Read Online New York for Beginners by Susann Remke - Free Book Online

knew from the doorman that McNeighbor would be staying there until the end of November, although she herself had neither seen nor heard anything from him since their last encounter. She’d written “Hey, stranger, I’d like to see you again sometime!” She added her cell phone number below. As soon as the slip of paper was irretrievable for even the thinnest of fingers, Zoe was overcome by the certainty that she was going to regret having left the note.
    Now, in Brooklyn, Zoe examined her reflection in an old full-length mirror with a peeling gold frame that the previous renter had been kind enough to leave for her. She decided she was ready for the big day. She wore a lemon-yellow Theory sheath dress with elegant, nude Michael Kors strappy sandals. She was ready to meet the CEO. Franziska von Schoenhoff had called in to say that she would be at the New York office to introduce new personnel. She wanted to introduce Zoe, the new Digital Queen, and the new head of the New York office. Zoe had heard through the office grapevine that he was an American, a friend of Franziska’s long-lost son. Justus Theo von Schoenhoff was actually supposed to take over Mama’s business someday, but during winter break of his final year of university, he had jetted off to Sravasti, India, for a course in Vipassana meditation instead of meeting his parents in St. Barts and had never come back.
    Zoe walked down the stairs of her new home. The red sandstone townhouse was on President Street in a pretty part of Brooklyn called Carroll Gardens. The office messenger at Schoenhoff, Michelangelo, had grown up in the area and assured Zoe that it was very safe. “Unless of course you want to open a ristorante ,” he’d said. Then she’d have to pay protection money. So Zoe Schuhmacher rented herself an apartment in the ancestral territory of the New York Cosa Nostra.
    She walked along President Street, which was lined with big, old trees, and tried to remember where the subway station was. Apparently a new bakery/ice-cream shop with the unfortunate name of Momofuku Milk Bar had just opened right next to the station, as her new landlady had proudly announced at least three times. They had flavors of soft-serve ice cream that were so unique they were copyrighted. One such flavor was Cereal Milk, which tasted like the milk at the bottom of a bowl of Frosted Flakes, after the sugar had soaked into it. Zoe found the idea extremely clever. For the previous thirty-four years of her life she’d been convinced that one didn’t eat Frosted Flakes for the flakes, but for the milk that was left at the bottom of the bowl.
    Zoe found 2nd Place, Momofuku Milk Bar, and then the subway station. The ice cream would have to wait until after work—as a reward for what she was certain would be a spectacular day.

    The conference room had a view of the East River, and it was very full. Only senior editors were allowed to sit at the big table; interns and assistants sat on the windowsills or leaned against the walls. Zoe chose a chair at the back, on the left-hand side of the table. She was seated as far as possible from the enemy, just like the old days in Latin class. Both coffee and mineral water in funny tropical-print bottles that had actually been flown in from Fiji were available. And there were blueberry muffins. Zoe grabbed one immediately—after all, there clearly weren’t enough for everyone. She had just taken an extra-large bite when the CEO of Schoenhoff entered the room. She was sixty-four, was wearing one of those tent-like A-line Marni dresses that were so popular this season, and had styled her iron-gray hair into an artistic chignon. In the seventies, she had simultaneously built up a fashion-magazine empire and mail-order company. Twenty-five million copies of the legendary Schoenhoff catalogue, as thick as a telephone book, were released twice a year. Back then, it was eerily clever that the magazine Women’s Beauty Weekly had cheerfully