Chapter 2
Tyler
Arthur took a drag of his cigarette.
“You should’ve turned down that job, kid. That was a mistake, showing up there. That’s not what we do.”
I hung my head, pulling a Marlboro Red out of his soft pack and rolling it between my still-shaking fingers. I could barely
feel its seam or the rough, blunt edge of its filter. Arthur raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I hadn’t smoked in three
years.
“I didn’t know it was her,” I said. “I wouldn’t have gone. I wouldn’t have said yes.”
“How could you not know? Did this agent lady really not give you her name?”
I flicked his lighter a couple of times but left the cigarette unlit. We were sitting on the stoop of a church tucked off
Lexington, unpacking every detail of my very bad day. Bad enough, apparently, that we were skipping Chinese food a few blocks
over with Pedro, Cal, and whoever else felt like joining us that particular Friday night. My life, you’ll see, was kind of
unusual for a twenty-seven-year-old.
“No, she did, but it was just her email address. I barely looked at it. It said Katie May, and . . .”
“May?”
“I don’t know, man. It’s her middle name. I didn’t put any of it together. I just got this email from the agent out of nowhere, and then we had a quick call, and that was that. The whole thing was a blur. I just signed a contract and got on the train.”
Arthur leaned against the wrought iron and smirked.
“What?” I said.
“You’re lucky you’re so pretty, McNally. Because you sure are dumb as rocks.”
“Fuck you! You can’t use email either! You’re, like, a hundred years old! You tried to fax me once!”
Arthur, chuckling, reached for his cane and slowly rose to his feet. Smoke lingered around him in lazy puffs trapped by the
humid summer sky. I was still sitting there, unlit cigarette twisted between my fingers, as he began to walk away. When he
turned back to me, his smile was gone.
“Leave that girl alone, all right?”
I gulped. The supercut of my afternoon, playing back on repeat. Those same three frames, burned into my brain. Katie, frozen.
Katie, frowning. Katie, flying out the café’s door. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists, and tried to make the film stop.
“I need the job,” I said. “I need the money. And this agent, she could change my life. She’s not like my old one—Selma’s legitimately
famous. She could finally sell my book. And Katie, she doesn’t understand. She thinks I’m a terrible person. She thinks—”
“I know it’s your dream, but you’ve got to find another way. It’s not worth it.”
“But I . . .”
Arthur took a long, last puff and shuffled into the New York night. A fluorescent Walgreens, his floodlight. I put my head
back in my hands.
“Any other way, Tyler. Any other way, and any other girl.”