Katwalk

by Maria Murnane

  Katrina held up a finger to interrupt him, then glanced over at her table. “I’m so sorry, but would you mind repeating all that for me when I have a pen and paper in hand? It’s a fantastic list, but I’ll never remember it all.”

  He smiled. “No problem, Kat. I’m happy to help.”

  “Thanks, Justin.” She found herself smiling slightly as she went to retrieve her purse. That wasn’t so hard, she thought. She pulled out a notebook and was digging around for a pen when she heard her phone chime with a new text message. She took it out and looked at the screen.

  It was from Reid.

  How goes the adventuring? Any interest in grabbing a drink later?

  She read the message again.

  Today was Friday.

  He wants to have a drink with me on a Friday night?

  He couldn’t be suggesting a date because he was married, so maybe he was just being friendly. They had clearly enjoyed talking with each other the other night. They could be friends even though he was married, couldn’t they?

  Glancing at the counter, Katrina saw that Justin was busy serving a new customer. She took a seat and considered the invitation, which seemed harmless enough.

  Would it be okay to go?

  Is it appropriate?

  Things are different in New York, right?

  She tried to think of the best way to reply to the message. She began typing a response several times but deleted each one and started again. Nothing she wrote seemed to convey the attitude she wanted to project, probably because she wasn’t even sure what that was.

  She sat there for a few moments, staring at her phone, then finally typed a brief note saying sure, it’d be fun. It was just a drink, right? That was allowed. He didn’t need to know she found him attractive. They could have a friendly chat about how she was settling into New York, and maybe he’d give her some good tips on things to see while she was in town.

  As soon as she pressed send she noticed someone approaching her table. She looked up and saw the skinny young barista standing over her.

  “Justin asked me to give this to you.” He handed her a folded piece of paper.

  “Oh, thanks.” She opened the note and read it as he walked away.

  It was a list of insider things to do in New York.

  She looked over at the counter, but Justin was gone.

  Katrina spent an hour or so exploring the East Village, which was sprinkled with dozens of boutiques, antique stores, thrift shops, and sidewalk vendors, each of which somehow managed to be unique and trendy in its own highly distinctive way. Every few steps she spotted something she’d never see in Mountain View. A girly pink purse covered in peace symbols hanging next to a black tank top painted with an angry skull and crossbones. An array of coffee mugs featuring vulgar yet humorous slogans that made her blush. A vintage lace dress on a headless mannequin. A small mountain of well-worn political and religious books piled atop a sagging card table.

  The gritty streets were a veritable bastion of the hip and cool, with just enough touristy knickknacks on display to make more mainstream visitors like Katrina feel comfortable. At first she felt like a fish out of water as she popped in and out of bohemian stores and browsed the myriad sidewalk displays of funky jewelry, clothing, artwork, and albums, but there were so many other people there from all walks of life that she soon relaxed and began to enjoy the energy pulsating around her. By the end of her jaunt, she felt almost like a veteran. In one postage-stamp-sized shop she even bought a pink neck scarf, a knitted blue hat, and a pair of dangly silver earrings, all three of which breached the boundaries of her normal conservative style—but which she found absolutely adorable. Whether or not she would ever feel comfortable wearing any of these things was another story, but she was proud of herself for having purchased something other than yet another pair of black pants.

  She bought a ham-and-cheese sandwich at a deli on East Seventh Street and stopped by her apartment to pick up a fresh canvas before heading out to Tompkins Square Park, the place Justin had said was good for people watching. Once there, she sat on a bench and set up her easel, then unwrapped the sandwich and took in the scene as she ate.

  Justin hadn’t been kidding. It was a crisp weekday afternoon in October, but she could just as easily believe it was a warm summer Saturday, given how much was going on around her. To her left, a group of older men were intently watching two of their peers battle it out in a game of chess. To her right, a young couple lay side by side on a blanket, fingers interlaced, each holding an e-reader in the air with their free hands. Nearby, a young man with a long ponytail played guitar and sang folk songs, the large case propped open at his feet to collect tips. A boisterous pickup game of street hockey was being waged on the basketball court behind him. And in the midst of it all, a constant stream of foot traffic—young and old, hipster and business casual, every skin color—was crisscrossing the cement pathways that cut through the grass in all directions. Katrina estimated that 25 percent of the people were carrying Starbucks cups and 40 percent were wearing headphones.

  After watching the world go by for a few minutes, she neatly folded the empty paper sandwich wrapper in half before tossing it into a nearby trash bin. Then she began to paint. For her subject she’d chosen the bench where she’d been sitting, which was now empty and framed by a background buzzing with passersby.

  Calm, surrounded by chaos.

  Another unusual juxtaposition, yet it was exactly how she felt at that moment.

  When she was done painting an hour or so later, she picked up the canvas and folded up her easel, then stretched her arms over her head, satisfied with what she’d accomplished. She dropped two dollars into the ponytailed guitarist’s case and decided it was time to head back to the apartment.

  She ran into Shana on her way into the building.

  “Hey, Kat. How’s your first week in New York going?”

  “So far, so good. There’s just so much to do here, I almost don’t even know where to begin. I’ll never be able to fit it all into just two months. I seriously think I could spend several days just watching people in Tompkins Square Park. It’s a whole world unto itself.”

  “Tell me about it. I think I could live here for five more years without even scratching the surface. But that’s why New York’s so fun, right? It’s nothing like where I grew up. Going to the mall is a big deal in rural Ohio.” She pointed at the canvas. “Were you just painting?”

  Katrina felt her cheeks flush and nodded.

  “Can I see?”

  “I’m not very good. I’m pretty rusty, actually.”

  “I draw stick people, so let me be the judge of it.” Shana reached for the canvas and turned it around, then let out a little gasp. “Oh, wow, Kat, it’s beautiful.”

  “You think so?”

  “I love it. What are you going to do with it?”

  Katrina shrugged. “I have no idea. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Before this week I hadn’t painted in years.”

  “I’d love to hang it in my living room.”

  “Really?”

  “You bet. I don’t have money to pay you for it though. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh gosh, don’t worry about that. I can’t believe you think it’s worth hanging.”

  “I do. Not that I know a lick about art, but I love it.”

  “Well, consider it yours.” Katrina began to hand it to her, then pulled it back as she eyed Shana’s workout clothes. “Are you off to teach?” I can hold on to it for you.”

  “Yep. Friday evenings I teach at six and again at seven thirty. You should come to a class sometime.”

  Katrina stiffened. “I don’t know. I’m not very athletic. I can barely keep my balance on the stationary bike.”

  Shana put a hand on Katrina’s arm. “That’s okay, a lot of people who come to my classes aren’t athletic. That’s
why they do yoga, or at least the kind of yoga I teach. Come on, give it a try. I can get you in for free. I know it’s not much compared to that painting, but at least it’s something.”

  Katrina hesitated. She wanted to go, but she had agreed to meet Reid for a drink in the Meatpacking District.

  “How long is the class?”

  “Just an hour.” She squeezed Katrina’s arm, her eyes bright. “Come on, it’ll be fun! I promise.”

  “Do I have to wear special clothes?”

  “Anything you’d wear to the gym is fine, as long as it’s not too loose. And I have an extra yoga mat you can borrow. But I’ve got to leave now, so if you’re going to come with me, we’ve got to get a move on.”

  Katrina thought about it for another few seconds, then made a decision. “Okay, I’ll do it. Can you give me five minutes to change?”

  “Make it three. And hurry.”

  “Got it.” She turned and rushed upstairs with a hint of a smile on her face. With each step she climbed, she realized that she was acting less like Katrina and more like Kat, and it felt . . . good.

  Shana set Katrina up with a mat near the side wall of the yoga studio, close enough but not completely front and center. The room wasn’t too crowded, which helped assuage her self-consciousness about being a complete beginner.

  “I hope I don’t make a fool of myself,” Katrina whispered as she rolled out the mat. “I’m not very coordinated.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Shana whispered back before tiptoeing across the wooden floor. “Just copy the person next to you if you get lost.”

  Katrina took a seat on her mat, interlacing her hands in her lap and waiting for the session to begin.

  Shana turned down the lights, and soft music began to play. She lit a candle and sat cross-legged in front of the group, then opened a notebook. It looked like she was about to begin reading but she suddenly closed it. Katrina noticed that all the other students had their eyes closed, so she followed suit.

  She heard Shana inhale deeply, then begin to speak. “I recently met a woman who has truly inspired me, who has made me remember how important it is to take chances in life. She came to New York alone, without a job, without knowing a soul.”

  Katrina opened her eyes and looked up at Shana. Are you talking about me?

  Shana smiled at Katrina and gestured for her to close her eyes again, then continued.

  “This woman didn’t plan to come to New York by herself, but when her travel companion had to bow out unexpectedly, instead of canceling the trip, she came on her own. She didn’t know a soul here, but she didn’t let that stop her. She might not even realize it yet, but I think on some level she came here by herself to learn about herself. And meeting her has inspired me to keep learning about myself. We all need to keep learning. If we never take chances in life, if we never venture out of our comfort zones, we’ll never grow. And we all need to keep growing. The day we stop growing is the day life stops mattering.”

  Katrina kept her eyes closed even after Shana finished speaking, stunned by her new friend’s perception of her. Was she really that person? A person who took chances? A person who wasn’t afraid to step out of her comfort zone? A person who inspired others?

  I want to be, she thought.

  Katrina loved the class. As Shana had predicted, she did get lost several times at the beginning, and nearly fell over more than once trying to balance on one leg, but no one seemed to care. The basic sequence of positions repeated itself much like the chorus of a song, so when she got the hang of it, she was able to relax and enjoy the experience. Shana’s description of yoga had been accurate; the postures were geared more toward strengthening and elongating the muscles than providing an intense cardiovascular workout, and they did their job. Though she wondered how sore she’d be the next day, Katrina felt like she’d just gotten a massage, and her mind was calm.

  “You did great, Kat.” Shana came over and handed her a bottle of water. “How do you feel? Did you enjoy it?” Though she kept her voice low, it was brimming with positive energy.

  Katrina took the water and opened it. “It was just what I needed. Thank you so much for getting me to come. I wasn’t expecting that part at the beginning though. You surprised me.”

  Shana smiled. “What can I say? I was hit with a bolt of inspiration, so I went with it. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh gosh, not at all.” If Shana only knew how rare it was for Katrina to inspire anyone.

  “Were the poses too challenging for you?”

  “A little, but not terribly. At first I felt really self-conscious, but by the end of the class I was able to relax and get into it.”

  “I’m so glad to hear that.”

  Katrina nodded before taking a sip of water. “I was impressed by how well you speak, but also by the way you ran the class. You have a really gentle way about you. Very soothing.”

  Shana smiled. “Thanks. Maybe if there’s ever a role as a yoga teacher on Broadway, I’ll get the part.”

  “You’d be great at it.”

  Shana squeezed her shoulder. “It was fun having you here. You should come to another class sometime.”

  “I’d love to come back—assuming I can walk tomorrow, that is. I’m not sure how my hamstrings are going to respond to holding all those poses.” She pretended to grimace. Or half-pretended. Getting out of bed in the morning was going to be no joke, especially after all the ground she’d covered earlier in the day.

  Shana laughed and headed toward a broom closet at the back of the room. “You’re sweet. Now scat so I can get this place ready for the next class. I don’t want to get yelled at by Blair.”

  “Who’s Blair?”

  “The studio owner. She’s teaching next, and she gets upset when my classes run over even a little. She’s very particular and likes time to prepare before the students show up.” Shana lowered her voice. “And she’s a little scary, if you ask me.”

  “Got it.”

  Out on the street, Katrina passed a tall, thin woman with ivory skin and black hair slicked back into a severe bun. She looked to be in her late thirties or early forties. Katrina smiled weakly at her, immediately intimidated. The woman nodded back but didn’t smile.

  As she walked down the sidewalk, Katrina turned back and watched the woman enter the studio.

  She hoped Shana had finished sweeping the floor.

  Chapter Six

  When she got back to her apartment, Katrina quickly showered and got dressed. After much thought, she’d made the decision that she would meet Reid for one drink and then leave. Regardless of whatever New York social etiquette was, she didn’t feel comfortable spending time alone with a married man she barely knew, no matter how nice he was.

  Or maybe because of it.

  She remembered what Brittany had said about his unhappy relationship.

  She shook her head and told herself to stop thinking that way.

  He was married, period.

  She fixed her hair and makeup and studied herself in the mirror, once again wishing her freckles would magically disappear, that one morning she’d wake up with her mother’s flawless complexion. After agonizing over what to wear, she’d finally settled on a sleeveless black sheath cut two inches above the knee. She wanted to look nice but not like she was trying too hard. Unfortunately, she had zero idea what that meant in New York.

  Does this look okay for a drink?

  Black goes with everything, right?

  One drink. Where’s the harm in that?

  She switched off the bathroom light and went to grab her purse.

  She was halfway out the door when she remembered. She turned on her heel and hurried back into the bedroom, her eyes scanning until they landed on the shopping bag in the corner. She pulled out the pink silk scarf and silver earrings, put on the earrings and tied the scarf around he
r neck, then took a quick peek in the mirror above the dresser.

  She smiled.

  She wasn’t looking at Katrina.

  Katrina would never dress like this.

  She was looking at Kat—and she liked what she saw.

  I’m going out for a drink in New York!

  She turned out the lights and skipped downstairs to find a cab.

  A few minutes after eight o’clock, Katrina entered the lobby of Soho House, a private social club in the heart of the übertrendy Meatpacking District. After giving her name to the glamorous young woman at the front desk, she rode the elevator to the sixth floor. As she ascended silently, wondering why the walls were padded in green leather, she suddenly feared that the pink scarf looked silly. How quickly her newfound confidence had waned.

  The doors opened onto what appeared to be a foyer or reception area, which led to an expansive room divided into two distinct sections. To the right was a saloon-style bar, complete with high red leather stools and dark hardwood floors. A sea of sparkling liquor bottles framed an enormous mirror mounted on the wall. A handful of plush velvet couches and love seats separated the bar from a dining area; a roaring fire in the large marble fireplace set against the back wall emitted a cozy glow. To the left was a large, beautifully appointed lounge filled with clusters of friends and couples chatting away over drinks. A few people even sat alone, quietly reading books with glasses of wine in one hand. Crisply attired waiters in white shirts and black bow ties and vests moved silently among the guests, gracefully refilling glasses and whisking away empty ones.