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He smiles awkwardly. “If I sleep with a woman ten times, I think I should marry her. I can’t help myself. If she weren’t so busy, we’d already be married by now.”
We walk down Broadway and go into a hamburger joint. “I wish I could find a guy like that,” I say jokingly. “A guy who does everything I want.”
“Can’t you?” He peers at me in confusion.
“I don’t think I’m the man-wrangler type.”
“I’m surprised.” He absentmindedly picks up his fork and tests the prongs on his thumb. “You’re pretty hot.”
I grin. Coming from another guy, I’d take this as a pickup line. But Ryan doesn’t seem to have an agenda. I suspect he’s one of those guys who says exactly what he’s thinking and is then stupefied by the consequences.
We order coffee. “How’d you meet her? Your model fiancée?”
He jiggles his leg. “Capote introduced us.”
“What is with that guy?” I ask.
“Don’t tell me you’re interested too.”
I give him a dirty look. “Are you kidding? I can’t stand him. He’s supposedly got all these women after him—”
“I know.” Ryan nods in appreciative agreement. “I mean, the guy’s not even that good-looking.”
“He’s like the guy every girl has a crush on in sixth grade. And no one can figure out why.”
Ryan laughs. “I always thought I was that guy.”
“Were you?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
I can see it. Ryan at twelve—masses of dark hair, bright blue eyes—a real teen heartthrob. “No wonder you’re engaged to a model.”
“She wasn’t a model when we met, though. She was studying to be a veterinary assistant.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “That’s like the default profession for girls who don’t know what they want to do. But they ‘love’ animals.”
“Harsh but true.”
“How’d she become a model?”
“Discovered,” Ryan says. “She came to visit me in New York and a guy came up to her in Bergdorf’s and gave her his card.”
“And she couldn’t resist.”
“Don’t all women want to be models?” he asks.
“No. But all men want to date them.”
He chuckles. “You should come to this party tonight. It’s a fashion show for some downtown designer. Becky’s modeling in it. And Capote’s coming.”
“Capote?” I scoff. “How can I resist?” But I write down the address on a napkin, anyway.
After Ryan, I pop by Viktor Greene’s office to tell him about my exciting new plan to write a play. If I’m really jazzed about it, he’ll have to say yes.
Viktor’s door is wide open as if he’s expecting someone, so I walk right in. He grunts, startled, and pets his mustache.
He doesn’t offer me a seat, so I stand in front of his desk. “I’ve figured out what my project should be.”
