Chasing Manhattan

by John Gray

  The woman was curious where this was going and said only, “Right.” Chase continued, “This Fur-Ever Java café is spelled like Fur, F-U-R, for a reason.”

  Now it seemed everyone in the café had stopped what they were doing and was listening to Chase. She went on, “At any given moment there are hundreds of cats and dogs sitting in animal shelters in the five boroughs of New York City. People don’t adopt them because they don’t see them.”

  “Raylan here,” Chase continued, now pointing over to her landlord and the coffee shop owner, “Raylan has agreed to bring two dogs in at a time from the shelter and let them kinda wander around the shop and meet the customers. And before you ask or look where you stepped, they have to be housebroken and friendly or Raylan doesn’t take them in.”

  The woman was looking down at Scooter when Chase added, “Oh no, not this one. This pup is mine, but Penelope here and that white dog who is sleeping over in that corner are from the shelter.”

  Delores noticed the other puppy, mostly white with dark swirl markings, all curled up and leaning against a wall with her eyes closed.

  Raylan jumped in at this point adding, “I take in two dogs at a time and let them live here, and my regular customers get to know them. Nine out of ten times they get adopted by someone who has been around them a few times and likes them.”

  The woman considered what she was hearing and asked, “And the health department allows it?”

  Raylan scratched his chin, just below a large scar on the right side of his face, and said, “Let’s just say it hasn’t been a problem because nobody ever complained. The dogs and I have an arrangement. They agree to behave, and I save their lives. It’s a pretty fair deal.”

  Penelope the Pug walked over, almost if on cue, and wagged her cropped tail, looking up at the older woman with loving eyes.

  Delores couldn’t help but smile and said, “Well, they won’t hear any complaints from me. The health department, I mean.”

  With that she took a small blue handmade pottery bowl and moved toward the register, causing Raylan to raise his hand and stop her.

  “You must have missed the sign out front ma’am. Every customer who Penelope wags her tail at, gets a free bowl today. So, it’s on her. You have a wonderful day.”

  The older woman, feeling almost ashamed of her ill-temper, smiled and said, “Very kind of you.”

  She then surprised everyone when she reached down and patted the puppy on the head, “Thank you for the bowl, Penelope.”

  Delores Wainwright took her new pottery and the coffee she’d already paid for and headed for the door.

  Chase smiled and said to Raylan, “You’re going to go broke if you keep doing that, bud.”

  Raylan laughed and brought his hand up to cover the scars on his face, an automatic reflex born of embarrassment. With Chase, and a few others he trusted, Raylan forgot the scars were even there. And the truth was, living above the coffee shop for a year now, Chase no longer even noticed what Raylan unceremoniously called his present from the war.

  “GOUT, ravaging my body as you give away pottery.” Deb said out loud so the whole café could hear. She shouted louder, “CREEPING TOWARD MY BRAIN AS WE SPEAK.”

  Raylan turned with a wicked grin and shouted back, “When it gets there it will find a vacancy sign.” Chase shook her head, laughing, and took up Scooter’s leash to take him upstairs to her apartment and get ready for Gavin and dinner.

  Raylan couldn’t resist asking Chase, “Is stud muffin farmer boy coming into town again? More sushi? Is he thinking about moving in? I mean, in fairness, it is supposed to be an apartment for one.”

  Chase shot him a look and said, “And that’s how it will stay. I told you Raylan, I’m an old-fashioned girl. There will be plenty of time for that stuff later.”

  Raylan replied, “You mean after you’re married.”

  Chase answered, “Of course, but there’s no rush.”

  Curious now, Raylan asked, “So where does he stay when he drives down to visit?”

  “His buddy from college lives just outside the city and has an extra room where Gavin can crash anytime he likes,” she replied.

  Raylan smiled, “Well, I admire the traditional values.”

  Chase started toward the door, with Scooter in tow, when Raylan called after her, “Hey, can you do me a favor? Take the box on the end of the counter, the one covered in tin foil, and leave it on the side steps as you head up to your apartment?”

  Chase looked confused, so Raylan added, “It’s food, day-old stuff. I was gonna throw it away. Just leave it on the stairs. Please.”

  Chase did as she was asked, and a half hour later the box of goodies was gone. She’d find out soon enough who took it and why.

  CHAPTER 4

  Carrie Bradshaw Lied

  Chase’s jaw fell to the floor when, one year ago, she opened an email from a man with a strange first name and saw what he wanted for a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan. Chase’s first place after college in Seattle was $850 a month and that included utilities. When she rented an old church in Vermont, they wanted $1,200 a month, which was a big step up for her pricewise. But this was a whole new universe, paying $3,700 dollars for a 900-square-foot flat with a leaky showerhead and a bedroom that offered a spectacular view of a brick wall.

  Still, Chase checked around and saw that in the higher-end neighborhoods where she wanted to live, not far from Central Park, what Raylan was asking was more than fair, especially when you consider that the place came with two parking spaces at a nearby garage. Perfect for a woman with a vintage ragtop Mustang and a boyfriend with a big truck.

  It wasn’t as if she didn’t have the money. Chase’s first novel, Manchester Christmas, sold 600,000 copies when word got out that it was based on a true story. People ate up stuff like that, especially if there was a paranormal element to it. She even got a call from a Hollywood director, Brian something or other, looking to buy the rights to her story. He kept going on about the movies he’d made and his date with actress Drew Barrymore, when Chase politely cut him off and said, “Sorry pal, not interested, but tell Drew I said hi!”

  Still, every time she turned the key and went into the tiny apartment, Chase couldn’t help rolling her eyes at how little all that money had bought her.

  Most women Chase’s age grew up binge watching Sex and the City and following the amazing life of Carrie Bradshaw. They all bought in to the belief that you could write a weekly column for a newspaper no one ever heard of and make enough money to afford a large three-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village.

  “Carrie Bradshaw lied,” Chase said out loud to her tiny apartment the very day she moved in.

  Still, she couldn’t complain. Most adults in their thirties who worked jobs in Manhattan were forced to live like sardines, three to an apartment, if they wanted the Upper East Side. Most found themselves taking trains to and from work, from one of the outer boroughs. Chase was lucky, because the book had sold so well it afforded her this option. The money also allowed her to hire a driver and avoid flagging down cabs in the rain or riding the subways at night. A young 135-pound woman walking alone in the dark in any big city was never a good idea, so her driver and friend, Matthew, was an extravagance she could justify.

  Her apartment door opened into a small living space with hardwood floors that needed refinishing, which made her happy because it also meant Scooter’s nails couldn’t make them any worse. Mounted to the right of the door was a small coat rack where she hung her black leather jacket, Scooter’s leash, and Gavin’s cowboy hat if he chose to wear it. When she first moved in and he began visiting, Gavin wore the tan Stetson all the time, but he soon learned that kind of headgear earns you lots of stares and comments. More often than not lately, Gavin just left the hat on the passenger seat of his truck.

  The walls of her apartment were exposed brick, making it difficult to hang photos properly, and her couch was a small two-seater, just enough room for the two of them to watch T
V.

  Gavin, having grown up on a farm and being used to miles of space and blue sky above, felt confined in the big city, but if this was where his sweetheart needed to be right now, he was willing to make the long drive to see her. Most men wouldn’t have been so patient, a year of this back and forth, but Gavin knew a keeper when he met one, and that was certainly his Chase. Still the give and take was feeling a bit too much like take as of late, and Gavin was growing restless in this cramped, noisy city.

  The kitchen was also small with a four-top gas stove and one dangerous problem. The back burners wouldn’t light on their own, so you had to turn the gas on and then ignite them with a match. If you didn’t get it on the first try the smell of gas quickly filled the kitchen, making your second effort with the match crucial. Raylan told her, “If you can’t get it on the first or second try, shut off the gas, crack open a window and leave it be until the smell is gone.” Who knew making a cup of tea could be so rife with peril?

  Chase signed a one-year lease, which was about to expire, and Raylan, the landlord, hadn’t mentioned her renewing it yet. He was so busy giving away pottery to people downstairs and trying to adopt out all these unwanted puppies, Chase assumed it had just skipped his mind. Chase didn’t love the apartment—it was a bit claustrophobic—but she adored the neighborhood, especially the café below. Most days it felt like an island of misfit toys due to the collection of odd ducks who frequently found their way in. Raylan was damaged from the war; the scars on the outside were easy to spot, but the others, which ran deeper, remained hidden away.

  Deb on the cash register was a hoot, a phrase Chase’s grandmother Marge was fond of saying, and the locals who came in for scones and cappuccinos were fun to watch. Chase could sit for an hour at a corner table downstairs and just drink it all in.

  “Characters for a future book,” she’d tell herself, as she sat in silence and observed them. And now today this new mystery, Raylan having her leave trays of food on the stairs for some invisible guest, intrigued her too.

  Chase hopped in the shower, trying to wash away the morning run, as Scooter lay on the thick beige towel she left folded on the floor just outside the shower door. Chase would step onto it to catch the dripping water and Scooter would lick the tiny drops off her feet, tickling them.

  “Stop it, silly,” she’d say to him, taking his drying technique as an expression of love.

  Once dried off, she threw on a pretty pink blouse and designer jeans and was about to sit down to start her makeup when she heard Gavin’s footsteps on the stairs. There was something about the way he walked that told her it was him.

  She looked at Scooter and said, “It’s funny how you can tell it’s someone you love just by the stomping of their feet.

  Gavin used the spare key Chase had given him to engage the lock.

  “Babe?” he called, as he swung open the door, sending Scooter running in his direction for a hug.

  “Hey buddy, where’s mommy—making herself beautiful?” he asked the happy pup.

  Scooter slammed his backside against Gavin’s leg and then turned on a dime and returned to Chase. There was no doubt whose dog he was. Gavin saw her cell phone charging on the counter and noticed there was a missed call and a voicemail.

  “You got a message, hon,” he yelled toward the sound of the blow dryer hard at work on her thick wet hair. Chase’s beautiful face peeked around the corner from the bathroom and said, “See who it is.”

  Gavin liked the fact that they held no secrets and could pick up each other’s phones without worrying that they’d be upset by something they saw. He unplugged the silver iPhone and looked at the screen and read the name aloud, “It says ‘Jennifer from college.’”

  Chase shut off the blow dryer and moved on to brushing her teeth, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink, wishing she was half as pretty as Gavin always made her feel. The way he looked at her was paralyzing at times. No man had ever given her that sense of adoration before.

  She finished quickly and came out of the tiny bathroom to give him a peck on the lips with her minty fresh breath. “Thank you for making the drive. How’s dad?”

  Gavin took a seat at the kitchen table and said, “Good. Busy. Stubborn. The usual menu, I’d say.”

  Chase’s mind just caught up with what Gavin said about the missed call and asked, “Did you say ‘Jennifer from college’?”

  Gavin, still holding her phone in his hand, raised it up so she could read the screen. “Yep. That’s what it says. You’ve never mentioned her before.”

  Chase looked perplexed now. “No, I haven’t. Gosh, I haven’t heard from Jen in like five years. She’s a writer like me but more a journalist.” Gavin, following along, asked, “What newspaper does she write for?”

  Chase thought a moment, trying to remember, “I think she actually worked for a magazine in Chicago last I knew. Honestly, I’m not sure, it’s been so long since I heard from her.”

  She then pushed play on the voicemail button and put it on speaker so they could listen together.

  “Hey Chase, it’s Jen. First up, congrats on the book. Bestsellers list! Wow. Good for you. Anyway, I’m assuming you are still up in Vermont, but if you are taking a break from writing novels, I need a really big favor. I’m at the New Yorker now, the magazine, and our subscriptions and web hits are a bit down right now. I told my boss we were friends in college, and she asked if I could get you to do a special guest assignment for us. At first I thought no, I’m not even going to ask, I don’t like trading on friendship that way. But then something fell in my lap that I thought you’d be perfect for. Geez, I’m rambling on and this thing is probably gonna cut me off. Call me back when you get this message and I’ll tell you about it. Again, congrats on the book.”

  With that the phone let out a beep and Jennifer from college was gone.

  Gavin looked at Chase, trying to gauge her reaction, but he couldn’t get a clear read on her face, asking instead, “You want to call her back? You know, to take the job?”

  There was an awkward moment of silence, so Gavin stepped deeper into the murky water, now adding, “You haven’t worked in a year, Chase, I mean, written. Might be good for you.”

  Another pause, and then he finished the thought: “To work, I mean.”

  Still thinking about the message and whether or not she was ready to dive back into writing, Chase finally said, “You excited for steak tonight? This place is supposed to be great.” She started toward the door to grab her jacket but realized Gavin wasn’t following after. As much as Gavin adored her, he hated when Chase did this, side-stepping a question she didn’t want to answer, so he just kept staring at her without saying a word.

  She knew that look in those pushy blue eyes, so she said, “Yes, of course I’ll call her back. As far as working or not working … we can talk about it over dinner. Actually, there’s a few things we should talk about.”

  Gavin could tell now was not the time to push her, but asked, “Are you going to call Matthew to come get us and drive us to dinner?”

  Chase avoided eye contact as she picked up the keys to Gavin’s truck off the counter and said, “I thought we could give him the night off and you drive.”

  Gavin knew what that meant. Whatever they needed to talk about might go sideways fast, and if they were about to have their first big fight, Chase would rather not have an audience in the front seat.

  As in most things in life, Gavin was right on the money.

  CHAPTER 5

  Sparks at Spark’s

  Gavin Bennett wasn’t a magician, but growing up in the country he learned a trick that had served him well. Because the Green Mountains of Vermont surrounded the family farm in Manchester, storms and rain could easily sneak up and catch you off guard. Not Gavin, though. Gavin had learned there was a smell the air took on and a way birds behaved long before the first thundercloud peeked over the trees. When light rain was coming, he’d catch the faint scent of morning dew, and the b
irds would be busy gathering food, building nests, singing in the trees. But when a real storm was brewing, the air took on a heavy, syrupy quality, and birds could be seen darting about with great haste, acting like they needed to get home fast.

  As Gavin and Chase slid into his truck and made their way to Spark’s Steakhouse for an early dinner, he could feel those storm clouds gathering even though nothing had been really said since Jennifer from college made her pitch to Chase over voicemail. It felt like a chess match where they both knew what was coming but neither one wanted to make the first move, so the drive was quiet.

  Even though Chase was sitting on a pile of money from the book, Gavin always insisted on paying for dinner, and Chase reluctantly let him. She knew Gavin was old-school, stubborn, and a true gentleman, so she’d find other ways to put money back in his pocket without him noticing: a full tank of gas in his truck when he wasn’t watching or paying the take-out man in advance, so when food arrived and Gavin reached for his wallet the guy would say, “You’re all set.”

  Spark’s restaurant looked like something out of a Scorsese movie, with oak walls, a huge bar with thousands of bottles of liquor on display, and shadows and patches of light everywhere. It felt like a place where ten things might be happening all at once, each table and booth offering absolute privacy for the occupants. You sensed a business deal might be happening to your left while a couple was getting engaged to your right.

  Chase had called a week in advance to secure the reservation, and they were given a table just a few feet from a beautiful piano that sat silent at the moment. Clean white linens adorned the tables, with heavy silverware placed neatly on top, each knife, fork and spoon precisely two inches apart. It reminded Chase of the kind of flatware your grandmother only broke out at Christmas and Easter.

  A handsome waiter in a bright white shirt with a black vest introduced himself as Howard and was about to place a large leather wine list down on the spacious table. Gavin stopped him, “I can save us some time. The lady will have a glass of Merlot, and I’ll take any IPA you have on tap.”