Three
Naomi
>
My heels click on the pavement.
Blisters threaten to have me walk barefoot.
It’s been another long day working on-location. They sectioned off an entire Manhattan street just for this photo shoot, and I have to say I did a stunning job. The theme is “Midnight in Manhattan.”
I swathed the model in black lace, dark blues, and tons of fucking diamonds. She looked ethereal, set against the backdrop of the gritty street—which was kind of the point: midnight in the city.
It’s late as I walk the last few blocks home. I like to walk in the city when it’s dark and the tourists and the people have faded a bit into the background.
I’m a creative, after all. I find inspiration after hours when normal people sleep. I like to do things the abnormal way—or at least a little differently. You’d never find me at a nine-to-five job.
And that’s why I’m walking home to The Bradford, anxious for my bed and a long, hot bath.
Every night, I take a sea salt bath, and I listen to Reiki music and just try to calm down after a day of being surrounded by swarms of people.
NYC is no joke. You gotta be tough to live here. You gotta have a kind of armor on at all times that says, Don’t make eye contact with me. Don’t even fucking look at me. It’s the attitude on the streets, and I am nothing if not full of attitude.
But in my downtime, it’s a different story. When I’m alone, I can relax and act not so tough and just be myself.
I walk my tired body home but appreciate the bright lights all the same.
I may rag on it, but NYC is my home, and it always will be. I’m happy here, happier than anywhere else in the world.
And just as I start to lower my guard because The Bradford is in full view, that’s when it happens…a limousine pulls up, and the window rolls down, and it’s him.
My heart beats a little faster in my chest. My breathing becomes unstable.
He says through the window, “Hey, don’t I know you?”
I look into his deep hazel eyes and nearly melt.
“Um, no, I don’t think so.”
“Sure, I do. We’re neighbors. You live in The Bradford, right?”
“Um, yeah,” I say, trying to pretend with all my might that I haven’t spent countless nights trying to see if he’s home.
“Well, listen, can you do me a favor?”
“Maybe,” I say walking to his limousine.
I know he’s a not a monster. I’ve seen him many times. He looks safe enough.
“I have this business function to attend, and my date canceled. Think you could come with?”
He can’t be serious.
“Are you serious?”
“Of course I am. My name’s Paul, and I live in that building right over there,” he points to the place across from mine. “Come with me?”
I’m not gonna deny this smoldering man. And I am dressed for any occasion in my black Valentino dress. But first thing’s first.