conversation.
“Twenty bucks that it wasn’t her idea,” Kate said to Anna.
“That’s a sucker bet,” Anna said. She stripped down, revealing a triangle of semigroomed hair that Kate found reassuring.
Anna took in a deep breath, knowing that the cold water would knock it out of her. She followed George with a more tentative dive.
“How is it?” Kate asked from the shore.
“Just keep moving. You won’t notice a thing,” Anna said in short, gasping breaths.
“That’s your answer for everything,” Kate said.
George flicked on the light switch in the entryway, then glanced around, hunting for the remote—the control panel for the entire apartment. She found it, pressed a button, and the blinds were drawn, revealing a blue sky and an expansive view of skyscrapers with the Hudson River as a backdrop.
“Holy shit,” Anna said, stealing the remote from George.
Kate methodically scrutinized the conspicuous consumption, silently noting the glare of chrome and glass amid the tar-colored wood floors and the leather everything else. It was the most masculine home Kate had ever seen, other than in a movie about a rich banker/serial killer she had accidentally watched on cable. Kate gave the stereo console a white-glove test with the bottom edge of her white T-shirt. Came up clean. At least, she was pretty sure that the smudge on her shirt had been there before.
While Kate tried to acquire some evidence that her friend lived in this three-bedroom Manhattan apartment, Anna pretended she was in an interactive museum and went crazy with the remote control, brightening and dimming the track lighting, raising and lowering the blinds, igniting the fireplace, and, with the press of a button and a magician’s hand flourish, making the fire disappear. When she tired of the fireplace, Anna plopped down on the bed-size sectional sofa, turned on the fifty-seven-inch TV, and channel-surfed with the rhythm of a metronome, erasing all complicated thoughts from her mind.
“Can I live here?” Anna asked.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Kate asked.
While infomercials, cop dramas, telenovelas, game shows, and sitcoms blared in the background at varying decibels, Kate searched through the bathroom looking for George. That was where she found her, in moisturizers, fragrant salon shampoos, and a brush with her DNA all over it. She took a peek in the closet and saw the meager quarters for George’s clothes. She was about to take a closer look at a small row of cocktail dresses, a few still with price tags dangling, when she heard the television noise mute and a man’s voice in its place.
“Anna, finally we meet,” Mitch said, giving her a kiss on the right and then left cheek. “I’ve heard some stories about you.” He winked expertly.
“All lies,” Anna said.
“George said you’d deny everything. This must be Kate,” he said, turning around and offering a warm smile in her direction.
Kate held out her hand as she approached. Mitch understood the signal and shook it.
“Welcome to my home. Our home. Sorry, old habits. Did you have a nice trip?”
“It was wonderful,” George said. “Perfect time of year.”
“Good,” Mitch said, putting his arm around her waist. “Glad you got it out of your system.”
George explained, “Mitch hates camping.”
“Maybe you’ll grow to like it,” Kate said.
“Not gonna happen,” Mitch said with a nervous edge in his voice.
George looked at her shoes. A puzzled expression took up residence on Kate’s face, and Anna returned her energy to the remote. A silence that begged for breaking set in.
“Just tell them,” Mitch said to George, who responded with an impish grin.
“Mitch has some phobias,” George said, “that pretty much exempt him from any kind of outdoorsy activities.”
“I play basketball,” Mitch said, correcting her.
“Indoors. At the Y,” George noted.
“What kind of phobias?” Kate asked.
“Nature,” George said.
“Huh?”
“Twenty bucks that it wasn’t her idea,” Kate said to Anna.
“That’s a sucker bet,” Anna said. She stripped down, revealing a triangle of semigroomed hair that Kate found reassuring.
Anna took in a deep breath, knowing that the cold water would knock it out of her. She followed George with a more tentative dive.
“How is it?” Kate asked from the shore.
“Just keep moving. You won’t notice a thing,” Anna said in short, gasping breaths.
“That’s your answer for everything,” Kate said.
George flicked on the light switch in the entryway, then glanced around, hunting for the remote—the control panel for the entire apartment. She found it, pressed a button, and the blinds were drawn, revealing a blue sky and an expansive view of skyscrapers with the Hudson River as a backdrop.
“Holy shit,” Anna said, stealing the remote from George.
Kate methodically scrutinized the conspicuous consumption, silently noting the glare of chrome and glass amid the tar-colored wood floors and the leather everything else. It was the most masculine home Kate had ever seen, other than in a movie about a rich banker/serial killer she had accidentally watched on cable. Kate gave the stereo console a white-glove test with the bottom edge of her white T-shirt. Came up clean. At least, she was pretty sure that the smudge on her shirt had been there before.
While Kate tried to acquire some evidence that her friend lived in this three-bedroom Manhattan apartment, Anna pretended she was in an interactive museum and went crazy with the remote control, brightening and dimming the track lighting, raising and lowering the blinds, igniting the fireplace, and, with the press of a button and a magician’s hand flourish, making the fire disappear. When she tired of the fireplace, Anna plopped down on the bed-size sectional sofa, turned on the fifty-seven-inch TV, and channel-surfed with the rhythm of a metronome, erasing all complicated thoughts from her mind.
“Can I live here?” Anna asked.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Kate asked.
While infomercials, cop dramas, telenovelas, game shows, and sitcoms blared in the background at varying decibels, Kate searched through the bathroom looking for George. That was where she found her, in moisturizers, fragrant salon shampoos, and a brush with her DNA all over it. She took a peek in the closet and saw the meager quarters for George’s clothes. She was about to take a closer look at a small row of cocktail dresses, a few still with price tags dangling, when she heard the television noise mute and a man’s voice in its place.
“Anna, finally we meet,” Mitch said, giving her a kiss on the right and then left cheek. “I’ve heard some stories about you.” He winked expertly.
“All lies,” Anna said.
“George said you’d deny everything. This must be Kate,” he said, turning around and offering a warm smile in her direction.
Kate held out her hand as she approached. Mitch understood the signal and shook it.
“Welcome to my home. Our home. Sorry, old habits. Did you have a nice trip?”
“It was wonderful,” George said. “Perfect time of year.”
“Good,” Mitch said, putting his arm around her waist. “Glad you got it out of your system.”
George explained, “Mitch hates camping.”
“Maybe you’ll grow to like it,” Kate said.
“Not gonna happen,” Mitch said with a nervous edge in his voice.
George looked at her shoes. A puzzled expression took up residence on Kate’s face, and Anna returned her energy to the remote. A silence that begged for breaking set in.
“Just tell them,” Mitch said to George, who responded with an impish grin.
“Mitch has some phobias,” George said, “that pretty much exempt him from any kind of outdoorsy activities.”
“I play basketball,” Mitch said, correcting her.
“Indoors. At the Y,” George noted.
“What kind of phobias?” Kate asked.
“Nature,” George said.
“Huh?”
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