Before I head inside, I take a deep breath and try to shake off the call. I appreciate Amanda’s calls, I really do, but sometimes it’s easier to pretend I don’t have a family at all. Especially on days like today. Talking to her feels like picking at a scab that never quite heals.
A doorman in a crisp gray uniform opens the door for me and I step into the building’s wood-paneled lobby. The lobby’s only concession to Christmas are two imposing columns opposite the entrance wrapped in pine garlands and dotted with white twinkle lights. There’s not a red glittery ball in sight to junk up the decor. I wince at the squeaking noise my boots make on the marble floors, interrupting the otherwise pristine silence.
Off to the side, behind a desk, is another uniformed doorman, this one in a Santa hat. You’d think he’d be the fun one, but he’s the scariest-looking dude I’ve ever seen and he’s scowling at me like he can smell the vodka emanating from my pores, even after a shower.
“I’m with, um, Theo?” I desperately hope he saw us arrive together because I don’t know Theo’s last name, and I don’t want him thinking I’m some vodka-scented riffraff trying to gatecrash.
He gestures toward the elevators without a single word.
For a moment, I’m relieved, until I realize no one told me which apartment I’m going to or even which floor. I’m about to turn back when the elevator doors open, revealing a third doorman (or would this be an elevator man?) waiting to ferry me up to Theo. He presses the button for PH, and we stand in silence as the elevator ascends.
The elevator doors open into the foyer of the nicest apartment I’ve ever seen. The walls are covered in red wallpaper dotted with zebras leaping through the air, which should be garish or cheesy, but combined with the classic black-and-white checkerboard floors, it makes the space look modern and fun. Off to the side, there’s a lacquered black buffet topped with a pair of gold lamps buttressing an enormous arrangement of white peonies. Are peonies even in season?
I was not ready for a multimillion-dollar real estate situation. First the abs, then the shoes, and now this? My instinct is to cut and run. I may as well call it before I embarrass myself any more. Clearly, Theo is out of my league.
But I can’t make myself turn around and press the button to call the elevator.
“Hello?” Theo calls out from somewhere within the apartment.
“Hi! It’s me,” I say, and then add, “It’s Finn,” because he barely knows the sound of my voice and I don’t want him mistaking me for a robber here to steal his art and antiquities. I can only imagine what the security is like in this place. Guess there’s no going back now.
“In here!” he calls.
The hallway in front of me leads into a living room. I stop short as I enter. The room has a wall of windows with a jaw-dropping view of Central Park. I make a mental note to check the address on our way out, because I am going to need to Zillow this place. On another wall, floating bookshelves take up the entire wall from floor to ceiling. The shelves are populated with an artful arrangement of knickknacks that look like they might have come with the apartment. There’s not a single book or framed photo to give any hints about the man who lives here.
What must Theo have thought of the hovel I call an apartment?
I’m standing in the center of the room, gaping at the view and trying to remember if there were dirty dishes in the sink or what state the bathroom was in, when he walks in, freshly changed into a new pair of dark-wash jeans and a soft-looking forest-green sweater. The color brings out his eyes, which I notice are also green. The sweater must be cashmere. I have the sudden, inadvisable urge to reach out and feel it for myself, but that would be creepy. So I shove my hands in my pockets and try to look casual.
“How’d I do?” Theo asks.
“Good. Fine. Yep!” I say, like I had word soup for breakfast and it didn’t sit well.
“Can I use your bathroom?” I need a minute to regain my composure.
“Second door on your right.” He points to a hallway at the far end of the living room.
When I’m pretty sure he can’t see me, I slow my pace so I can snoop. The first room on the left is an office with an imposing mahogany desk at the center. I’m charmed when I notice a flock of model airplanes floating above the desk, strung from the ceiling with fishing wire so it looks like they’re flying.
The desk checks out; he must be important to afford this place. I preemptively dread the moment when he asks what I do and I have to confess that I’m an out-of-work actor with two equally unimpressive side jobs. The first, folding khakis at Banana Republic, and the second, answering phones at Actors’ Equity. I thought a job at the theater actors’ union might give me an in at auditions, but so far all it’s given me is an encyclopedic knowledge of the ins-and-outs of qualifying for the union’s health coverage. My only fleeting hope is that we already covered this topic last night and I had the good sense to black it out to save future me the embarrassment.
Opposite the office is a guest room, judging from the nondescript decor. The only other door in the hallway is the bathroom. I slip inside and lock the door behind me before slumping over the marble vanity.
C’mon, Finn, get it together.
I’m far too dehydrated to need to pee. I inspect myself in the mirror; I look tired.
I open the medicine cabinet hoping for some magical eye cream that will make me look dewy and well rested and worthy of the hot young Monopoly Man in the other room. I recently started using Mario Badescu eye cream and wonder what kind Theo uses—probably La Mer, from the looks of this place. The medicine cabinet is bare except for a bottle of Advil. I take two with a handful of sink water and decide enough time has passed. The last thing I need is for it to seem like I’m taking a giant dump. I flush the toilet and run my hands under the faucet to maintain the pretense.
* * *
? ? ?
?I’m feeling pleased with myself when we pull up to Hannah’s building on Orchard Street at 12:25, beating her three-hour estimate by forty-five minutes.
I let us into the building with my spare key, a remnant from when Hannah and I lived here together. We lasted two months before realizing that sometimes best friends make the worst roommates.
Theo pants as we climb the gray linoleum-tiled stairs to apartment twenty-seven, and I’m gratified to have proof that he’s not actually perfect. When we reach the fifth floor, I hesitate. Should I knock or use my key? Knocking feels more polite since I’m not alone.
Priya answers the door wearing a pink sweatshirt that says Sleigh the Patriarchy in glittery letters. “Oh, it’s you! Why didn’t you use your key?” She throws a sheet of glossy black hair over one shoulder and leans in to kiss me on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, by the way!”
“Who’s at the door?” Hannah calls from the kitchen.
“Just Finn,” Priya answers.