"So, what do you think?"
"What do I think about what?" Debbie asked. She perched on the radiator next to the windowsill. Thirteen floors down, she looked onto Third Avenue as it shot through Harlem, straight as an arrow. She sat in tight black jeans, in the plush white living room with Nicole as they interviewed a prospective roommate.
"Do you plan on taking off?" he asked her.
"Leaving?! No! I love it here. I"ve got my job, I really like it...I'm here to stay!" she ended her outburst with enthusiasm.
She thought of the office, the fabulous view of midtown and the Hudson River; of the polite, friendly people, of Scott.
"So, Nicole, you're into cars. Is that how I can win you over?" he said, fingering a tiny red camaro, one of the many vehicles which graced the window ledge.
"Yes, I like them," Nicole agreed.
"Or was it an old boyfriend?"
Debbie rose.
"I have laundry to do," she said. She left.
She allowed the sophisticated young man who worked on Wall Street the opportunity to flirt with her roommate. She returned, rejoining them in the living room.
The young man had a fresh copy of the Village Voice in his briefcase. His pinstriped shirt was tucked neatly into suspendered trousers.
"This is a wierd city," he said gravely. He looked as if he could not believe it.
"Oh! You don't know!" Debbie giggled innocently.
Nicole went on to describe their varied candidates for possible roommates.
"A man called me the other day. First, he said he was a dentist. Then, he told me he was really a dancer. Then he said he was a maid. Then, he asked if I minded gays, and I said, No, as long as they're nice. He wanted to know if he could clean our house for us while we beat him!" She smiled a huge beautiful smile and her face reddened.
Debbie smiled and shook her head. She had recalled the incident to her sister over the phone at work. Dead silence traveled through the phone lines from Connecticut to New York.
"Are you there?" she said.
Her sister was laughing so hard that she could not speak, and so, no sound came out.
"Sherri? Hello," she asked and her sister had finally burst out laughing, in hysterics.
Mr. Kidder-Peabody did not smile.
"I'd like to hang out with you for a while," he said. "Maybe, come back and meet with you again. I don't know that many people since I was living in Philadelphia, and I just broke up with my old girlfriend. She knew this whole group of people..."
"What time is it? Would you mind if I ordered something? By the time I get home, it will be eleven. I have to catch the 9:00 train." He eyed the Chinese take-out menu that Debbie was waving around.
"Sure, you can eat with us!" she chirped.
But he made no move to look at the menu.
"So, what do you think, Debbie?" he asked again. "Do you plan on staying here? You're not going to run off?"
"No," she said. Why would she do that?
"Well, I hope you find the right roommates. You seem like a couple of really nice girls," he said, and was gone.
"We are," Debbie said, nodding and smiling.
DENISE HICKEY
Winter 1988
# 0660D
