Chapter 8 Owen
OWEN
Sixteen times. I circled the block sixteen times before finally finding a parking space.
And even then, there was some sign about alternate side of the street parking and seven a.m. On alternate Thursdays or something like that.
I’m not even sure. I’m so damn tired after the drive and the parking ordeal all I can do is cross my fingers the truck won’t have a ticket in the morning.
Or a boot. Or be on its way to an impound lot.
However they do these things here in good ol’ NYC.
Man, it reminds me of exactly why I moved away from Boston as soon as I could (other than avoiding my dad’s repeated efforts to ship me off to law school and draft me into the family firm, of course.)
Thank God I’m at least here now. I’m late, too. Zoe planned to meet me to let me in and give me the key, but when I check my phone, I discover a text from her.
Zoe
“Sorry, babe. I need my beauty sleep. Left the key with the neighbor.”
I sigh. Just as well, I doubt I’d be great company right now.
I find George’s building, which has a buzz-in system Zoe failed to mention. I’m puzzling over the button panel, trying to guess which neighbor is expecting me, when a man and a woman exit together and, mercifully, let me in.
Going out at eleven p.m. That, I suppose, is the city that never sleeps for you. Sleep, however, is just about all I can think about.
I make it upstairs okay, but freeze when I realize George has three neighbors on this floor. Goddamn Zoe.
I start cackling to myself, right there in the hallway.
A door pops open, and a man in his seventies in a sweater vest leans out. “Oh, there you are! You must be George’s friend.”
“Uh, yeah, right. I’m Owen.” I offer my hand.
“Aren’t you sweet? I’m Marty. Glad to see you got here in one piece. Quite a schlep, coming all the way from Vermont. Here, let me show you how to unlock the door.”
I’m about to protest that I do know how keys work when Marty pulls out a ring with three different keys on it and goes through an elaborate sequence of turning one left and then another three-quarters to the right and so on, explaining as he goes, until the door opens.
“There you go.” He drops the keys into my open hand as I gape at him. “Night now.”
He disappears into his apartment just as I manage to call after him, “Thank you! Nice to meet you!”
Inside, I flick on the lights, then turn to see that the lock system looks even more elaborate from the inside. After a moment of trying to figure it out, I draw the chain lock and leave it at that.
I pull out my phone and text Zoe.
I’m here. Got in okay.
She answers a moment later.
Yay!!!
I smile to myself, then drop my bags and lean against the door.
Night, night.
I slip the phone back into my pocket and scan my surroundings.
Nice place. Living room, dining room, looks like a kitchen hidden behind a dividing wall off to the right.
I vaguely contemplate poking around for something to eat, then decide I’m too tired to care.
I grab my bags and shuffle down the hall straight in front of me, which rewards me with the bedroom, and what I’m sure will prove to be an amazing view in the morning.
After a quick stop in the en suite to take a leak and drink straight out of the tap, I strip down to my t-shirt and boxers and slip between what feel like very expensive sheets.
My body relaxes for the first time since I hit the metro area traffic, and I switch off the bedside lamp, staring up into the darkness.
Well, semi-darkness. Man, there is a lot of light coming in from the street.
I should probably get up and close the blinds, but I just don’t have the energy.
This is weird. I’m lying in another man’s bed…
and the other man isn’t there. Hell, the other man is lying in my bed.
And we don’t know each other. And the other man is a famous author.
I’m lying in a famous, strange man’s bed on my own.
Maybe it’ll feel less weird in the morning. I close my eyes and roll onto my side.
On the street, a siren sounds, followed by someone yelling in a language I don’t recognize. Followed by someone yelling in some language I do recognize but would not repeat in polite company. Followed by another siren.
I am, I think, as I drift off to sleep, not in Kansas anymore.