Katwalk (4 page)

Katrina slowly poured herself a glass of water, then turned around and forced a smile. “Of course. Now, what time do you think we should leave for the airport?”

Chapter Three

The following evening—after battling a last-minute bout of cold feet wrapped in self-doubt—Katrina landed in New York.

It was the last week of September, and as she stepped outside baggage claim, the evening wind swirled up and around her with an intensity sh
e’d
never felt in the Bay Area. Her hair flew into her face, blocking her vision. She dug around in her purse to find a ponytail holder, then pulled her hair out of her eyes and into a haphazard bun.

Now she could see.

She soon found the taxi station, and despite what sh
e’d
read on the Internet about monstrous waits at JFK, there were only a dozen or so people in line. A few minutes later, she found herself in the back of one of New York City’s famous yellow cabs.

“Where to, ma’am?” the driver asked.

“Oh, here you go.” She leaned forward to hand him the address, then exhaled and sank back into the leather seat.

“Long flight?”

“Sort of. From San Francisco.”

“Never been, but I hear that’s quite a pretty city.”

She gazed out of the window. “Yes, it is.”

“First time in New York?”

“Yes.” She was surprised at how chatty he was. Weren’t New York cabdrivers famous for their sullen demeanor? Her mother had certainly warned her enough times about getting ripped off by anyone and everyone.

You know how naïve you can be, Katrina.

They’ll eat you alive if you let your guard down, Katrina.

“Well then, welcome to town. I’m Enrique.”

“I’m Katrina. It’s nice to meet you.”

She closed her eyes, and Enrique let her rest as they merged onto the expressway.

In a few minutes—and for the next two months—she would officially be one of New York City’s eight million inhabitants.

Eight million inhabitants, of whom she knew a grand total of one.

If
she counted Enrique.

Actually, that wasn’t exactly true. Thanks to social media, she knew that a tiny handful of people from college lived here, and sh
e’d
already made plans to meet up with one of them tomorrow night. She was planning to contact the others as soon as she got settled. Granted it had been almost a decade since the
y’d
graduated, but at this point, seeing any familiar face would be a good thing.

Forty minutes later, the cab slowed to a stop in front of her temporary home in Manhattan, a modest brownstone on East Twenty-Second Street between Second and Third Avenues. Enrique unloaded her suitcase and handed her a card. “Enjoy your time in New York. I’m starting my own car service next week, so let me know if you ever need a ride anywhere,” he said with a smile.

“Thanks. I will.” She hated that she was suspicious of him just for being friendly, hated that her mother had succeeded in instilling doubt about her ability to navigate the city on her own.

After paying Enrique the standard flat airport rate—no, of course he hadn’t tried to gouge her—plus a tip, she stood at the bottom of the steps looking out at her surroundings.

Both sides of the street were filled with parked cars, but there were only a couple of people strolling by, so it was relatively quiet. The entire block was lined with brownstones, most of them similar in size and color and most of them in need of a power wash. The street was pretty enough, but she couldn’t help but think it looked like a slightly neglected version of
Sesame Street
. Deb had found the place through a rental agency and had assured Katrina that the neighborhood was safe, centrally located, and the best they could do in their price range.

As the cab pulled away, she turned around to face the four-story building. She looked up at the windows, wondering which one belonged to her new apartment.

Despite her nerves, she felt a small shiver of excitement.

I can’t believe I’m really here.

She lugged her suitcase up the front steps, then set it down and hunted around in her purse for the set of keys the rental agency had mailed her. As she struggled with the lock to the front door, two women opened it from the inside. The first, a blonde who looked to be in her midtwenties, was dressed in workout gear. The second, a tiny Asian closer to Katrina’s age, was wearing a sleeveless purple dress and carrying a cardboard box the size of a small microwave oven.

“Looks like you could use some help.” The blonde took a step backward and held open the heavy wood door. On the other side of it was a small vestibule with mailboxes along one wall. Beyond that was another door, this one glass, leading to a steep staircase covered in dark-green carpet.

Katrina smiled as she wheeled her suitcase into the building. “Thanks. I think I packed too much.”

“Are you moving in or just visiting?” The short woman pointed to the suitcase.

“Subletting, actually. For a couple of months.”

“Which apartment?”

Katrina looked at the key in her hand. “Three A.”

The blonde smiled. “Cool. That’s Ben’s place. I remember he said he was leaving the country on some research project. I’m Shana, by the way. I’m in Two B.”

“I’m Grace.” The second woman saluted. “Commander of apartment Four A. Welcome to the building. God knows we could use some fresh blood around here since the murder, no pun intended.”

Katrina’s eyes got big. “Murder?”

Grace waved a tiny hand in front of her. “Just kidding. What’s your name?”

“I’m Katrina. It’s nice to meet you both.”

Shana tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Where are you from?”

“California. Silicon Valley, actually.”

Grace pumped her fist. “Cali—
nice
! I grew up here but went to law school at UCLA and loved it. You’ve never seen an Asian girl so tan.”

“I’ve never been to California, but it’s on my list,” Shana said. “I’m from Ohio. Haven’t made it to the West Coast yet.” She pressed her hands against her milky-white cheeks. “And I’m
never
tan. Are you here for work?”

Katrina shook her head. “I just quit my job, actually. I’m here
. . .
I guess, just to relax and have fun for a couple of months.”

This was the first time sh
e’d
said those words aloud, and she could only imagine the look on her mother’s face if sh
e’d
heard them.

Shana smiled. “Groovy. Well, listen, I’m off to teach a yoga class right now, but my boyfriend and I are grabbing a drink a few blocks away later. Want to join us?” She turned to Grace. “You’re coming too, right, Gracie?”

Grace tapped the top of the box with her free hand. “I may be a little late, depending on how this goes, but I’ll try to stop by if I’m not too wiped.”

Shana looked back at Katrina. “What do you think? Want to come along?”

Katrina looked at her watch. It was eight fifteen.

“What time?” she asked.

“Probably around ten.”

Katrina stifled a cough.
Ten o’clock on a Tuesday night? The streets in Mountain View would be deserted by eight.

She was about to politely decline out of sheer habit, but something stopped her. Instead, she found herself nodding with a small smile.

“Okay, sure. Why not?”

Shana smiled and turned to go. “Coolio. I’ll knock on your door on my way out. See you soon.”

“Okay, thanks. I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Catch ya on the flip side,” Grace said with a nod.

Katrina watched them walk down the block until they turned a corner and disappeared. Then she picked up her suitcase and hauled it up the stairs.

Drinks at ten o’clock on a Tuesday night.

Wow.

Welcome to New York.

The small two-bedroom unit was fully furnished, and while it was very clean, it was clearly a single man’s apartment. Black leather couch. Big flat-screen TV. Black halogen lamp. The three staples of every bachelor pad Katrina had ever seen. Not that sh
e’d
seen many. Sh
e’d
gone on dates from time to time for as long as she could remember, but her dance card had never been exactly full. And sh
e’d
never been in a serious relationship, which was a greater and greater source of embarrassment to her the closer she got to thirty.

In the first bedroom she stepped into, she was greeted by a shiny black bedspread and multiple posters of Metallica and various other heavy-metal bands, so she immediately turned on her heel.

The second bedroom was a bit smaller, but its white walls were bare save for a modest print of a flowerpot above an old wooden desk. The queen-size bed was covered with a thin white quilt embroidered with small green flowers, plus two large white pillows with green trim and matching shams, an ensemble that, while pretty, looked decidedly out of place in a single man’s apartment. Katrina figured the entire bedding set had to have been a gift from Ben’s mother, if not his grandmother. This was definitely the guest room, but she found it much more appealing, so this was where she would stay.

She pulled her bathrobe and slippers from her suitcase and decided to rinse off before unpacking the rest of her things. After dropping her clothes into a hamper in the corner of the bedroom, she took a towel from the hall closet and headed to the bathroom, wary of how clean it would be. She was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was spotless—or at least as spotless as the old fixtures and floor tiles would allow. She performed a quick inspection.

Tub, check.

Toilet, check.

Sink, check.

Floor, check.

Medicine chest, check.

All clean.

Ben had certainly fulfilled his end of the rental agreement. Even Katrina’s mother couldn’t have disapproved of the state of things.

She turned on the showerhead and held her hand under the water until it got hot, then took off her robe and stepped inside the tub. As the soothing water ran over her neck and shoulders, she closed her eyes and tried to forget the seeds of concern her parents had planted in her mind during dinner the night before.

It wasn’t easy.

It’s foolish to quit a job without a new one lined up, Katrina.

Being an adult means having responsibilities, Katrina.

Life isn’t just about having fun, Katrina.

New York is dangerous, especially for someone who has never traveled anywhere on her own, Katrina.

To blot out the negative thoughts, she focused on her plans for that night. In her tidy new apartment, with a date for drinks with friendly neighbors, so far New York wasn’t anywhere near as daunting as sh
e’d
expected.

She changed into jeans and a tank top, then methodically began to unpack her things.

T-shirts, jeans, and undergarments in the bureau.

Skirts, blouses, sweaters, and dresses in the closet.

Toiletries in the medicine chest.

The rental agency had assured her the place had an iron
and
an ironing board, which she found in the hall closet. She ironed everything in her suitcase that needed it, then carefully rehung the items in the closet.

When she was done, she looked around and smiled.

All set.

After sh
e’d
stored her empty suitcase in the hall closet, she picked up her phone to call Deb, excited to give her an update on her first hours in the big city. Disappointed but not surprised to reach her voice mail, she left a brief message:

“Hey, it’s me. Made it safe and sound! I’m nervous, but excited too. Thanks for making me do this. Love you lots.”

She hung up the phone, then plugged her laptop into the outlet next to the desk and booted it up. As the screen flickered to life, she studied the orderly room, trying to picture the last person who had lived here, wondering what Ben was like, what his life in New York was like.

Wondering what
her
life in New York was going to be like.

She turned her attention to her LinkedIn profile and debated whether to change her status of employment at the advertising agency from current to previous. She stared at the screen and pursed her lips. She was tempted to switch it, but somehow that seemed so
. . .
permanent
.

She decided to keep it as it was. No need to announce to the world what sh
e’d
done—at least not yet.

She thought about doing a cursory search for accounting jobs, then changed her mind. She switched off the computer and decided to check out the flat-screen TV in the living room instead.

Before Katrina knew it, it was nearly ten o’clock. She was applying a dab of blush at the bathroom mirror when she heard knocking. She ran into the bedroom to grab her purse, then opened the front door.

“Hey, neighbor, you ready for your first night out in New York?” Shana stood there smiling.

Katrina still couldn’t believe she was going out at ten o’clock—what would her mother think?—but she forced herself to smile back and nod. “Let’s do it.” Should she tell Shana she never did anything like this? Or would that make her sound boring?