by Jason Starr
It was a beautiful fall day. After the rain last night, the humidity had dropped and the sky was clear and the temperature was in the low sixties. He stopped at a little Italian restaurant on Second Avenue and sat outside and had penne with vodka sauce, a salad of arugula and shaved Parmesan, and a decent merlot. Then he took a cab downtown to his hotel. He was getting very tired of living at a place he didn’t own, of being in this constant state of limbo. Although the remodeling of his apartment wasn’t completed yet, he was planning to check out of the hotel over the weekend and move into his new home. He didn’t plan to tell Katie about the apartment, though, until they had gone on at least a few real dates.
Peter plopped onto the bed and turned the TV on to NY1 News. Earlier in the day, at the health club, he’d seen a couple of TV news reports about the murder. It was a much bigger news story than he had expected it to be. He knew it would get attention because it wasn’t every day that someone got strangled to death near Gracie Mansion, but he had no idea it would be the top local news story. It probably was a racial thing. If Frat Boy had been black, the killing would’ve gotten attention because of the Gracie Mansion angle. But a clean-cut white guy being murdered was always juicy for the media.
Peter waited for the story to come on, and when it did, there seemed to be nothing new going on in the case. There was the same videotaped segment of a NYPD detective, John Himoto, giving a report of how the body had been discovered early this morning and how the police were conducting a thorough investigation. Then the anchorman talked about how Frat Boy had worked as a junior analyst at some major investment banking firm and had graduated from the University of Michigan last spring. Frat Boy’s friend from the double date was near tears as he talked about how Frat Boy was a great guy and how he couldn’t believe this had happened to him. Peter wondered why people always said that, that they couldn’t believe this had happened. People died. It happened suddenly and it happened every day. Deal with it.
When the report ended, Peter flicked off the TV. He was glad that there’d still been no mention about a latex glove being discovered, though he wasn’t sure the police would reveal this even if it had been. For what seemed like the hundredth time, Peter replayed the events of last night in his head and he still couldn’t think of any possible way he had slipped up except, maybe, for the glove.
“Good luck, Himoto,” Peter said, smiling, then he checked his cell phone to see if he had missed a call from Katie. He hadn’t. He figured she was at work and might not’ve even found out about the murder yet. Maybe the police would come to her office to tell her, or maybe she wouldn’t find out until the evening. When she did, she’d probably be very upset and look for support from someone close to her. It would likely be someone familiar to her, who she felt safe with, who reminded her of her father. Peter smiled again, thrilled with how well everything was working out so far.
Feeling cooped up in the hotel room, Peter went out for a walk. He went across town to Broadway, then all the way downtown to SoHo. He browsed in art galleries and stopped for a glass of Prosecco at a wine bar. Then he headed back uptown, through the East Village. He was in the mood to escape his life for a while, to see a good movie, but there was nothing playing in the multiplex on Third Avenue and Eleventh Street except horror, action, and comic book-based movies. He wondered why Hollywood rarely seemed to produce straight love stories anymore. What was the world coming to?
It was six o’clock when Peter reached Kips Bay, the neighborhood where his hotel was located. He still hadn’t heard anything from Katie, and he was starting to wonder why she hadn’t contacted him yet. She must’ve gotten home from work by now and it was highly likely that she had found out about the murder. The police had probably met with her, because she’d been with Frat Boy the night he was killed, and they’d want to see if she knew anything. Of course, she’d be totally clueless.
Peter picked up some Indian food to go and took it back to the hotel room. As he ate the chicken tikka masala right out of the aluminum container, he had a horrible thought. He remembered how, in college, Katie’s sister Heather had killed herself. Suicidal tendencies sometimes ran in families, so Peter wondered if it was possible that Katie had become so distraught about Frat Boy’s death that she’d tried to kill herself. It was hard to imagine her caring so much about that fucking loser that she’d inflict harm on herself, but sometimes people did irrational things.
He desperately wanted to call her to make sure she was all right. He could say he was just watching the news and didn’t she mention she had a friend, Andrew? But he decided against it, figuring she’d call him on her own; it was only a matter of time.
The rest of the evening, waiting for the phone to ring, was torture. Maybe twenty times he started dialing her number, then flipped his cell phone closed. He couldn’t stop thinking of her in the bathtub, slitting her wrists, or going to the top of a building and jumping. He tried to assure himself that she was okay; she had her roommate with her, and if the police thought she was suicidal they’d get her medical attention, but he couldn’t stop imagining the worst.
He was still confident that she’d call eventually—she had to; it didn’t make any sense that she wouldn’t—but he realized that the call might not come until tomorrow, or the next day, or even later. She might go to her parents for support first, maybe even go to Massachusetts for the weekend to be with them. If that happened, he might not hear from her until next week.
Then, around midnight, Peter was starting to doze when his phone started ringing.
“Peter.”
Her voice was the most amazing sound in the world. He was suddenly wide awake.
“Hey, how are you?”
This wasn’t acting, pretending he didn’t know what was going on. His only actual concern was how she was.
“I’m in a really bad way.”
“What happened?”
“Something bad.” She was crying, could barely get the words out. “Something really, really bad.”
“I’ll be right over,” Peter said.
As he raced out of the hotel and hailed a cab on Lex, he couldn’t stop smiling.
Katie had been in bed crying since Detective Himoto had left. Susan sat with her for a while and tried her best to console her. Reporters from the Post, News, and other papers buzzed the apartment, and Katie went down and answered their questions, telling them how she couldn’t believe this had happened and how shocked she was. The whole thing felt surreal.
At one point in the evening, Katie called home. But as soon as she started to tell her mother what had happened, she knew she’d made a mistake. Her mother was upset, of course, but wasn’t capable of offering any real support. She went on about how horrible it was and then she suggested coming to New York, with Katie’s father, in the morning. Katie agreed to let them come, but later, as she continued to sob, she realized her parents visiting wouldn’t accomplish anything. They would have no idea how to handle the way she was feeling right now, and she planned to call them later or first thing in the morning to tell them not to bother.
But she had to talk to someone to get her feelings out, someone mature, someone who “got it.” She thought about calling a friend, maybe Amanda, but then she had a better idea and called Peter. He was mature, had a sensitive nature, and she felt like she could talk to him.
When the buzzer rang she dragged herself out of bed and let him up. She stood partway in the hallway, propping the door open with her foot. She heard him racing up the stairs, probably taking them two at a time. Then he appeared on the landing, rushed over, and hugged her and assured her that everything was going to be okay. She felt safe in his strong arms and she knew she’d done the right thing by calling him.
She started crying again and he consoled her, telling her everything was going to be okay.
Then, after maybe ten minutes, he asked, “What happened?”
She couldn’t say it at first, then she said, “Andy…that guy I…was…,” really struggling wi
th the last word, “m…m…murd…murdered.”
“Jesus,” Peter said. His voice cracked as though he might start to cry himself, but he didn’t.
He sat next to her on the couch, with his arm around her. She explained that Andy had been strangled and that his body had been discovered early this morning.
“Do the cops have any idea who could’ve done it?” Peter asked, squinting hard, showing real concern.
Katie shook her head.
“Fuck,” Peter said. “I’m so sorry, Katie. I’m so, so sorry.”
After hugging her for a while longer, he asked her if she wanted something to eat or drink. She shook her head, but when she admitted she felt a little weak, he insisted. He went into the kitchen and made her tea and brought her out some chips and salsa as well. She noticed he’d shaved his goatee and told him that it looked good, that she liked seeing more of his face. The food and the tea made her feel a lot better and she was able to relax a little—enough to talk anyway.
She told Peter about how Andy had been over at her place yesterday evening and how everything had seemed so normal, more normal than it ever had before. Then she told him about how she’d first met Andy, at Brother Jimmy’s on Third Avenue, and how he was a great guy and didn’t deserve to die so young. Peter was such a great listener. He looked into her eyes the whole time and really seemed to care about what she was saying.
They started talking about other stuff—deep, philosophical stuff like life and death, God, religion. Katie said that sometimes she believed that God existed, sometimes she didn’t, but that days like today she definitely didn’t.
“I go back and forth myself,” Peter said. “After my parents died—”
“They died?”
“Yeah, six years ago.”
“I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” Peter needed a moment to get hold of himself, then said, “Anyway, a few years ago, when I was living in Mexico, I went to a psychic. The first thing the psychic said was, ‘Who’s Clea?’ Cleara was my girlfriend’s name. Close, right?”
“Oh my God, yeah.”
“She got all this other stuff dead on, too. She said, ‘Why’s she talking about Florida?’ Cleara had just been to Florida to visit some relatives.”
“Wow.”
“It freaked me out, too, but it made me realize that if there are really spirits out there, then anything’s possible, even God, you know?”
“I totally agree,” Katie said. “The same thing happened with me with my sister.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“The psychic didn’t know her name, but one of the first things she said is, ‘your sister died and it wasn’t of natural causes. She’s saying she’s to blame.’ “
“Holy shit.”
“You should’ve seen the tears gushing down my cheeks. I said, ‘Tell her it’s not her fault. Tell her it’s no one’s fault.’ And the psychic said, ‘She wants you to know she’s okay.’ Hearing those words meant so much to me.”
They continued talking about their visits to psychics and other psychic experiences they’d had. It occurred to Katie that she never could’ve had this type of conversation with Andy.
Katie was getting very tired and she asked Peter if he wanted to go home. He insisted on staying, and she was glad because she didn’t really want him to go. Eventually she fell asleep on the couch, leaning against him. Around dawn, she woke up, covered with the blanket from her bedroom, and Peter was asleep on the floor. She smiled for a moment, then remembered what had happened to Andy and why Peter was here.
She couldn’t fall back asleep. Around seven thirty Peter woke up.
“Hey, how are you?” he asked.
“A little better,” she said. “Thanks so much for taking care of me.”
“Are you kidding? Why wouldn’t I take care of you?”
“Oh my God, shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I’m taking the day off to hang out with you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to. You shouldn’t be alone.”
Peter went out to Yura on Third and came back with muffins and coffee.
“Are you sure you want to miss work?” Katie asked.
“Positive,” he said. “It was supposed to be my first day at my new job, but I’d rather be with you.”
“New job?” she asked.
“Oh, I didn’t tell you? I was promoted. I’m a membership consultant now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, my supervisor was very impressed with my sales skills, so he hired me for a full-time position.”
“That’s great.” She squinted. “But I thought you wanted to be a trainer?”
Peter hesitated, then said, “I do, but I also love sales, so I took the job.”
Katie still didn’t get it, but decided not to push it further.
“Well, congratulations,” she said.
They hung out in the living room, talking about growing up in Lenox, their parents, and other stuff. Usually when she was with a guy, she had to strain to think of things to talk about, but with Peter there were never any lulls.
At one point, he said, “It looks like a beautiful day out there. I was thinking, maybe we could walk around the park, maybe pick up some stuff for a picnic? Keep it mellow, you know. But if you’re not up for it…”
“I’m definitely up for it. It would probably be good for me to get out of the apartment, to get some air. I think I’m going to call the detective who was here yesterday to see what’s going on.”
“He’d probably call you if something happens.”
“Yeah, I just want to see, though. I mean, it would make me feel better, I think.”
“Just don’t get your hopes up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you have to prepare yourself, that’s all. The sad truth is that a lot of murders don’t get solved.”
“I know, I’m just scared. I mean, what if he comes after me next?”
“What’re you talking about?”
“He could’ve seen me with Andy, think I can recognize him or something, and—”
“Come on.” Peter put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “I really think you’re getting carried away now, don’t you think? Maybe the police’ll catch the guy, maybe they won’t, but it’s highly unlikely that this has anything to do with you.”
“I know, I know, I’m just being paranoid. I always get like that.”
“You have to just deal with things like this the best you can and go on with your life. I mean, you’ve had some tragedy in your life before and you got through it, right?”
Katie knew Peter was talking about her sister. She said, “I don’t think I ever got through that.”
“Yeah, but you did the best you could, right?” Peter said. “I’ve had shit happen in my life that I’m still dealing with. It takes a while, but after time, things always start to get better. Baby steps, you know?”
Katie started to cry, thinking about her sister and how much she still missed her. Then she said, “I know, I know.”
Peter held Katie, gently rubbing her back. When she started to feel better, he said that he would go back to his place to shower and change and give her some time to herself, but that he would return to pick her up at around noon.
Then, at the door, he said, “So you’ll be okay while I’m gone?”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“I just want to make sure. I mean, I don’t know why Heather…you know…But I don’t want you—”
“God, no, I’d never do anything to hurt myself. Jesus.”
“Just checking,” Peter said.
Katie could tell he wanted to kiss her. If he’d tried, she would’ve let him, but instead he hesitated, then gave her a peck on the cheek.
“See you in a bit,” he said, and left.
Later, while she was showering and getting dressed, Katie thought about how nice it was of Peter to drop everythin
g to go spend time with a girl he hardly knew. And the thing was, he didn’t do it to get anything. There were no hidden agendas, no mind games; he didn’t expect anything in return. He was just a genuinely good person.
There was no doubt that Peter was one of the greatest guys Katie had ever met. Before last night, she didn’t think their relationship would ever go anywhere past friendship, but now she was starting to see it as something more. She couldn’t remember this ever happening, where someone she’d seen as an older-brother type at first, turned into someone she could see herself dating.
She opened her closet, trying to decide what to wear. Peter seemed like a casual guy so she decided that simple was the way to go. She picked out jeans and a black top and black boots. After she got dressed, she looked in the full-length mirror, pleased with how she looked older, but in a good way.
After she did her makeup, she sat on the couch in the living room. She still had nearly an hour to kill before Peter was supposed to return. She tried to distract herself, watching TV, but she couldn’t stop checking the time. She couldn’t remember the last time she was so excited about seeing a guy. And she’d just seen him, which made it even more unusual.
Peter Wells was the kind of guy you would have expected your mother or grandmother to date in the 1950s. He’d show up at your front door in a suit and holding flowers and he’d say “please” and “thank you” and compliment you all night long. He was sexy, too. She liked his cologne and the way his hair looked and his lips were amazing. She loved the way the lower one stuck out slightly farther than the upper, and wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She imagined he would do it slowly and romantically. She couldn’t imagine he’d be like Andy, who’d always tried to ram his tongue into her mouth.
Katie felt a pang of guilt over thinking about another guy so soon after Andy’s death, but the feeling didn’t last long. She checked herself in the mirror again, then remembered to call her parents and tell them not to come to New York. She hoped they weren’t on their way. She called her mom’s cell and her mom said that she and her dad were in the car in Hillsdale, New York, about forty minutes outside of Lenox.