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I lick my lips and look out the window toward the hustle and bustle of the busy street. I glance back at her. "Only if I can wear those heels from last night. Then I'm game."
Her eyes light up. "Deal. You can have them if you want."
A laugh escapes me, and I look out the window again.
"What do you think she does for a living?" I ask, pointing to a bystander on her phone. She’s dressed in a business skirt past her knees with a matching blazer.
This is a game we came up with. We people-watch and try to guess what they do for a living.
"She's new to the city or else she wouldn’t be looking up at the sign like she's reading a language she doesn't understand. She probably tells people she's in marketing, but she's really a temp, like a receptionist for a small business that's going to crumble next month and she doesn't know it."
I nod, and she says, "Your turn. What about him?" She points to a guy in line for coffee.
He looks like every other suit in the city. "He works on Wall Street and actually has money. He doesn't fake it."
"How can you tell?"
"His watch is a dead giveaway," I say, looking at what looks to be a Cartier. I saw a blue one in a magazine once that I fell instantly in love with. I never forgot it, or the seven-thousand-dollar price tag. "You and I both know that suit is not from a corner store or off the rack. It's tailor-made to fit his body and screams wealth. I bet he's terrible in bed."
She drags her gaze down the length of his body. "He has a nice ass, though."
I can always count on her to notice a man's body. I point to a runner.
"He's a P.E. teacher for underprivileged kids and loves his job."
"Come on. A tourist?" I ask, unimpressed after she points to someone taking random pictures of the concrete jungle. "What about that one?"
"He sleeps with his uncle."
"Natalie!" I laugh, and cover my mouth. I look around to see if anyone heard her. One person is staring at us.
"What?" She shrugs, and sips her java like she was only talking about the weather. "I bet he bones his cousins too."
"You're so bad," I say with a smile. "Okay. Last one, then I have to head to class."
Her eyes scan the throngs of people trying to find the best one. "That one."
"A struggling musician with a killer voice. Oh, and he has a muse who walks around naked."
Her eyes light up. "Nice! Okay. Text me later. I might have to work tonight, but I'll try to be quiet when I get home."
"You don't know if you have to work yet? Like you find out at the last minute? That's weird."
She doesn't look at me. "I think I'll buy you some noise-cancelling earphones, just in case."
"But then how will I hear my alarm?"
She pauses. "Good point. Okay, scratch that. I'll just try to be quiet."
We hug goodbye and I thank her for my coffee, then we go our separate ways. We might attend Fordham together, but we take completely different classes and our schedules don't usually line up. I'm majoring in Developmental Sociology, and she's still undecided, or so she says. I think that's just to piss her parents off, though. I think she secretly knows but doesn't want to tell anyone.
After a full day of new classes, all I want to do is go through my syllabi and prepare for the semester. Instead, I'm hurrying around my room looking for my uniform because duty calls and my bills need paying. Between crying babies, shitty diapers, and washing and folding strangers' clothes at the laundromat, this education better pay off.
Got to love New York City. It's the only city in the world that can make dreams come true while eating you alive at the same time.
Three
The first couple weeks of school are always so much more exhausting than the rest of the year for me. Adjusting to new classes, homework, and two jobs, I guess it would be tiring for anyone.
