can. Esther if you go to that bar, you won't be deceiving John, you'll be helping him. Everything that comes out of his mouth will be predicated on his own experiences. You need to do this, Est, for his own well being. Just like John said himself, he needs a kickstart. He needs meaning. He didn't question Jennifer because her actions were within the realm of possibility. All we'll be doing, all you'll be doing, is adding to his experiences, making more things possible. Broadening his horizons. I understand your reservations, but Marlene Van Tripp is the third editor concerned there wouldn't be enough drama to make it worth the money I have in mind. I had to prove them wrong. We could be looking at a high six or possibly seven figures if we help him realize that potential.”
“I don't know Nico…what if he catches on?”
“He won't,” Nico said, his syrupy voice calming Esther's frazzled nerves. She wanted to walk out of the office but was stuck in place, rooted in a carpet of molasses. “Here.” Nico took a glossy leather wallet from the back of his trousers and peeled off a hundred-dollar bill. He reached across the desk and lay it in front of her. “Take this. Have a good time. Buy a few drinks. In a few days we'll see where we stand.”
Esther stared at Nico for what seemed like an eternity. Then she turned around and walked out of the office, leaving Benjamin Franklin staring at the ceiling.
A sheet of rain greeted her like a slap to the face. Esther frowned, picturing her umbrella leaning in the doorway back home. She gauged the street and decided her heels would hold up.
She negotiated the slick pavement, nearly tripping over an upturned garbage can before finding sanctuary in the subway station. She wrung water out of her sopping hair and took a small makeup mirror out of her purse. Mascara was streaking dark tears down her cheeks and her hair looked like a wet rat's fur. She sighed and snapped it shut.
The 4 train was suffocating, barely a millimeter between Esther and the gigantic Hispanic man in a smoke-scented overcoat and the teenager with a backwards Mets hat whose MP3 player was loud enough to scare cattle. The car smelled like a pet shop. Esther kept her head down and breathed through her mouth as they hurtled along. When the train screeched into the 96th street station, she elbowed her way through the mass of people to the exit. Pulling her jacket over her head, she crept up the muck-caked stairs back into the rain.
She fumbled for her keys as she approached the building, cursing as her handbag slipped and dropped into a puddle. Exasperated, she nearly slipped kneeling to pick it up. The elevator took five minutes to arrive and what seemed like years to climb to the 10th floor. She trudged down the hallway, her hands shaking. Her body felt like it had just been swept up in a trash compactor. Esther took her shoes off in front of the door and lay them next to the umbrella stand. One heel had come loose. Cursing, she kicked it against the wall.
The apartment was empty. Courtney's closet door was open. The faint smell of perfume and deodorant hung in the air.
Neither rain, sleet, or snow will stop her , Esther thought. She peeled off her soggy garments, threw them in the laundry basket and slipped into a bathrobe. Taking a chilly Corona from the fridge, Esther plopped onto the couch and listened to the rain patter against the window like soft drumbeats and thought this is probably the exact scenario where most people get depressed .
Here she was, twenty-six years old, drinking at home by herself in the middle of a torrential downpour while her roommate was out on a date with a boy who was likely treating her like royalty. She could picture him holding the umbrella above her head, keeping her warm with his jacket. Asking if she was alright. Asking if there was anything he could do to make her happier.
Esther felt a sticky film in her mouth, residue from the conversation with Nico. Yet despite her
“I don't know Nico…what if he catches on?”
“He won't,” Nico said, his syrupy voice calming Esther's frazzled nerves. She wanted to walk out of the office but was stuck in place, rooted in a carpet of molasses. “Here.” Nico took a glossy leather wallet from the back of his trousers and peeled off a hundred-dollar bill. He reached across the desk and lay it in front of her. “Take this. Have a good time. Buy a few drinks. In a few days we'll see where we stand.”
Esther stared at Nico for what seemed like an eternity. Then she turned around and walked out of the office, leaving Benjamin Franklin staring at the ceiling.
A sheet of rain greeted her like a slap to the face. Esther frowned, picturing her umbrella leaning in the doorway back home. She gauged the street and decided her heels would hold up.
She negotiated the slick pavement, nearly tripping over an upturned garbage can before finding sanctuary in the subway station. She wrung water out of her sopping hair and took a small makeup mirror out of her purse. Mascara was streaking dark tears down her cheeks and her hair looked like a wet rat's fur. She sighed and snapped it shut.
The 4 train was suffocating, barely a millimeter between Esther and the gigantic Hispanic man in a smoke-scented overcoat and the teenager with a backwards Mets hat whose MP3 player was loud enough to scare cattle. The car smelled like a pet shop. Esther kept her head down and breathed through her mouth as they hurtled along. When the train screeched into the 96th street station, she elbowed her way through the mass of people to the exit. Pulling her jacket over her head, she crept up the muck-caked stairs back into the rain.
She fumbled for her keys as she approached the building, cursing as her handbag slipped and dropped into a puddle. Exasperated, she nearly slipped kneeling to pick it up. The elevator took five minutes to arrive and what seemed like years to climb to the 10th floor. She trudged down the hallway, her hands shaking. Her body felt like it had just been swept up in a trash compactor. Esther took her shoes off in front of the door and lay them next to the umbrella stand. One heel had come loose. Cursing, she kicked it against the wall.
The apartment was empty. Courtney's closet door was open. The faint smell of perfume and deodorant hung in the air.
Neither rain, sleet, or snow will stop her , Esther thought. She peeled off her soggy garments, threw them in the laundry basket and slipped into a bathrobe. Taking a chilly Corona from the fridge, Esther plopped onto the couch and listened to the rain patter against the window like soft drumbeats and thought this is probably the exact scenario where most people get depressed .
Here she was, twenty-six years old, drinking at home by herself in the middle of a torrential downpour while her roommate was out on a date with a boy who was likely treating her like royalty. She could picture him holding the umbrella above her head, keeping her warm with his jacket. Asking if she was alright. Asking if there was anything he could do to make her happier.
Esther felt a sticky film in her mouth, residue from the conversation with Nico. Yet despite her
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