Approaching the man with the jar of peacock feathers, she announces, “Hello.”
Looking up from his journal, he smiles.
Placing the basket and the Thermos of iced tea on the ground next to him, Thessaly clears her throat and explains. “I made cranberry scones and blueberry muffins. There’s also some utensils and napkins, oh, and a sample jar of my artisan honey. Um, I like my tea super sweet with a hint of lemon, which most New Yorkers think is disgusting, so I threw in some bottles of water.” She pauses, watching as he bites the inside of his cheek. “Look, I won’t be offended if you toss it all in the trash after I leave.”
“I won’t toss it in the trash,” he promises.
Completely shocked, Thessaly exclaims, “You spoke to me!”
“Yeah, you had me at cranberry scones.”
Shielding her eyes from the sun, Thessaly moves closer and leans against the brick wall. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Am I crazy? No. Am I a veteran? No. Am I a rapist? No. Am I homeless? No.” He removes a bottle of water from the basket and smiles. “Anything else?”
Studying his expensive Nike’s and the tan line formed from a watch, Thessaly blurts, “What’s your name?”
“Lucas.”
“What’s with the journal? Are you stalking someone?”
“I write stories.”
Peering down at him, she asks, “Are you one of those Post reporters pretending to be homeless?”
“Do I look like an asshole?” chuckles Lucas.
“So you write fiction?”
“Everything is fiction once it’s written.”
“Deep.” Thessaly nods to the jar of peacock feathers. “What’s with the feathers?”
Shaking his head slowly, Lucas sighs. “Just feathers. What’s your name?”
“Tess.” Realizing she made the mistake of giving her real name, she quickly adds, “Er, Tesshalaperria Santiago.”
“Cuban?”
“Dominican.”
“I like Tess – can I call you Tess?”
“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”
“Pee Wee Herman?” asks Lucas.
“A favorite.” She smiles.
“Agreed.” He smiles.
Studying his tan face and minimal lines, Thessaly asks, “So how old are you, Lucas?”
“Thirty-nine. What about you, Tess?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Placing her hands on her hips, Thessaly asks, “What’s with your cardboard sign?”
“Just a project.”
“About love?”
“Love is all you need.” Lucas smirks.
“So, where do you go when you’re not here?”
“Battery Park.”
“Like the actual park?”
“No. Like an actual apartment building.”
Thessaly asks, “And when will you leave?”
“As soon as the story is complete.”
Nodding in sarcasm, Thessaly says, “Gotcha.” She glances at her watch and then announces, “Lucas, it’s been real.”
“Thanks for the snacks, Tess Santiago.” Tilting his head in the direction of the cardboard sign, Lucas adds, “Thoughts?”
“Oh, no! I mean, I have to get to a meeting like five minutes ago. Have a nice day, Lucas.”
In a gravelly voice, Lucas demands, “Be sure and tell ‘em Large Marge sent ya.”
“Good one!” she yells back over her shoulder.
Walking north with a huge grin, she hails a cab to TriBeCa. It’s a rare occasion for her not to walk, but running late for a meeting with one of her favorite clients demands a taxi escort. Seated in the backset with no air, Thessaly fans herself with an Arby’s flyer left on the seat while answering a call from Mason.
“Hi, Mason,” she says.
“Tess! Come to the Hamptons with me this weekend. It’ll be like our first summer in New York.”
“I can’t, Shelby’s in town.”
“How’s that kid doing? Is he a doctor yet?”
“Nope, a few more years.” Moving the phone away from her mouth, Thessaly snaps at the cabbie, “Houston.”
“Then how about dinner? I need to ask you something very important.”
“I have dinner plans tonight – can we meet for drinks?”
“If that’s all I can get, I’ll gladly accept.”
Enjoying the humbler side of Mason, Thessaly smiles. “Okay, how about Divinity? Seven o’clock?”
“Perfect. And Tess?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t wait to see you.”
“You saw me two nights ago!”
“I want to see you every day.”
“Are you high?”
“You’re so sexy.”
“Are you drunk?”
“God, I need to fuck you.”
Thessaly glances out the backseat window and spots a coffee house with the word BOLD painted on a chalkboard display. “And I told you I want to start dating,” she responds.
“Then date me,” Mason pleads.
“I’ll see you later, Mason.”
Ending the call and laughing to herself, Thessaly pulls six dollars from her bag. As the taxi stops, she thrusts the cash through the partition and jumps out the door. Houston is a wide street, and her idiot driver took the easy route by dropping her off on the northwest corner. Sandwiched between fifty other sweating New Yorkers, she shuffles across the street with a deep scowl. Today is one of those days that’s humid, hot, and stale – the trifecta of Manhattan misery.
Pushing past a few tourists unfolding maps, Thessaly arrives at the glossy blue door of Les Étoiles. She’s known the owners since her days as a vendor for King’s Market, and often provided food services for their show on The Food Network. Pete and Marta Fuchs are one of those power couples – gorgeous, smart, and incredibly talented. And last summer, when they launched their fine-dining restaurant, Thessaly was the first to offer a list of connections.
Opening the door, she’s immediately greeted by Pete, wearing a yellow apron and a Penn State baseball cap. “Hey, Tess.” Pete wipes his hands on his apron before giving her a side hug. “Sorry for the time change, but Marta is on bedrest and she demanded I come in and do the dinner prep.”
“It’s fine, really. When is she due?”
“Six more weeks,” he answers.
“That’s so exciting!”
“Um, it will be. But right now she has me prepping for dinners, washing clean laundry, and then running around TriBeCa buying random things for the nursery – here, have a seat. Would you like a drink?”
“Water would be great.” Sitting down at a table for two, Thessaly removes her iPad and scrolls through her product list.
Arriving at the table with a pitcher of blackberry-cucumber-infused water and two tall glasses, Pete sits across from Thessaly and sighs. “God, I’m tired.”
“I can only imagine.” She pours water into each glass and then says, “Hey, I read a great review about your summer brunch in New York Foodie.”
“Yeah, that was quite a surprise. That critic despises me – like vowed to destroy me three years ago when I fired him from our show.”
“That’s funny.”
“Ironic, too. That review went live online the same day we decided to eliminate brunch . . . which is why I called this meeting.”
“Oh?”
“Tess, Marta and I think of you as our friend – and I’d be lying if I said we didn’t consider the effects on your business when we made the decision to decrease table service. But with the baby coming, and my associate that handles the PR living in San Francisco, we have to take a few steps back.”
“Yikes, this is one of those firing meetings.”
“I feel awful – I should’ve bought you a steak dinner first.”
“I get it, Pete.” Thessaly takes a sip of water and clears her throat. “May I ask if you’re eliminating honey and jam from your entire menu?”