Of Manhattan And Men

[maidahl]

Last Monday, on my way past the whistling nose hairs of our falafel man and the clicking heels of anorexic housewives, I saw a stranger with a friendly face by the bus stop. His eyes smiled, crinkling his temples with warmth. He was tall, lean and dressed in slacks and a casual grey knit sweater. I had only a half-block walk past the usual Manhattan tourist types to my apartment. It was walking distance of both Rock Center and Central Park, a great spot and an expensive, rare find. Low ceilings, plaster walls, and cramped living. Midtown quiet was worth the price, I always reflected, quite a consolation prize every other month I had to pay rent. Its constituents were morbidly suicidal once you got to know them, but I liked my area, and unlike my neighbors and Nietzsche, I found suicide not so consoling in the midnights. I hadn’t thought much of such morbidity until recently, when the Greek man three floors below me who made me chicken lemon dolma once, hung himself.

I had no need to ride the bus. My car was parked by the Lens Crafters, three paces away. But instead of stopping by the nearest Mid-Cuisine truck for eggplant smushy and red pickled beef as I had planned, I joined the stranger by the bench. I felt drawn to his open face and broad shoulders. I guessed he was around thirty, a perfect age to be on a perfect quiet weekday. It was quiet out for Manhattan.

As I approached him, he nodded at me, his kind eyes black and flecked with bits of gold. I couldn’t even see his pupils. It was a little unsettling how he could maintain eye contact with a complete stranger and still have the coordination to draw a smoke and light it with one hand. It was an effortless, continual motion, stemming from his lower back and ending with a smooth flick of his lighter, a smoke screen from a magician’s fingertips.

His casual sophistication impressed me. I couldn’t help myself. I reapplied lip liner when he looked away. The mirror made me smile, pleased, but when the stranger glanced my way, I felt embarrassed, as if caught naked. Yet, it was shyness inspired by being looked by someone who had the right to look. I wanted to hear him speak.

“Hey, guy. I’m Laura.” I made sure I hung on the first “l” of my name a little. I always felt it sounded prettier. “Do you live around here? I’m lost.” I pouted a little, knowing the effect of lowered eyelashes and coral lipstick was usually quite flattering.

“I actually don’t know the area that well. What are you looking for?” His voice held wooden upper class, a touch of Scottish blur, and coursing, deep merlot in every vowel. He wore Polo, a scent of a high city echelon that always excited me.

I couldn’t think of a place I could say I was looking for. I had no real need of a guide. I knew how to navigate the bulk of street traffic, when to use a cab, how to talk a ticket into a dinner for two, and where to get the best backrub. I knew not to cross Times Square unless I had to, for fear of being a tourist in my own city.

I had a list on my iPhone of which 5th Avenue stores had the best wedding dresses and which alleys to match their knock-off prototypes for a third of the price. My best friends lived within ten miles in every direction, and I could hear Jeremy deejay over the whining horns and screaming domestic happenings of the city. There were men I encountered on an evening stroll who were a little too old for me, and a little too gay for me. Then there was Anderson Cooper at night, playing across the street in the second condo to the left, too softly for anyone but my dog, Guardian, to hear. Upper and Midtown Manhattan were as much my accessories as my rose-tipped Kors watch.

“I’m looking for Lens Crafters,” I managed, making certain not to waver in pitch too much. I hadn’t been this nervous on an introduction in a while. I hoped he didn’t noticed the damned place was only a few cars’ length away from us.

“Well, I actually don’t know where that is. But we can look together if you want? I’m Justin, by the way. Nice to meet you, Laura.” His hand was warmer and drier than mine. I wanted to keep him in my grip, but I let him go with a quick handshake. It was a second of tragic brevity that made me swoon internally.

Justin was wearing a gold band on his wedding finger, which I hadn’t noticed until I looked down to shake his hand. I winced inwardly, straining an effort of a grin on my face.

“You know, I’m sorry,” Justin said. “My bus is here. I’m kind of busy today. In a rush, you know? How about you ask someone who has more time? You look very pretty, by the way. I’m sure you like what you see in any mirror.”

My jaw unhinged of its own accord, gaping as the stranger with the friendly face boarded his bus.

“Justin?” I followed him, wondering if I was having a bad hair day. Out of habit, I moistened my lips, fluffed my hair, and realized how I looked. Self-absorbed, quietly obsessed, and just like any girl I had ever judged. “Wait a sec.” I paid the grumpy driver and sat next to him. Metro-people had never seen a man quite as amiable-looking. A woman in a straw cap tipped her hat towards Justin, who winked.

“Justin,” I began. He kept smiling. It was unnerving how natural that was for him. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Laura. I’m sorry. I’m just not interested.”

“I don’t think I hit on you yet.” I wanted to punch his groin.

“I’m married, to a man who doesn’t think he’s worth me because of a pretty face.”

I had never been so insulted, or shocked, by a man’s sexuality.

I rode the bus until Broadway, marched furiously to Jeremy’s apartment, and we shared an unpretentious quart of Dreyer’s Triple-Fudge ice cream. Outside, golden children played in the rain, destined to rebel against conservatism by the time they reached adolescence. I could hear Guardian barking over Anderson Cooper’s raw homosexual magnetism. In the distance, a million crickets sang unappreciated as the proximate city folk only heard the sound of a coin falling miles away.

[Grace Gabriel]

Really enjoyed this Maid.

No crit - just keep it pouring

[SadLoner]

Thanks for the laugh!Nice one.

[maidahl]

I'm still reeling from my crush on Anderson Cooper. That's really what this story was for, to get over him. Seriously guy, over EMAIL? D@mn.

[norvbrooks]

Yeah! Anderson Cooper coming out of the closet was a bummer! I still like his TV personna. I enjoyed your piece. Your writing indicates an intimate knowledge of Manhattan - a resident, I'm guessing. Keep up the good work.

[luckyme]

This was a nice piece. You had me visualising the streets and even the bench at the bus stop.
The two things that bothered me were: the popping up of jeremy at the end. Somehow that came out off nowhere and had me reading the piece again looking for what I missed, and how the dialogue is set up. It feels constructed.
Does that make any sense? Like it has no natural flow at times.

But overall a very nice read that even had me smiling now and then. I like your flowery descriptions in this one.

[Rooster Smith]

I like the way you narrate. But I can't say the story was very entertaining ...

There was no story in this piece. Nothing happened at all.

Basically, your main charector met a gay guy. That's the entire story.

[murrfiy]

I love the morbid perspective of society that becomes apparent from the first few words of the piece.

[norvbrooks]

I think Rooster must have been looking for an action story and missed the human story. I saw a story about a Manhattan girl that has a pretty routine life and saw a chance to have an adventure to take her out of her ordinary life. However, even though she knew it might not work out, she would never have thought of the reason it didn't work out was because he was gay. I'm not sure whether Jeremy was a boyfriend or just a friend that she could eat consolation ice cream without conversation.

[Rooster Smith]

Originally Posted by norvbrooks

I think Rooster must have been looking for an action story and missed the human story. I saw a story about a Manhattan girl that has a pretty routine life and saw a chance to have an adventure to take her out of her ordinary life. However, even though she knew it might not work out, she would never have thought of the reason it didn't work out was because he was gay. I'm not sure whether Jeremy was a boyfriend or just a friend that she could eat consolation ice cream without conversation.

If you put it like that it seems like I may have missed the point...

I wasn't really looking for an action type thing, I didn't expect ninjas to jump out of the bus ... ( that would have been cool ...)

I thought there would have been something which I can't remember the name for, a driving element, something that would force change or create a conflict.

But I guess there's nothing wrong with a subtle piece of drama.

[Nadja]

I like your descriptions, especially in the final paragraph.

[Jack]

This piece is proof. If your characters become real, your readers will visualize the story. They will continue reading to see what happens to their new acquaintance.

I could see the things Laura was doing. There wasn't much of a plot, but I still read all the way to the end just to see what happened to her.

[SeeTheMonkey]

I like stories like this. Little slices of life where nothing much seems to happen. Action and mystery are nice but this is what real lifes like.

Good descriptions, I could imagine myself being there even though I've never even seen Manhattan.
Lovely characters that were easy to connect with and care for.

I was a little thrown by the mention of Jeremy at the end and even skimmed back through the story to make sure I'd not missed anything. Thanks for sharing.

[RisingSun]

That was a really nice story. I like short stories that emphasize the more 'realistic' aspects of life while still being interesting, and the description you used was excellent. The only problem I had throughout the story was, "his kind eyes." I would replace kind with gentle/understanding/another word that's slightly more descriptive. Other than that, the story was great.

[Judith]

That was lovely! What I found so fascinating was the point of view of a local living in a large American city.

Yet, it was shyness inspired by being looked at by someone who had the right to look.

“Hey, guy. I’m Laura.” I made sure I hung on the first “l” of my name a little. I always felt it sounded prettier.
I love this! She is such a flirt!

I hoped he didn’t noticed the damned place was only a few cars’ length away from us.
Try; I hoped he hadn't noticed

Send me a message once your book's out-I'll buy it!