Excerpt: The Wizard of 72nd Street

He got off at 72nd Street. She was a heartbeat away from following him when a very large man in a blue parka slithered past her with that plastic swish that a new nylon coat makes, and, to her dismay but not surprise, sat squarely on her purse. She immediately realized he had undoubtedly crushed not only her sunglasses but the two cookies she had saved from lunch and was planning to eat later, and had only wrapped in a napkin because she could not find a plastic bag and which were now dropping sweet crumbs and little bits of chocolate to the bottom of the pleathery depths. Distracted as she was by the prospect of vacuuming cookie bits out of her bag from now till next August when the strap would break and she would finally discard this bag for another $5 sidewalk vendor purchase, she completely lost track of the man in white, and, as was his wont, he slid from her thoughts entirely for the next four months.

During those four months, nothing of great import occurred. She did break up with the boyfriend, but since he had only been a placeholder anyway, she barely even noticed. Dave had stored a tooth brush, two tee shirts and his bicycle in her apartment; in truth she suspected he liked her more for her proximity to the Hudson River Park and her second bedroom, which provided the perfect jumping off spot for his rambling jaunts. Often he would show up, kiss her general direction, grab his bike and head out, without even a nod towards inviting her along, and she would later spot him out the window cycling up and down the bike paths, apparently trying to pick up women with small yappy dogs. She did not own a dog, which might have been the problem, and the day she came home to find his bike in the spare bedroom, a small yappy dog in the kitchen, and Dave in her bed with the owner of said dog, she decided she had had enough of him and invited him to leave his key behind on his way out the door. The woman stayed to tea. She confessed that she really hadn’t found him all that attractive, but it was kind of chilly and she had strayed somewhat farther from home than she had intended, that her small yappy dog had gotten rather thoroughly soaked in a puddle that was deeper than he had expected, and that she didn’t relish the prospect of carrying the damp, loud little thing all the way back down to her apartment. When asked why she didn’t just take a cab, the woman, whose name was Brigitte Hyatt, (no relation to the hotel owning Hyatts, she said) allowed as how she would have, but had left her wallet at home. However, fortified by a cup of warm tea, a Peak Freen cookie and a mediocre roll in the hay with the now departed Dave, she was willing to risk it. She scooped up the dog, buttoned up her green plastic raincoat, and left, returning only briefly to recover her handbag, then even more briefly her keys, and finally, once to jot down her phone number in case anything else turned up, and she was gone.

Sandra, for that is our heroine’s name, was not too upset about losing Dave, who had not been much of a boyfriend anyway, and was happy to have made a new friend in the process. Brigitte had suggested that one night they might venture downtown to a jazz club she knew, perhaps after the weather warmed up a bit. She promised not to bring the small yappy dog who was left over from a failed lesbian fling and who Brigitte didn’t really like anyway. All in all, Sandra felt, despite not being interested in sex with Brigitte, who looked like half a dozen coat hangers in a cellophane bag, (the kind used to wrap Easter baskets) that she had come out ahead on the day. Brigitte had assured her between nibbles of Peak Freen, that she was no longer into the lesbian thing, which was another reason why she had taken Dave up on what turned out to be a somewhat dubious offer. She said she was really looking for a man who was taller, did not ride a bike around looking for women and had a moustache, so no matter what, Sandra was safe. Sandra packed the toothbrush into a zip lock baggie, against the day Dave might come back for it (he had taken the two tee shirts and the bike with him) and hung the key on the little souvenir key rack her parents had brought home from their trip to Holland (it was a piece of pine, cut out in the shape of a wooden shoe, with her name burned on it), washed two tea cups, changed the sheets on her bed and called it a night.