The phone rang. Debbie closed the window as Lori picked up the receiver.
"It was Ben," she said. "He wants to go out with us."
Debbie opened the window, letting back in the noises of the street. The uptown bus screeched to a stop, just below them.
"But it's Friday. I'd rather go out with him during the week," Lori continued.
"Well, it'll be fun," Debbie said.
"That's true. It is always just us. Another person would be more fun," Lori admitted.
They crossed First, Second and Third Avenue, buzzing Ben at his dorm room for the summer grad school session at New York University, where he was writing a play.
"Wouldn't you just give anything to live in this building?" Lori asked.
Ben was summoned by the 24-hour security guard. He arrived in the lobby, broad-shouldered in his plaid shirt and tight jeans. He ws better looking than Debbie recalled.
His nice face ws highlighted by round cheekbones, straight jet-black hair, and an easy-going smile. But he seemed very shy and the only things you could talk to him about were plays and books about the theater.
They walked up and down St. Mark's Place and ducked into a small brown cafe. "The Grass Roots," a white sign read. It was flecked with what appeared to be insects at first glance or possibly, grass roots.
The smell of cool damp wood brought immediate memories of a local college pub to Debbie's mind. She liked it instantly. And it was so cold. It had to be the coldest spot in New York. She wished she could stay here all night. Every day of this hot, stinking New York summer, too. This was the hottest, grossest summer she had ever had, and she was living in New York City.
The sweat oozed off her body every night, even as she lay on the apartment floor in a bare black tank tip and cool shorts, unable to move. Lori refused to turn on the air conditioner. She feigned asthma or some condition of no name so that she would have enough money to buy clothes. As if her mother would not give her money in case she ran out. But what could she say? How could she object to Lori? What if Lori really were suffering from a genuine condition of asthma?
So Ben had landed them in the coolest spot in New York and they sat at the bar, trying to make conversation. Lori jabbered on and on.
Isn't that nice? Debbie thought. So, she has a mouth and a brain after all. She would just sit there in the cold bar, drinking two dollar beers and let them talk while she thought about other more interesting things. She wished she could live here, in the cold bar all summer.
DENISE HICKEY
Summer of '87
St. Mark's Place
# 0659D
