“You look fetching today, princess,” Pops said. Raindrops were starting to plink on the sidewalk and the air was ripe with the scent of rotting trash.
“I do? You’re not just saying that?” I handed him a cup of black coffee and an egg-and-cheese bagel sandwich with a side of Munchkins.
“Are you kidding?” He gave me the once-over. “Darlin’, you may be skinny, but you got all the right curves for a woman. And that messy hairdo makes you look like a French shop girl.”
“Oh, Pops,” I said, blushing. Since I was a kid, I’d worn my hair cropped, like my favorite film star, Audrey Hepburn. Some people said we looked alike—both brunette, tall and thin, big eyes, swan necks. But our faces were entirely different. My nose was thinner, my lips fuller, my brown eyes darker than hers. Audrey’s features combined to make her a dazzling beauty. My features combined to make me, well, let’s just say my face was slightly funny. Alessandro said it’d be gorgeous when the orthodontist got through with me.
“Holly, you’re a vision,” he said, stubbing his cigarette out on the step. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Ha! Take that, Alessandro. Pops thinks I’m a vision. Of course, he was wearing plastic garbage bags tied around his shoes.
“If you’d take that Martian wire and those Coke bottles off your face, you’d be even lovelier.”
Touching my headgear, I giggled. “It all comes off at work.”
“Nice suit,” he said. “Something special today?”
“Remember, I told you. My promotion’s being announced. Send good thoughts my way.”
Pops smiled, baring his tobacco-stained teeth. “I’ll say a little prayer for you,” he sang. “Forever, and ever, you’ll stay in my heart…”
“That’s good, Pops. You should sing professionally. Oh yeah, you do.” I noticed his crumpled brown suit and thin white dress shirt. “Why are you so fancy?”
“Job interview at Whole Foods on Houston Street. They pay benefits.”
I chucked his arm lightly. “Knock ’em dead.”
“If I do, breakfast is on me tomorrow, from Whole Foods. You think they’ll make me wear one of those beard hairnets?”
“Shave it off,” I suggested.
Pops rubbed his chin and then dismissed the idea. “Facial hair increases panhandling proceeds by at least twenty percent. Learned that the hard way last time I tried to clean up my act.”
The gentle spit suddenly morphed into pelting rain. We scrambled up the stairs, beneath the green awning. Pops threw a dirty yellow poncho over his head.
“Shoot,” I said, glaring at the black sky.
“You need an umbrella?” Pops said.
“You got one?”
“No.”
A steady stream of cabs whizzed by, all with their headlights on, all full. I checked my watch: 8:25. Thirty-five minutes until the staff meeting. I dug around in my purse. “Rats, I left my cell at work.”
“Use mine,” Pops offered.
“You have a cell phone?” I said. “Not that you shouldn’t, it’s just…”
“Darlin’,” Pops said, handing me the phone, “what do you think I do with the money I earn? Buy booze?”
“Pops, of course not,” I said, in my most offended voice, although I’d seen him chugging the cheap stuff more times than I could count. The rain was hammering down like we were in a car wash. We huddled next to the doorway as sheets of water poured from the sky. Pops’ poncho billowed in the wind.
“Tanya, I’m stuck downtown, but I’ll get there as fast as I can,” I said to my boss’s voice mail. I couldn’t afford to be late. Not today.
“Your shoes are getting wet,” Pops said.
I jumped back, then stuffed the shoes in my purse. These were my real Jimmy Choos, the ones I kept meaning to return to HBO after the Fashionistas in Pop Culture exhibition we’d held at the museum where I worked. Sarah Jessica Parker wore them in the episode where Carrie tells Big she loves him and then he gives her an ugly Judith Leiber bag.
“You can’t go barefoot. Here.” Pops knelt down and held open a double grocery bag he pulled out of his cart. I stepped into it and he wrapped a rubber band around my ankle. “Give me your other foot, Cinderella,” he said, grinning. “Hold this over your head for an umbrella.” He handed me a black Hefty bag. I was good to go.
“Thanks,” I said. “Do great on your interview. Oh, I almost forgot. I’m going to a tasting tonight of all the food they’re serving at our wedding. Want to come?”
“Me, turn down a free meal? Oh, wait, I can’t,” Pops said, slapping his craggy forehead. “It’s Monday. I’m busy.” On Sundays and Mondays, he played piano at the Jazz Factory with Bongo Herrera’s Latin fusion big band. It was his one steady job. The pay sucked, but the regular gig was its own reward. Pops was fond of saying, “Jazz, the gift that keeps on taking.”
“That’s okay; I’ll reschedule,” I said, taking a deep breath, holding my Hefty bag overhead, and stepping into the deluge. “Love ya.”
Autumn in New York
I MOVED UP THE STREET deliberately, head low, garbage bag high, plastic-covered feet squishing with each step. May nobody I know, and I mean nobody, see me like this. Alessandro would have a fit. My boss would read me the riot act, I thought.
A torrent of water swooshed down the street, flooding the corners where the drains always back up. Just as I traversed a pool at First and Fourteenth, an ivory Maybach sailed by, shooting a heavy stream in its wake—and sploosh! “Oh, crrrraaap shoot,” I wailed, shaking the water off my jacket and skirt. Passersby regarded me with pity, but no one offered to help. Bastards.
A block ahead, the Maybach pulled over, stopped, then backed up when the traffic cleared, its motor whirring. The door swung open. A gentleman stuck
