You've Been Warned

I glance down at the menu with its skyrocket prices before looking back up at Beth, the struggling actress, and Connie, the social worker with the city’s Division of Family Services.

We’re splurging, all right.

“So how’s the Pencil?” Beth asks.

“Thin and mean as ever,” I answer.

“Why doesn’t she like you, Kristin? I don’t get it. Who wouldn’t like you?”

“Actually, I’m not sure Penley likes anyone. After two years, though, you’d think she’d at least trust me with the kids.”

Connie chimes in with a smile. “She probably thinks you’re writing the sequel to The Nanny Diaries.”

We all laugh at that one.

“Seriously, if you hate this wretch of a woman so much, why do you keep working for her?” asks Beth. “This stepmom from hell.”

“The kids,” I reply. “I love them. And they really do need me.”

Never mind their father.

There have been so many times I’ve wanted to tell Beth and Connie about my affair with Michael. Maybe I haven’t because I’m embarrassed or ashamed—which I am. Or maybe because I know what they would say—“Be careful, Kristin; you could really get hurt”—and I don’t want to hear it. Especially because they could be more right than I’m willing to admit.

So I keep Michael to myself. From time to time I tell the girls about having a few dates with some made-up guy. The script is always the same: he seems so promising at first and then turns out to be a loser of one kind or another. At no point do Beth and Connie question my continuing bad luck with men because such is life for a single girl in Manhattan.

Or is that true everywhere? It was definitely that way for me in Boston.

“What can I get you this evening?” asks our waiter, almost sneaking up on us. He’s dressed in black, head to toe.

The three of us order a small feast, and when it arrives everything is delicious. At least, I’m pretty sure it is. With all the drinks we’re also having, my taste buds are getting a little numb.

And I’m starting to get buzzed.

Soon there’s no recurring dream, no weird pictures in my darkroom, and no guilt over Michael and me in the laundry room this morning.

“C’mon,” says Connie, “the night is still young and so are we. This is Kristin’s night!”

We head from the restaurant over to the Luna Lounge on Ludlow Street and check out a band called Johnny Cosine and the Tangents that Beth read about in the Village Voice. What a riot! Four guys who look as if they met in their high school math club. They wear nerdy clothes and pocket protectors, and play these great, silly songs like “Slide Rule Love” and “I Think You’re Acute.”

Connie, Beth, and I dance and laugh hysterically together, having an absolute blast. It’s nights like this that remind me how truly wonderful this city is and that, damn it, I am young and I have great friends!

“Don’t look now,” says Beth with an elbow to my ribs, “but I think that guy’s checking you out.”

Chapter 26

I TURN AND SEE HIM immediately. He’s sitting at the bar, staring directly at me.

Instinctively, I look away. I don’t think it’s anything about him, just the circumstances of the past couple of days.

“See what I mean?” says Beth with a playful smile. She spins around, her arms swaying to the music. “I’ll leave you two alone! He’s cute, Kristin. Remember, this is your night.”

I turn back to the guy, and our eyes lock. He’s nicely toned, with a chiseled face and long blond hair tied in a ponytail. He could be European—French, perhaps. Then again, he could be from SoHo. Or Portland, Oregon. It’s hard to tell these days.

Either way, I don’t think he’s my type, whatever that is.

But the eye flirting is kind of fun. It’s not like I’m cheating.

I wait for him to do something—a smile, a nod, a wave, anything.

Nothing.

He just continues to stare in my direction. He barely even blinks. What’s his deal?

The dance floor goes dark. The band starts up with another song—something fast, disco-like—as a beam of light hits a mirror ball hanging from the ceiling. The room begins to spin.

Through the dizzying lights, I glance at the guy with the ponytail again. He’s still looking at me.

Ignore him.

I turn my back and move closer to Connie and Beth, forming a triangle. We get tighter and tighter as more people spill onto the dance floor. It’s really packed. I can feel the floorboards shaking beneath my feet.

Is he still staring?

Don’t look.

But I want to know. I am buzzed, after all.

I lean in, shouting over the music to get Connie and Beth to check for me. “At the bar... the one with the ponytail,” I say.

“Where?” asks Connie, her neck craning.

“I don’t see him anymore,” says Beth.

I turn and he’s gone. All that remains is an empty bar stool.

Okay. That’s fine.

“Let’s dance,” I say to the girls. “It’s my night.”

Chapter 27

MAYBE TWENTY SECONDS LATER, the guy with the ponytail is walking toward Beth, Connie, and me, slowly weaving his way through the traffic jam of people on the dance floor. He’s wearing a black suit and white shirt, open collar.