!” his deep voice called through the door.

  Sami walked over and opened the door. “You’re too late, Mr. Alarm Clock,” she teased. “We’ve been up for hours.”

  Vin walked into the living room. He stopped for a moment, listening to the CD playing on the stereo. “Mmm … a Bach concerto,” he remarked. “I gather Rains not here.”

  Sami shook her head. “She went out for a run about an hour ago. Then she said something about a manicure and pedicure. She’s got a big meeting over at Mollie Mack tomorrow. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Vin replied. “Who said I was here to see her? Besides, I love Bach.”

  “You do?” Sami sounded surprised.

  “I was raised on classical music. Of course, in my house it was mostly Italian opera, but I’m a huge fan. It’s nice to have company around here. Your roommate is more the headbanger type.”

  “I know. But that’s kind of neat too. It’s new to me. And there are actually some good melodies hiding in there from time to time.”

  “Good melodies in Kid Rock?” Vin asked. “I never thought about that.” He flopped down beside Sami on the couch and looked at her sketches. “You work too hard,” he remarked.

  “Well, you heard Bruce. He wants to see my designs tomorrow. So I thought I’d work on a few new ones.”

  “Oh yeah, Bruce,” Vin said slowly. “I wouldn’t pin all my hopes on that one.”

  Sami looked at him curiously. “You don’t like him?”

  Vin shook his head. “I just don’t trust him.”

  “You don’t really know him,” Sami declared.

  “Not him, necessarily,” Vin admitted. “But I know a lot of people like him. Big on flashin’ cash and compliments.”

  Sami shook her head. “You’re wrong. He’s a really nice guy. And he’s incredibly supportive of my work. I mean, he might actually show some of my stuff to Ted Fromme. That’s a huge deal.”

  “Just watch out for him, okay?” Vin said quietly.

  “Why? Do you have some sixth sense I don’t know about?” Sami teased.

  “Just street smarts, I guess.” He seemed to study her for a moment. “Look, I have an idea,” he said, changing the subject. “Since we both like classical music, why don’t we go hear some? The Philharmonic is performing in Central Park later.”

  “I’d love to,” Sami replied. “But I don’t get paid until Friday, and I don’t have any money to spend on tickets.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Vin assured her. “The concert’s free. It’s out on the Great Lawn. The acoustics stink, but it’s a good program—Bernstein, Beethoven, and Mahler. And you’d have great company.”

  Sami smiled. “You’re on.”

  “Great!” he exclaimed, his brown eyes lighting up with excitement. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go get my picnic basket and a blanket to sit on. Then well head over to Balducci’s, pick up a few sandwiches, some cannolis for dessert, and maybe a bottle of wine.”

  “Some what?”

  “Cannolis. They’re a kind of Italian pastry. My grandmother used to make the most incredible ones, but the kind they sell at the bakery are pretty good. You have to try the ones that are stuffed with va
nilla cream and chocolate chips.”

  “Sounds good,” Sami agreed. “But, how much—”

  Vin shook his head. “This one’s on me,” he told her. “You can get the cannolis next time.”

  “Well, in that case, you’ve got a deal.”

  “You don’t mind if we take the subway uptown, do you?” Vin asked her.

  “No, why would I?”

  Vin shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess you must have taken a cab last night and …”

  “Oh, that was different.”

  Vin frowned slightly. “Yeah, I guess it was. Anyway, I’ll go change and get the picnic basket and I’ll be back in a flash.”

  Sami began to giggle.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You are,” Sami explained. “I never thought you’d be the type of guy to get so excited about classical music—or to own a picnic basket, for that matter.”

  “Oh, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Sami,” Vin assured her with a mysterious look. “I’m just full of surprises.”

  As Sami slipped into her black cotton capris and white terry tank top, she hummed a bit of Beethoven’s Fifth to herself. There was none of the nervous excitement she’d felt the night before when she was getting ready for her date with Bruce. Instead, Sami felt calm and relaxed, the way she always did when Vin was around. He was her buddy. Someone to hang out with, laugh with, and listen to classical music with. True, he could be a little overprotective at times, but that just made Sami like him more. He was kind of like her brother Al that way, always wanting to take care of her. Vin was sort of like a combination friend and big brother. Maybe that was why she felt so comfortable around him.

  By the time Vin returned to Sami’s apartment with his picnic basket, he was a changed man. He’d showered and shaved, and somehow managed to comb his unruly, curly brown hair into something resembling a hairstyle. “Ready to go?” he asked Sami when she answered his knock on the door.

  “Sure,” Sami agreed.

  “You don’t need to check your hair, or grab a lip gloss or anything?”

  Sami seemed confused. “Why would I want to do that?” she asked. “We’re just going to the park. I don’t need to get all made up, do I?”

  Vin smiled. “No. I think you look great just the way you are. Do me a favor, Sami?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ever turn into a New York girl.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know,” Vin answered. “It’s just that I think Elk Lake must be an incredible place.”

  Vin had been right about the sound system in Central Park. Despite the massive speakers set up throughout the Great Lawn, the acoustics in Central Park weren’t the greatest. And it didn’t help that the people didn’t exactly behave like they were in a concert hall. Many of the audience members spent a lot of time talking on cell phones, giving directions to late-arriving friends. Sami wished she had a quarter for every time she heard someone say, “I’m right near the ball field. Can you see me? I’m waving at you.” And as the evening went on and the bottles of wine emptied, many people in the audience grew giggly and restless. The few couples who’d made the brave attempt to bring babies to the concert found themselves scrambling to keep their offspring from crying.

  Still, Sami wouldn’t have traded the evening for anything. It was so thrilling being in Central Park, together with hundreds of New Yorkers, as the New York Philharmonic played music on the huge stage at the edge of the Great Lawn.

  Before she’d left for New York, Sami had heard all the horror stories about Central Park—her father had seen to that. He’d come home every night with some other urban myth he’d heard about the dangers that lurked in the park. Until this moment, Sami couldn’t have imagined ever being in Central Park after sunset. Yet, sitting there on this evening, with Vin at her side, she didn’t feel at all afraid. She knew he’d take care of her.

  Just as he’d promised, Vin was full of surprises. He knew all kinds of interesting information about the composers of the music they were hearing, especially Leonard Bernstein. Bernstein was a sort of cultural hero in New York. Besides being a conductor of the Philharmonic Orchestra, he’d written several shows, including West Side Story.

  When the concert ended, Vin and Sami joined the throngs of other New Yorkers heading out of the park and spilling onto the streets of the Upper West Side.

  “Do you have to rush home?” Vin asked her.

  Sami shook her head. “Not especially. Why?”

  “I wanted to take you to my favorite coffee place,” he replied. “I know you’ll love it. And it isn’t far from here at all.”

  “Sounds good,” Sami agreed as she followed him down Central Park West and into a small restaurant on one of the side streets.

  A chubby older woman with gray hair and just a slight mustache greeted them at the door. “Vincent!” she shouted, giving Vin a hug. “I haven’t seen you in months.”

  “Mrs. Biondi,” Vin replied, pecking the woman on the cheek. He stepped to the side and pulled Sami toward her. “I want you to meet my friend Sami. She just moved in across the hall.”

  “Hello, Sami,” Mrs. Biondi greeted her. She turned back to Vin. “It’s so nice to see you. You don’t come here so often since your uncle Peter moved to Florida.”

  “I promise to come more often now. And I’ll bring Sami.”

  “That’s what I want to hear,” Mrs. Biondi told him. “You two kids want a nice quiet table in the garden?”

  “Sounds perfect,” Vin replied.

  Mrs. Biondi led Vin and Sami through the restaurant and out the back door. Sami was shocked as they entered the yard. It had been transformed from a small lot behind a restaurant into a secret garden, complete with grass, two trees, shimmering white garden furniture, and a beautiful stone fountain. “I’ll bring you your favorite,” Mrs. Biondi told Vin. She turned to Sami. “And what would you like?”

  “What’s your favorite?” Sami asked Vin.

  “Iced cappuccino with chocolate sorbet in it.”

  “Mmm … I’ll have one too,” Sami said. “But better make mine a decaf. I’ll be up all night otherwise.”

  As they waited for Mrs. Biondi to return with their drinks, Sami looked around at the other people in the garden. It was a funny thing about New York. People dressed differently depending on the neighborhood. Like in SoHo, everyone wore black. On the Upper East Side, it was designer sportswear. And here, on the Upper West Side, the women all seemed to wear jeans and light T-shirts with varying styles of mules for shoes—sort of a casual chic look that cost way more than one would expect.

  “So how do you like New York?” Vin interrupted her thoughts.

  “I love it,” Sami replied honestly.

  “But it must be different from Elk Lake.”

  Sami giggled. “That’s for sure. I can’t even imagine what my friends at home would think of the people in our building. In Elk Lake, blue hair is for old ladies—not for Mohawks. Some of Rain’s friends … I mean, they’re really nice. But all those tattoos and earrings that people have …”

  “No one has earrings in Elk Lake?” Vin asked her.

  “Well, the girls do—in their ears. And usually just one per ear. But guys with earrings? Or pierced tongues and noses? I saw someone with a pierced eyebrow the other day, and—”

  “You’d be surprised what people pierce in our neighborhood,” Vin teased.

  Sami grimaced. “I guess I don’t get it.”

  Just then Mrs. Biondi came by with two tall frappé glasses, each filled with cold cappuccino. A huge scoop of chocolate Italian ice sat precariously on top of the coffee. “I gave you each an extra scoop of chocolate,” she said as she handed them straws and long-necked ice cream spoons. “Just like I used to do when you were a boy.”

  “Thank you so much!” Vin squealed, looking and sounding remarkably like a kid as he dove into his chocolate ice.

  As the woma
n walked away, Sami grinned at Vin. “This place is amazing. You must come here a lot.”

  “Not as much as I used to. But it’s always been one of my favorites. When I was a kid, my uncle would bring me here. He would tell me stories about how opera stars would come by for a late cup of tea after a performance at the Metropolitan Opera House. And how John Lennon and Yoko Ono would sit for hours at that table back there just gazing into each others eyes.” He pointed to a secluded table near the fountain.

  “Oh, I wish I’d been there for that.” Sami sighed. “John Lennon was my father’s idol. I was raised on the Beatles.”

  “You like the Beatles?” Vin seemed surprised.

  Sami nodded. “You know, someday their work will be considered classical music. I think it’ll live on forever.”

  Vin grinned. “In that case, I have another surprise for you.”

  After they’d finished their iced cappuccino, Vin led Sami back toward the park. He stopped in front of a huge old building at the corner of Seventy-second Street and Central Park West. Sami was pretty sure she’d seen its pointed roof and gargoyles in a picture somewhere. As she stood in front of the giant gated courtyard in the center of the building, she had a sense of familiarity. And yet she couldn’t quite place it.

  “This is the Dakota,” Vin explained. “They filmed Rosemary’s Baby here.”

  Sami nodded. Rosemary’s Baby was one of Al’s favorite old horror movies. That’s where she’d seen the building before.

  “A lot of other celebrities have lived here too,” Vin continued. “Leonard Bernstein died here. And Lauren Bacall and that sports announcer John Madden still live here. But I guess the biggest thing that ever happened was that John Lennon was shot right there.” He pointed to the entranceway of the building, not far from the little booth where the Dakota security guard stood.

  Sami looked at the ground, imagining John lying there bleeding to death while Yoko Ono frantically screamed for help. The thought was too much to bear. Tears suddenly began to stream from her eyes. It was impossible for her to control them, which was pretty embarrassing considering they weren’t the only people standing outside the courtyard. Three tall, blond guys, all speaking German, had gathered there as well and were in the process of taking photos of one another standing in front of the building.