Chapter 5
July 14, 2023
+ (212) 555-3732: Hey roomie, Corey here. So excited for you to move in. Bad news though, I’m on a Greyhound (eww) to Tkaronto. Left ur key with clerk @ laundromat downstairs. Be home after work Mon. Cx
The morning sun casts a peaceful glow over the room and I kick my feet against the soft hotel sheets. Today is my first official day as a New York resident. Well—I glance around the room that’s strewn with my stuff—once I’ve packed and left the hotel.
I’m determined not to waste money on a taxi, so after I’ve packed and checked out, I wrestle my bags onto the subway Times Square and up to 86th Street station. I manage to find the closest exit to where I want to be and am trying to drag my suitcase up the stairs to the street, when a man comes up behind me and lifts the back of the case. ‘I’ll help,’ he says, and I give him a grateful smile.
New Yorkers have a reputation for being rude and impatient, but so far I reckon people are much more polite than back home. The nice man waves away my thanks when we reach the street and he heads off in the opposite direction, leaving me to wheel my cases the three and a bit blocks to my new apartment.
I drag my giant suitcase inside the laundromat where Corey left my keys.
‘Hi,’ I say to the counter clerk. ‘I’m Brynn. My housemate was gonna leave the keys to our apartment here for me.’
‘You who?’ he says in a thick Russian accent.
‘Brynn. Brynn Wallace. I’m moving into apartment 4A—upstairs? My roommate is Corey.’
‘Where you from?’ he asks.
‘Australia,’ I say.
He looks me up and down, his heavy eyebrows almost knitting together as he frowns. ‘They have brown girls there?’
My insides crawl but I don’t know how to answer, so I just shrug and wait until he drops the keys onto the counter.
My new apartment building is narrow, squeezed in between others and connected from the top by a series of external metal stairs and fire escape landings. I count four floors and see my own window and I imagine what it will be like when I find a desk. I’ll be able to sit here and apply for jobs, maybe do some writing, and Zoom with my friends back home. All very normal things, but things that I’ll be doing in my own room, in my apartment in New York. I look out the window and image the street outside covered in snow. Bugger the white sandy bloody beaches, I’m in New York City.
I sneeze, and the moment passes.
My room is exactly the way I remember it: like the inside of a very pink gumball, with a bare bed in the middle. I dump my bags on the floor and go for another wander through the apartment. This is my new home , I think as I walk into the small kitchen and check out the cupboards. I’m going to hang out here, I think, examining the stack of books on the coffee table. This is my house, in New York!
Back in my room, I open my case and pull out my soft, worn floral sheets. They smell of sweet detergent and home. I was going to buy sheets and towels and things here, but Nan and Aunty Barb had given me the face that told me it would be a waste of money. ‘Just take a towel and set of sheets for a start,’ Aunty had said and Nan had told me not to bugger around with travel pillows so I squeezed one of my bed ones into my suitcase.
The bed is on castors and it’s easy to slide around the room so, sneezing the entire time, I push it so the head is against the magenta feature wall; that way the wall’s not the last thing I see at night and the first thing in the morning.
I unpack as best I can, hanging dresses and shirts on the few wire coat hangers the old housemate has left behind. Once I’m done, I’m sweaty and exhausted, even with the ancient air conditioner chugging away in the living room. I take a long, cold shower and settle onto the couch, open my laptop, and start job hunting.
I have a terrible first night. The castors on the bed that seemed so convenient earlier prove more inconvenient when I can feel the bed slowly rolling towards the middle of the room every time I move. The floorboards that had seemed charming and inviting when I first came round are pretty much the only thing separating the apartments above and below me, and I can hear every footstep the neighbours take. The steps I hear upstairs seem fond of chasing what sounds like a herd of large elephants around the room while wearing high heels. Oh, and the sirens that they always play on TV shows set in NYC? Well, they might seem atmospheric when they’re on the telly, but in real life they’re near constant, the sound echoing around my empty room until my head is throbbing.
At some point around three o’clock I realise all the sneezing isn’t just allergies, and the wheezing isn’t my asthma; I’ve got a full-blown cold. I want an icy glass of Fanta and a packet of Sudafed. Mum used to rub Vicks VapoRub on my back at the first sign of any cold and the memory makes me so sad.
I must fall asleep though because when I wake again, sunlight is streaming in through the curtainless window, and with the bedroom door closed the room feels like a sauna. My phone is ringing—it’s Corey.
‘Hi,’ I say, and my voice comes out as a dry rasp.
‘Brynn? What’s wrong?’ The kindness in her voice is like a balm—we barely know each other yet but there’s something about her that feels just like talking to Bridie or Dotty. ‘I was calling to make sure you’re settling in okay. I can get the bus and be home later tonight if you need me?’
‘Don’t come home. I’ve just got a cold,’ I say, sniffling.
‘Oh, oh sweetie, that’s no good.’
‘It happens, I guess. I’ll sleep it off. Do you mind if I camp out on the couch—it’s hot in my room. Also, where’s the closest drugstore? I need medicine. And food.’
There’s a shuffling sound and some background noise.
‘Firstly, you’re at our house, the pantry is yours. Eat whatever you want and we’ll sort out what we’re going to do about groceries after I get home. But you’re in NYC, sweetie. Just get on Instacart and do a Duane Reade order. You’ll want Dayquil, so you can function long enough to sort out the job stuff, then knock yourself out on some Nyquil. And camp out wherever you like. I usually sleep with the bedroom door open in the summer so I catch some of the AC; you can do that too.’
The pep talk helps and I follow Corey’s instructions and by the time I’m done making breakfast, my pharmacy order arrives so I take the Dayquil and build myself a nest on the couch.
That night, Corey breezes into the apartment and I fight the urge to run into my room and hide. I’ve been on the couch trawling job sites and bingeing Younger . Corey looks glamorous in a pink floral wrap dress and strappy shoes. Her hair is pulled back in a loose top knot, with soft tendrils framing her face. I look like someone recovering from a cold, but she does not look like she’s just gotten off a Greyhound bus.
‘Urgh, it’s still a thousand degrees out there,’ she says, disappearing into her room. I hear the sound of her suitcase hitting the floor, and then a second later her shoes. When she emerges a few minutes later, she’s changed into a pair of cotton shorts and a white singlet. I’m relieved to discover she owns some casual clothes, and not surprised that she still looks chic in them.
‘Hi roomie!’ she says, flopping down on the couch next to me.
‘How was Toronto?’
‘Oh fine, you know how it goes. Help Mom with this, drive an Elder to the store, drive another one to a doctor’s appointment, sort out Aunty’s cellphone bill, argue with a nephew’s school for suspending him ... the usual. Plus, I had non-stop work calls while I was there. They can’t function without me for a day. But how are you feeling?’
‘Better,’ I reply. ‘But I’ve just spent the day alternating between napping and looking for work and there doesn’t seem to be much advertised in my field.’
‘It’s always a bit hard here in the summer ’cause all the college kids are in town for internships and stuff. Wait until they go back to school, and you’ll be able to get something for sure. And besides, you’re the sort of girl who will have a magic New York moment and everything will come together for you. Like me.’
I frown. ‘Magic New York moment?’
She swivels to face me, a huge smile on her face. ‘Oh yeah, this city is magic, don’t you know? I mean, when I first got here, I was living in a shitty apartment, barely getting by on tips—I worked at the Midnight, you know, the diner down on Second?
‘I worked there during the day and at a bar—the Cat’s Meow—on the Upper West Side at night and I was scraping by, thinking I’d have to crawl back to Canada before I’d even been here for a month. And then one day I went for a walk in the park and sat on a bench to drink a coffee and read my book because it was all I could afford to do. This woman sits down next to me and she’s got this, like, perfectly dressed toddler. The kid runs off to play and the woman alternates between her iPhone and her kid for a while. But then she looks over and sees the book I’m reading and says, “Oh hey, you like his work?” and I said, “Yeah,” ’cause everyone in the city liked him at the time. We talked for, like, an hour, about him and his work and what everyone was saying, but then her kid started screaming so she got up to go. But she said, “I’ve enjoyed speaking with you, Corey,” and handed me her card. “I’m a literary agent. And I represent the writer and I know his publicity firm is looking for a good junior publicist. You should send me your CV and I’ll pass it on.”’
I shift around on the couch so I’m facing her. ‘No way.’
She nods. ‘Yep. A week later, I’m a junior publicist and, like, the pay’s not great, of course, but I’m up for a promotion soon.
‘The point is, New York is all about those moments with strangers, and you never know which one is going to be the one with the key to your destiny in their hands.’
‘That,’ I say, ‘is a good story. I can’t believe it’s true.’
‘It is,’ she says. ‘So, after mentioning the Cat’s Meow, I’m thinking we should get our butts off Jenny and go have some cocktails. Not only do we need to celebrate our first official night as roomies, but we need to get you out there so your New York moment can hurry up and happen.’
‘Um, “Jenny?” Who is Jenny?’
She pats the couch. ‘This is Jenny.’
‘Why does the couch have a name?’
‘Because I name everything. Now, come on, Jenny needs a rest, and we need to get ready.’
We go across the park to the Cat’s Meow, a chic prohibition-themed space with lots of beautiful dark cherry-coloured wood furniture, art deco fixtures, and black and white photos. The staff are dressed in 1920s-style outfits: a mix of flapper dresses and headbands, pinstripes and suspenders. The space is pretty full for a Monday night—I guess this really is the city that never sleeps.
On a stage at the back of the room, a burlesque dancer teases the crowd from behind enormous pink ostrich feather fans. With every suggestion of what hides beneath them, the audience whoops as they fling dollar bills. I have trouble taking my eyes away from her as Corey drags me through the packed bar, and there’s a moment where I swear the dancer and I make eye contact and something unfamiliar but electric with excitement passes through me.
Corey seems to know everyone—bartenders, waitresses, customers all greet her with hugs and kisses. I hang back. I’m embarrassed that I will never, in a million years, look as chic as Corey does in her short black dress and towering Louboutins. I’ve packed one pair of heels from Spendless Shoes, and they’re pointy pleather ones more suitable for days in an office than a summer night out in a trendy bar. The dress situation is even more dire. In the end, I settle for a black and white striped t-shirt dress with a silver belt that match the heels. The whole outfit is still more casual than I would have liked, so I go hard with the makeup, figuring a smoky eye will add at least a few more dress-up points to a score that no one but me is keeping track of.
The burlesque dancer finishes her act—dropping her fans to reveal a big, beautiful fat body wearing nothing but a tiny pink G-string and matching sparkly nipple tassels. She shakes her boobs to make the tassels spin, and I find that can’t look away from her. A shiver of anticipation shoots down my spine as she grins, shaking her body and inviting everyone in the bar to look. We make eye contact for the second time and it feels as though my blood fizzes. The audience hollers, clearly loving her as much as she seems to love performing. She is undeniably sexy as she picks up her fans and turns away, giving a cheeky little shake of her wobbly bottom as she goes.
‘Brynn, come here, I want you to meet Hilde,’ Corey says, pulling me over to the bar where a very pale blonde girl is mixing two complicated-looking cocktails. ‘Hil, this is Brynn.’
‘Ahhh, so you’re the latest foreigner to move into the bubblegum room,’ the girl says in an accent that I think might be Dutch. ‘Hey, I’m Hilde, I used to live in your room.’
‘Oh my god, you’re Corey’s old housemate! Nice to meet you,’ I say, and she pauses in her cocktail making to offer a handshake. ‘Did you paint it that colour?’
She laughs. ‘Fuck no, that was at least two roommates ago, right, Cor?’ she says, glancing at Corey for confirmation.
‘Yes, it was British Sara,’ she says as she settles at a barstool. ‘She was off her face on acid at the time, I think.’
‘Wow, that’s neat painting for an acid trip,’ I say, taking a seat. Both girls laugh.
‘I like this one,’ Hilde says, collecting two martini glasses and some bottles. The place is hot and busy with people stacked up at the bar four deep, but Hilde’s focus is on us and the drinks she’s making.
‘So why didn’t you paint over it?’ I ask, raising my voice to be heard over the crowd and the music.
‘Because she was never home,’ Corey says, leaning across the bar and pulling a maraschino cherry out of a container. ‘Between her job here, the one at doggy daycare and her boyfriend, I never saw her.’ Corey’s face twists slightly at the word boyfriend but Hilde appears to ignore this.
‘Yes, and in the end, Corey convinced me to stop paying rent for a house I wasn’t living in.’
Hilde slides a martini glass across the bar. ‘On the house,’ she says smiling. ‘Welcome to New York, Brynn.’
I take a sip and it’s so strong it makes me cough.
‘Now, do you need a job?’ Hilde asks.
‘Yes, she does,’ Corey answers for me. ‘Here or daycare?’
‘Both. Either. But I know for a fact that daycare has a bunch of jobs going.’
‘Wait, at a doggy daycare?’ I say, smiling to myself. I kind of like the idea of doing a wildly un-Brynn kind of job while I’m looking for something more suitable.
‘Yup, write me a letter and send me your CV. I’ll make sure the boss gets it. It doesn’t pay great and Doug, the owner, is kind of a douche, but you can pick up a bunch of shifts and there are some cool people working there.’
‘Plus doggies,’ Corey practically squeals. ‘I totally would have moonlighted as a doggy daycare girl instead of waiting tables at the diner if that had been an option when I first got here.’
I take another sip of my drink and it doesn’t quite burn as much this time. ‘I’ll email tomorrow,’ I say and then Corey pulls me out onto the dancefloor.