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.
“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.
Overall, he was happy with how the conversation had gone. He didn’t think she was suspicious of anything and he was glad that she seemed excited about him calling and about their date tomorrow. Still, he wished he didn’t have to be on eggshells with her, watching every word he said. He wanted to let loose, be natural. He knew that once she got to know the real Peter Wells, she’d never even think about another guy again.
SIX
Michigan was beating the hell
out of Michigan State, 17-zip midway through the second quarter, and Andy, Scott, and Scott’s work buddy Dan were on their second pitcher of Heineken. When they arrived at the bar, Andy had noticed a girl with long dark hair and bangs sitting at a table in the corner with two other girls. She’d looked cute, but too old, about an hour ago, but now, with a few beers in him, she looked a lot younger and a lot cuter.
“Stop staring,” Scott said.
“I wasn’t staring,” Andy said, but he knew he was.
“You practically had your tongue hanging out of your mouth, dude.”
“Look who’s talking,” Andy said. “Whenever a girl walks into a bar you’re like…” Andy made an exaggerated, deer-in-headlights expression.
“I saw her checking you out before,” Dan said to Andy.
“Bullshit,” Andy said.
“I’m serious. When Michigan scored that last TD and you cheered, she was looking over at you.”
“Yeah,” Scott joked. “Probably wondering, Who’s that idiot with his tongue hanging out?”
“She’s not bad-looking, dude,” Scott said. “Got some big tits going on there.”
“Age guesses?” Andy asked.
“Twenty-six,” Dan said.
“How drunk are you?” Scott said. “Twenty-eight, easy.”
“Too old,” Andy said.
“She’s not exactly your grandmother,” Scott said.
Andy looked at her. She was smiling, listening to something one of her friends was saying. She looked pretty good.
“You’re staring again,” Scott said.
“What do you want me to do?” Andy said. “I have my back to her.”
“Why don’t you just go talk to her?” Dan said.
“Yeah, what’s the matter?” Scott said. “Afraid what your fiancée might say?”
“Fuck you,” Andy said.
“Then go over there. She’s looking at you again right now…Don’t turn your head…She really wants you, dude. It’s like she’s in heat or something.”
“She’s with friends,” Andy said.
“So?”
“So why don’t you guys come with me?”
“In case you didn’t notice, the friends are pigs,” Scott said.
“The short one’s not bad,” Dan said.
“Yeah, if you like ’em shaped like the friggin’ Liberty Bell,” Scott said. “Her face is cute, but I saw her go to the bathroom before and there were big problems below the waist, dude. Besides, there’s nothing stupider than three guys going over to three girls.”
“Yeah, you’re right; that never works,” Dan said and gulped his beer.
“Come on, just go for it, dude,” Scott said to Andy.
“Whatever,” Andy said, and got up casually. He figured he’d head toward the bathroom and look in the girls’ direction—if the cute chick made eye contact with him, he’d go over there; if not, he’d keep going. As he strode by the bar, he realized he was drunker than he’d thought and tried his hardest to keep his balance and seem sober. Passing the girls’ table he glanced at the girl with the bangs, and sure enough, she was looking at him, smiling. It was a definite green light.
Weaving by a couple of tables, he headed over there. There was big trouble up close. She was at least twenty-eight, maybe even thirty. There was no way he could ever date an old lady
like that—his friends and roommates would never stop making fun of him—but she did seem to have a nice body. He figured he’d work toward getting her number and then decide if he really wanted to call her or not. If he did go out with her, though, she would definitely be one-night-stand material.
“Hey, ladies,” he said. “Enjoying the game?”
“Not really,” the girl with the bangs said, pointing to the Michigan State logo on her sweatshirt.
“Oh, well, there’s always next year,” Andy said. “I’m a Michigan man.”
The girls moaned.
“Hey, don’t hold it against me,” Andy said, holding up his hands in a joking way.
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” the girl with the bangs said and, the way she was looking at him, Andy could tell he was in like Flynn.
“I’m Andy.”
“Janet.”
“Nice to meet you, Janet,” Andy said and shook her hand and held it a couple of seconds longer than necessary.
“So when did you graduate?” Janet asked.
“Four years ago,” Andy lied, figuring she might get freaked out if she thought he was too young. He could tell she was doing the math in her head, and then he said, “How about you?”
“A lot longer than that,” she said.
“How much longer?”
She hesitated, then said, “Eight years ago.”
Andy figured she’d probably shaved two years off, meaning she was about thirty-two—way too old to be seen with on a date.
They continued talking and they actually had a lot in common. She worked in bonds at Morgan Stanley, so they discussed stocks and interest rates and the economy—serious shit like that. He didn’t want to tell her he hadn’t gone to grad school yet, so he lied and told her he was finishing up his MBA at NYU. He thought he was going to get busted when she said she knew one of the economics professors in the grad program there, but he lucked out when Michigan State scored
a touchdown on a punt return and everyone at the table started cheering. Janet got distracted and didn’t bring up the subject again.
At one point, Andy looked over at his friends at the bar and Scott was smiling, giving Andy the thumbs-up signal. Andy decided it was time to make his move. He knew that one of the tricks for getting girls’ numbers at bars was to never give the conversation a chance to get stale. If things were going well—if the girl was laughing and seemed into him—it was time to get the digits and get the hell out of there before something went wrong.
So Andy said, “I really should get back to my buddies over there at the bar but, hey, you wanna hang out sometime?”
“Sure,” she said. “Actually, I’m having a party tonight if you wanna come.”
This was even better—no phone calls at all. He could go to the party, fuck her, and be done with it.
“That sounds really cool.”
She gave him her address—she lived in a high-rise on Eighty-fifth and Lex—and he said he’d swing by at around nine o’clock.
Andy said bye to Janet and her friends and went back to the bar.
“Way to work it, dude,” Scott said.
“Yeah, nice,” Dan said. “She seemed totally into you.”
“She invited me to a party tonight,” Andy said.
“Sweet,” Scott said.
Andy hung out for a while longer, finishing his beer with his friends, then he announced he was going to take off. Before he left the bar, he went over to Janet and told her how stoked he was about tonight.
On his way home, Andy remembered that he was supposed to go out with Katie later. He figured he’d call her and make up some excuse, tell her he was sick or something, because although he liked her a lot and everything, she was starting to bum him out. It was weird because he usually didn’t start getting tired of girls until he’d had sex with them at least ten times, but this morning he’d already started having
that this-is-getting-old feeling. Maybe it was because the sex last night was only so-so. Yeah, it was their first time, and first-time sex always sucked, but it bummed him out the way Katie just seemed to lie there, not making noise or getting into it. She said she’d come, but he wasn’t sure he believed her, and if she
did
come, that was even worse because it meant that she’d always suck in bed. Then, in the morning, she didn’t want to do it again and she was acting like something was wrong, like he’d pissed her off somehow, but she wouldn’t talk about it at all. Andy had no idea what was going on and didn’t want to try to figure it out, either. He’d learned a long time ago, back in college, that it was impossible to figure out what was going on in chicks’ heads, so there was no use trying.
As Andy entered his building he started to call Katie on his cell. But then he decided to text-message her instead so he wouldn’t have to speak to her.
“It definitely wasn’t rape,” Amanda said to Katie.
They were sitting across from each other at Saigon Grill, at a table near the window facing Second Avenue. Katie had decided to talk to Amanda after all, to get her advice, because she couldn’t think of anyone else to talk to.
“Really?” Katie said. “I was, like, so convinced you would think it was.”
“You didn’t say no and you weren’t even sure you wanted to say no. Yeah, he should’ve communicated with you better, but you never said no, right?”
“Right.”
“So you couldn’t expect him to read your mind. I mean, yeah, it’s a kind of gray area, but I don’t think you can say it was date rape. I mean, what happened to me in college was totally different. Brad, that fucking prick, wouldn’t stop even though I said no like twenty fucking times. Did you ever say no?”
“No, it was just the opposite. I told him it felt great.”
“Yeah, then I don’t think you can call it date rape. I mean, what happened definitely wasn’t good, because you’re not supposed to have negative feelings the next day. That’s definitely
an indication something’s wrong. You should talk to him about it, let him know how you feel.”