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Izzy worked in the jewelry department in Bloomingdale’s and every couple of weeks she would go out drinking with her colleagues after work. Her world was full of expensive products and rich people and wide-eyed tourists. It was a world Cassie neither understood nor cared about, but Izzy loved her job. At one time she had wanted to be an actress. She had moved to New York from Florida as a teenager with dreams of singing and acting on Broadway. When they had first met Izzy had been working at Kellner Books while auditioning and performingin tiny theaters. After a few years of getting steadily nowhere she had given up on her dream.
“Can you think of anything worse?” she had said to Cassie, one evening when they had gone for drinks at the rooftop bar of the Library Hotel. “Being thirty-something and watching all these beautiful young women come into the same auditions as you, looking at you exactly how I look at all the older women now? The world has an endless supply of beautiful women, Cassie. There’s always a newer, younger one coming along. I am not a good enough actress that my looks don’t matter.”
Cassie and Izzy had worked together at Kellner Books for over a year, and they had fallen into being friends almost immediately. They were very different people, with different interests, but somehow they had always gotten on well. It was a natural, easy friendship, the type that comes out of nowhere and changes your life. When Cassie had started looking for an apartment to rent, Izzy had suggested that they try to find a place together to save on costs. They had shared a third-floor two-bedroom walk-up in Lower Manhattan ever since. Their building was on the edge of Little Italy, above a cheesecake shop and a dry cleaner’s. It was cold in the winter and hot in the summer, and because of the landlord’s subdivides none of the rooms were the right shape or size, and none of the furniture really fit where it should. But it worked for them, and they had continued living together even after Izzy had left the bookstore to work at Bloomingdale’s. Izzy tended to work during the day while Cassie preferred to work the late shift and weekends. As a result they often didn’t see each other for days at a time, but that stopped them from getting in each other’s way and prevented the living arrangement from spoiling the friendship. Every three or four days their paths would cross, and Izzy would give a rapid rundown on all the events in her life while Cassie listened. And then, when Izzy’s stream of consciousness ran dry, she would look at Cassie with a maternal expression and ask, “And how are you, Cassie? What’s going on in your world?”
Izzy looked at her now with that expression on her face, her hair tied up in a mess of curls behind her head. She was a beautiful woman, with high cheekbones and large brown eyes. She was the sort of woman department stores loved to have behind their counters, the sort of woman whomight have been a film star if she had been able to act. Cassie felt plain in comparison, but Izzy had never done anything to make her feel that way. That fact said everything about the sort of person Izzy was.
“What’s going on in my world?” Cassie preempted.
“What’s going on in your world?”
“Nothing,” Cassie said. “Not much.”
“Come on,” Izzy said, unfolding her legs and jumping up to wander over to the kitchen counter. “Let me get you a classy mug of wine and you can tell me your nothing and not much.”
Izzy switched on the lamp by the door, splashing soft light across the walls.
“Mr. Webber died today,” Cassie said. She looked down, realizing she was still holding the book he had given her. She had meant to leave it on the bookshelf in her bedroom.
“Oh my god, that’s horrible,” Izzy said. “Who’s Mr. Webber?”
“Just this old guy,” Cassie said. “He comes into the store every now and then. Gets a coffee and reads.”
“God, it is so cold, what is with this weather?” Izzy muttered, closing the door to the hall as she padded back to the sofa and passed Cassie a mug. They didn’t drink wine from glasses, not in the apartment.
“I think he was just lonely. And he liked the bookstore.”
“So what happened?” Izzy asked, pouring the wine. “Did he trip and fall or something? My uncle Michael died like that. He fell, broke his hip, and couldn’t get up. Died on his living room floor.” She shuddered.
“No, nothing like that,” Cassie said. She took the mug of wine even though she wasn’t interested in drinking it. “He just died. Just sitting there. Like it was his time.”
Izzy nodded but seemed disappointed.
“That’s what the cops said anyway,” Cassie reflected. “‘Sometimes people just die.’”
Izzy settled more comfortably into the sofa, crossing her legs beneath her. Cassie took a sip of wine, and they were companionably quiet together for a few moments.
“Look at the snow,” Izzy murmured, gazing out the window. The buildings on the opposite side of the street were almost hidden by thestorm. The wind seemed to have died but the flakes were bigger and softer now, tumbling slowly but steadily from the sky.
“It’s so pretty,” Cassie said.
“What’s that?” Izzy pointed at the notebook in Cassie’s lap, and Cassie passed it to her, explaining about the gift.
“Leather,” Izzy observed. She opened the book and flicked through the pages idly. “Wow. This looks like a crazy person vomited some word soup. Wonder if it’s worth anything?”
“Probably not,” Cassie said. It annoyed her that Izzy’s first thought was about monetary value. That wasn’t the point. “Anyway, it was a gift.”
“I think Mr. Webber was sweet on you, Cassie,” Izzy said, smiling mischievously, as she handed the book back.
“Stop it,” Cassie protested. “It wasn’t like that. He was a nice man. And he did a nice thing.”
Izzy sipped her wine, her eyes slightly glazed. “Okay. Let’s not wallow. Come on. Let’s think of happier things.”
“Like what?” Cassie asked, placing her mug on the table. “I can’t drink this. I’ll fall asleep.”
“Lightweight,” Izzy murmured. “Tell me about... tell me about your favorite day.”
“What?” Cassie smiled, although she remembered the Favorite Game. They had played it often in the store when things were quiet and there was nothing to do. One of them would ask the other to talk about their favorite something... favorite meal, favorite holiday, favorite bad date. It passed the time.
