The Beginning

Ch. 42 - The big apple

The air is still muggy in New York City as the sun sets over Central Park. Sandra and Nathan wait on the curb, listening to the whir of traffic and the echo of confident voices calling out excitedly this Friday evening in August. In much of the downtown area, there's a pungent smell of warm garbage mixed with urine, but the glitter of lights in the big apple distract the senses. On the corner, a loud argument can be heard between a woman on her way to a ladies' night out and the misfortunate street vendor who thought tonight was the night he should catcall her. An old man in a shabby, striped oxford shirt and worn shoes sits on the bench, lighting his pipe before bursting out with colorful language to an invisible audience about his disdain for American burger joints, gesturing wildly to the air in front of him. Across the street toward Columbus Circle, a bellhop in black dress pants and a crisp red jacket holds the door open for residents entering and exiting the Deutsche Bank Center. Nathan takes a step into the street, one hand above his head, fingers from his other hand in his mouth. A shriek, whistling noise explodes from his lips. A yellow cab dotted with black, smoggy grease on the doors appears, waiting for them to enter.

The days in the city are hot but the nights are beginning to cool down ever so slightly. Not this night, though, Sandra notes, as tiny drops of sweat form on her forehead, upper lip, and down into her cleavage. She is wearing a black, haltered, cocktail dress with sequins around the neck. Nathan is in a tux, the required attire for Le Bernardin, where they had a reservation to celebrate their four-year anniversary. He braces his head against his fist, his elbow against the window, taking in the people crowding the sidewalks as they slowly inch through the congested streets. Sandra is in town to visit while he rehearses for his upcoming Broadway stint, having just arrived from LAX this morning. Her trip will serve as double duty, with stops to the Late Show to discuss Speed with David Letterman. Nathan's role in the musical is small, but "Broadway is Broadway", she reminds him whenever he speaks disparagingly of his gig or what has become a desert of offers elsewhere. The film he made in Montana had crashed and burned, with a dismal opening weekend preceding worse and worse nights to follow. Scripts are rarely finding their way to him through his agent. He hopes Broadway will spark more interest and get him back in the game.

The car pulls up in front of the restaurant, with its name in golden plates on the building and the entrance lined with decorative landscaping. Nathan hands the driver a twenty dollar bill before sliding out of the cab and standing to the side, waiting for Sandra. Twenty minutes later, their waiter is filling their wine glasses as they peruse their menus. Sandra's mind is elsewhere, though, as she stares into the fire in the corner of the restaurant. The red, gold, and orange flames flicker in front of her, announcing big changes to come. In a couple of weeks, it'll be September. The leaves will be changing, the air will grow crisp. In some places in the country, it might even snow, the way it did almost a year ago when she found herself in a ski chalet in a small, wealthy resort town in Colorado. The warm colors are flashing in her glossy eyes, but all she can see are bare feet next to her fuzzy slippers, his flannel pants next to hers. She has fallen so deep into this vision she doesn't notice the slip of white paper pushed in front of her in a not-so-discrete manner, by an older man, also wearing a tuxedo, who sat at a nearby table. His hand lingers on the note until she glances up to see him, salt and pepper at his temples, a wink in his eye. She smiles and utters a meek "thanks" so he'll lift his hand and leave. She turns her attention to Nathan, who is fixated on the note, a scowl on his face.