Katwalk (8 page)

“Really?” Katrina usually went months between
first
dates. Second dates were even fewer and farther between. Third dates almost never happened.

“Yes, really. I work too much and travel way too much to get serious with any one person.”

“Your life sounds so glamorous.”

Brittany shrugged. “Sometimes. Other times it’s just draining. But whatever it is, it suits me. I’m not one to settle down for the long haul. Never have been, really.”

“Didn’t you have a serious boyfriend when you were my RA? A guy with glasses?”

“Good memory. His name was Scott. We dated for like three years, but he wanted to get married and have lots of babies, and I didn’t, so we broke up.”

“That’s too bad.” Katrina couldn’t even fathom what it would feel like to date someone for three years.

Brittany yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “Oh gosh, don’t feel sorry for me for even a minute. It was for the best, believe me. I’m definitely not the marrying type, and certainly not the having-babies type. Plus no one should get married before the age of thirty anyway. That’s insanity, in my opinion.”

“Do you still talk to him?”

She shook her head. “Not in ages. It’s ancient history now.”

“And you still don’t want to get married?”

Brittany pulled a lipstick out of her purse and discreetly applied it. “I don’t think so. I’m too much of a free spirit for that. Maybe one day, when I’m much, much older, but for now I’m just not interested in coming home to the same man every night and fighting over who takes out the trash every morning.”

“But what if you fell in love again?”
Doesn’t everyone want to fall in love?
Katrina thought. She certainly did.

Brittany smirked. “I doubt that’s going to happen, and love ends up turning to dust most of the time anyway. So I just prefer to have fun
and focus on myself. Life is much easier that way. Plus sometimes sex is more fun when you know you’re never going to see the guy again. You should try that sometime, if you haven’t already.”

Katrina had never heard a woman speak so nonchalantly about sex and relationships—especially a woman in her thirties. Most of the women she knew back home were either married, well on their way there, or actively looking for Mr. Right—or at least hoping to run into him.
She
certainly was—however passively—and had always assumed everyone else was too. Could she be wrong?

She glanced at the small stack of coasters—it was still intact—and searched for something interesting to say in response to Brittany’s comments. She wanted to be livelier, bolder, cooler—to come up with something witty, if only to mask how surprised she was at the brazen remarks.

Before she could say anything, Brittany said, “Hold on a second. That’s my phone buzzing.” She dug her phone out of her purse, then smiled at the text message and put a hand on Katrina’s arm without looking up. “I’m so sorry to be rude, but given what we were just talking about, I need a quick second to reply to this.”

Katrina welcomed the break in conversation and took the opportunity to stand up. “No worries. I’ll just run to the ladies’ room. Be right back.”

Brittany nodded, still not looking up from her phone.

Katrina navigated her way through the crowd to the restrooms in the back. While in line, she glanced around and noticed several couples sitting on oversized lounge chairs on the left. While most of them were cuddled up, some of them looked obviously uncomfortable, and she wondered if they were on first dates. Would that be her soon? She hadn’t been on a first date—any date—in months, but sh
e’d
always felt awkward on them. She hated feeling like she was on some kind of audition, and often buckled under the pressure of trying to impress someone new.

But maybe it would be different here?

Maybe
she
would be different here?

Perhaps it was because of all the movies sh
e’d
watched over the years, but the idea of going on a date in New York seemed so
. . .
romantic
. And despite what Brittany had just said, Katrina still hoped that love might, someday, somehow, find her.

Maybe New York was where it would finally happen?

Where sh
e’d
finally meet a man who understood her?

One who saw her for who she really was
. . .
and loved her for it?

When she got back, Brittany was chatting with Kevin. It looked like she was flirting. Maybe sh
e’d
changed her mind about him?

“That was quick,” Brittany said as Katrina took a stool. “I thought yo
u’d
be gone for ages.”

Kevin pointed to Katrina’s drink. “Can I get you another one?”

“Oh no, I’m fine. Thanks.” Katrina covered the glass with her palm.

“Okay, just let me know. Britt, give a shout if you need anything.” He smiled at both of them and headed back to the women at the other end of the bar.

“He’s trying way too hard,” Brittany said under her breath when he was well out of earshot.

Just then a hand appeared on Brittany’s shoulder. She swiveled around, then jumped up to hug the man standing behind her. He had dark brown, perfectly coiffed hair and equally dark almond-shaped eyes that suggested intelligence—in addition to notable good looks.

“Damn, that was fast. I want you to meet my friend from college.” Brittany turned to Katrina. “Katrina, I mean
Kat
, Lynden, this is Reid Hanson. Reid, Kat just moved here from Silicon Valley.”

Katrina extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Reid.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Kat.” He smiled and shook her hand before pointing to the bar. “Do you ladies need another round?”

Katrina noticed a wedding ring on his left hand and shook her head. “I’m still working on my first, thanks.”

“Enough nursing,” Brittany said. “Yes, Reid, she needs another one. I’ll take one too.”

There were no more available stools, so after Reid ordered the drinks he stood behind Katrina and Brittany, forming a little half circle between them and the bar that succeeded in slightly insulating them from the noise.

“That was Reid who texted me before,” Brittany said. “He was asking what I was up to, so I told him to come join us for a drink.”

Katrina glanced at her watch. “Did you just come from work?” It was close to nine o’clock.

He nodded. “Yes, but let’s not talk about that. Work is the last thing I want to be thinking about right now. So Brittany says you and she met in college?” He narrowed his eyes and looked back and forth between them. “Let me guess. Same sorority?”

Brittany shook her head. “I wasn’t in a sorority.”

“Were you represented by the same modeling agency?”

Brittany rolled her eyes. “Spare us, please.”

He snapped his fingers. “I got it. Cheerleaders for the football team?”

“Stop it. I was Katrina’s RA.”

He looked confused. “What’s an RA?”

Brittany gave him an are-you-serious look. “Resident adviser? In the dorms?”

Reid nodded. “Ah, got it. Sorry, it’s been a long time since I lived in the dorms.”

Brittany took a sip of her margarita. “My senior year I got free room and board for keeping the freshmen out of trouble.” She leaned over and squeezed Katrina’s knee. “Not that this one ever got into trouble. She was as pure as the driven snow.”

Katrina felt her cheeks flush again, but neither Reid nor Brittany seemed to notice her embarrassment. How could they know how little she had changed since then? Her history of getting into trouble read more like a greeting card than a novel.

As Reid made eye contact with Katrina, she felt a shiver of anxiety course through her. “So, Snow White, is it? What brings you to New York?” he asked with a polite smile.

She swallowed and tried frantically to think how to respond, desperate to sound more fabulous than she felt. “I guess you could say
. . .
adventure.”

His smile grew into a grin. “Oh really?”

“She quit her job and came here
by
herself
to have fun for a couple months,” Brittany said. “Pretty badass, if you ask me.”

“That
is
pretty badass,” Reid said. “You sound like my kind of woman, Snow White.”

Brittany playfully batted him on the arm. “You should be so lucky. So how’s life at Morgan Stanley treating you?” She looked at Katrina. “Reid’s in banking too. We used to work together.”

“I’m hanging in there. The European market sure took it on the chin today. That’s why I was at the office so late.”

“Ugh, let’s not talk about the European market.” Brittany stuck out her tongue. “I’ve been hearing about that disaster all day.”

Kevin brought over the drinks, and as he set a second margarita in front of her, Katrina quickly picked up her first one and took a sip, hoping it wasn’t too obvious how full it still was. As she took another big gulp, she tried once more to ignore the burning in her throat. She also tried not to notice the fact that sh
e’d
just knocked over her coasters.

Brittany was holding up her margarita for another toast. “Here’s to old friends and new friends.”

“And future friends,” Reid said.

“Hear, hear,” Brittany said. “Can’t forget future friends.”

Katrina clinked her glass against theirs, then forced herself to take another big gulp. Then another, and another. Each one set her throat on fire, but she finally finished the first margarita. Her eyes watering, she set down the empty glass and picked up the full one. Brittany and Reid didn’t appear to notice; they were staring across the room at someone they thought used to work with them.

“I don’t think that’s her. She’s not that tall, right?” Reid said.

“I think it is,” Brittany said. “I always hated her.”

Reid turned back to face the bar, then pointed at the full glass in Katrina’s hand and smiled. “Hey, look at that—Snow White’s finally on her second drink.”

Katrina, her throat still stinging, managed a smile in return. “Surprise.” She averted her eyes and tried to straighten the coasters with her free hand, although it suddenly wasn’t as easy to arrange the little stack as before. She stared at the slightly lopsided pile for a moment, then looked back at Reid. “Do you live in Tribeca too? Brittany said she lives just a few blocks from here.” She was determined to participate in the conversation and not just observe it, which was what she would normally do in this situation. Not that sh
e’d
ever found herself in a situation quite like this before.

Brittany turned around. “I said what?”

“You said you live just a few blocks from here, right?” Katrina said. The words came out a bit thick, and much more deliberately than sh
e’d
intended. She also hadn’t meant to repeat herself verbatim, but she couldn’t help it. She wondered if Brittany and Reid could tell how much one margarita had affected her. She hoped not.

Brittany nodded. “I did say that.”

“So, um, do you live in Tribeca too?” Katrina asked Reid again.

“I’m in the West Village.”

“Where’s that?”

“A little farther north than Brittany’s loft, but still not too far from here. I could walk home, but I’m too lazy, so I’ll cab it.”

“Who has the energy?” Brittany said with a shrug. “I take cabs everywhere.”

Katrina wondered if either of them ever took the subway. She doubted it. “What does Tribeca stand for?” she asked.

“Triangle below Canal Street,” Brittany and Reid said in unison.

Katrina shifted on her stool. “Got it. From what little I’ve seen, this part of town seems less rowdy than the East Village—a bit cleaner, more grown-up. I like it.” What she really meant was that it looked more expensive, but she wasn’t sure how couth pointing that out would be.

Reid took a gulp of his drink and set it on the bar. “Is that where you’re staying? The East Village?”

Katrina smiled at him, finally beginning to relax. “Actually, I’ve already learned that the appropriate answer to that question depends on the demographic asking it. So since that demographic is you, I’ll say Gramercy.”

“Say what?” He looked confused.

Brittany elbowed him gently. “Her prepubescent neighbor thinks living in the East Village is cool, but I’ve already explained the migration pattern to her.”

“Ah, the East Village migration pattern. So true, so true. That hood is for postcollege kids looking to dance on bars. Me no do that anymore.”

“Unless your wife’s out of town, of course,” Brittany said.

Katrina looked at her and wondered if she was kidding.

Reid tossed back the rest of his drink and held his thumb and pinkie up to his ear and mouth to indicate a phone. “Speaking of the wife, will you ladies excuse me for a minute? I need to make a quick call.”

“Of course,” Brittany said. “Go do what you gotta do.”

He set his empty glass on the bar. “Be back in a flash. Will you order me another?”

“Consider it done,” Brittany said.

“Thanks. You’re a peach.” He turned and rapidly disappeared into the crowd.

As soon as he was gone, Brittany shook her head. “Poor guy is miserable.”

Katrina gave her a confused look. “He is?” H
e’d
certainly seemed happy to her.

“Miserable.”

“Why?”

“He’s married to a bitch.”

Katrina felt her eyes get big. “Really?”

“Major bitch. Super frosty.”

“You’ve met her?”

“Once, but that was enough. I steer clear now. It’s not worth engaging.”

“If she’s so awful, why did he marry her?”

Brittany shrugged. “Because that’s what men here do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they marry bitches, or at least the pretty ones who come from money.”

“They do?”

“Yep.”

“All of them?”

“A lot of them.”

“Oh.” Katrina exhaled. “That’s a bummer.” She was too insecure to even imagine being a bitch.

“I see it a lot with bankers in particular. Once they turn thirty, they all feel the need to find some trophy wife, usually from a wealthy family, and almost always with a mean streak. It’s like they need to prove something to the world.”