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Authors: Pamela Redmond Satran
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with Desi for Saturday, and scheming how I could keep one date without breaking the other.
five
S o all this stuff was just free?” Desi said, as we knocked on another door in her tenement building.
“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “They were going to throw it out.”
“Who is it?” came a suspicious voice from behind the door.
“Mrs. Alvarez, it’s me, Desi, from five. I have some free stuff for you.”
“What is it?” Mrs. Alvarez said.
“It’s food, Mrs. A. And treats. No tricks, I promise.”
The door cracked open and a thin woman, a baby on her hip and a toddler clinging to her leg, peered out.
“My friend here got this food for free and we’re giving it out to people in the building.”
“Is it spoiled?”
“No, Mrs. A, it’s totally good. Look, we got cakes, we got breads, milk, all these vegetables.”
“I’ll take some milk.”
“Okay, take something else too. Take this cake. Some muffins.”
“I don’t need too much.”
“Just take it.”
When we moved on down the hall, Desi grinned at me and said, “I feel like Robin Freaking Hoodette.”
I laughed. “It feels great to do something that actually helps somebody after how I spent my day.”
I couldn’t deny it: I loved luxurious clothes and expensive shoes and high fashion for its own sake. But I also knew how many essential things that much money could buy for people who had nothing.
“Hey,” said Desi. “The world needs beauty too.”
She knocked on the next door and handed an elderly neighbor a wedge of Brie, a bag of fruit, and several pieces of chocolate.
“You’d never believe it,” I told her, “but it was that French photographer who took my test shots who suggested I take all this food and everything.”
“He’s got a thing for you,” Desi said, heading up the stairs to her own apartment. “I know it.”
“Noooooo,” I said, but feeling myself blush. “Besides, it doesn’t matter, because I’m not interested in him or anybody else. I love Tom.”
“Tom’s at the freaking North Pole. And you’re here at the center of the universe.”
“That doesn’t change the way I feel about him,” I said, taking the few remaining goodies from her so she could unlock her door. “Which reminds me: Want to go out to dinner Saturday after we hang out?”
“Sure,” said Desi. “Where should we go?”
“Alex is taking us somewhere great.”
“Alex is taking us out to dinner?”
“He invited me,” I admitted, “but I need you to come along with us. So he doesn’t get the wrong idea.”
The door to Desi’s apartment was open now, the usual family party in full swing inside. “I’m your friend,” Desi said, “not your security guard.”
“Please, Desi.”
“Are you sure he isn’t gay? I thought all guys in the fashion business were gay.”
I’d never met a gay man, not that I knew of anyway. But if Alex Pradels was gay, why did I get such a funny feeling when I was with him?
“Come on, Desi. What are best friends for?”
She brightened. “I’m your best friend?”
“Of course!”
“In that case,” she said, “I’ll be there. Want to come in and kick it for a while?”
“Not tonight,” I told her. “I’ve got to go home and crash.”
I was fast asleep, dreaming that I was giving pies away to people on a ship, when I felt someone shaking my shoulder, hard. Thinking it was my mom waking me up for school, anticipating her soft voice and a gentle kiss on the cheek, I mumbled and rolled over.
“Wake up, new girl,” said an accented voice. “I need you to come out with me.”
“Huh?” I said sleepily, blinking up at a face that I slowly recognized as Tatiana’s.
It was the first time I’d seen her since Raquel had introduced us, and I was having trouble piecing together what was going on, even after she switched on the bedroom lamp. She was dressed in the tiniest of denim work shirts—OshKosh B’Gosh children’s wear, perhaps—with the sleeves hacked off,
five
S o all this stuff was just free?” Desi said, as we knocked on another door in her tenement building.
“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “They were going to throw it out.”
“Who is it?” came a suspicious voice from behind the door.
“Mrs. Alvarez, it’s me, Desi, from five. I have some free stuff for you.”
“What is it?” Mrs. Alvarez said.
“It’s food, Mrs. A. And treats. No tricks, I promise.”
The door cracked open and a thin woman, a baby on her hip and a toddler clinging to her leg, peered out.
“My friend here got this food for free and we’re giving it out to people in the building.”
“Is it spoiled?”
“No, Mrs. A, it’s totally good. Look, we got cakes, we got breads, milk, all these vegetables.”
“I’ll take some milk.”
“Okay, take something else too. Take this cake. Some muffins.”
“I don’t need too much.”
“Just take it.”
When we moved on down the hall, Desi grinned at me and said, “I feel like Robin Freaking Hoodette.”
I laughed. “It feels great to do something that actually helps somebody after how I spent my day.”
I couldn’t deny it: I loved luxurious clothes and expensive shoes and high fashion for its own sake. But I also knew how many essential things that much money could buy for people who had nothing.
“Hey,” said Desi. “The world needs beauty too.”
She knocked on the next door and handed an elderly neighbor a wedge of Brie, a bag of fruit, and several pieces of chocolate.
“You’d never believe it,” I told her, “but it was that French photographer who took my test shots who suggested I take all this food and everything.”
“He’s got a thing for you,” Desi said, heading up the stairs to her own apartment. “I know it.”
“Noooooo,” I said, but feeling myself blush. “Besides, it doesn’t matter, because I’m not interested in him or anybody else. I love Tom.”
“Tom’s at the freaking North Pole. And you’re here at the center of the universe.”
“That doesn’t change the way I feel about him,” I said, taking the few remaining goodies from her so she could unlock her door. “Which reminds me: Want to go out to dinner Saturday after we hang out?”
“Sure,” said Desi. “Where should we go?”
“Alex is taking us somewhere great.”
“Alex is taking us out to dinner?”
“He invited me,” I admitted, “but I need you to come along with us. So he doesn’t get the wrong idea.”
The door to Desi’s apartment was open now, the usual family party in full swing inside. “I’m your friend,” Desi said, “not your security guard.”
“Please, Desi.”
“Are you sure he isn’t gay? I thought all guys in the fashion business were gay.”
I’d never met a gay man, not that I knew of anyway. But if Alex Pradels was gay, why did I get such a funny feeling when I was with him?
“Come on, Desi. What are best friends for?”
She brightened. “I’m your best friend?”
“Of course!”
“In that case,” she said, “I’ll be there. Want to come in and kick it for a while?”
“Not tonight,” I told her. “I’ve got to go home and crash.”
I was fast asleep, dreaming that I was giving pies away to people on a ship, when I felt someone shaking my shoulder, hard. Thinking it was my mom waking me up for school, anticipating her soft voice and a gentle kiss on the cheek, I mumbled and rolled over.
“Wake up, new girl,” said an accented voice. “I need you to come out with me.”
“Huh?” I said sleepily, blinking up at a face that I slowly recognized as Tatiana’s.
It was the first time I’d seen her since Raquel had introduced us, and I was having trouble piecing together what was going on, even after she switched on the bedroom lamp. She was dressed in the tiniest of denim work shirts—OshKosh B’Gosh children’s wear, perhaps—with the sleeves hacked off,
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