Manhattan Is My Beat (Rune 1)

"Who?"

"Your friend last night. With the orange hair. The one who ran off with your girlfriend?"

"Whoa, not my girlfriend. She's not even close to bi. I made a pass at her once--"

"You?" Rune asked sarcastically.

"I met her last week at a party. We give good image."

"You--?"

He explained. "We look good together, being chic and making entrances. That's it. Not a meaningful relationship. I don't even know her name."

"Hard to introduce her to your parents in that case."

"That's not in the offing." He carried the coffee to her, set it on the floor next to the futon.

"What about the Sorbonne?" Rune asked.

"Pas de Sorbonne."

"I thought so."

"But I've been to France."

"Jean-Pierre" would be a good name for him too. Or "Francois." Yeah, he definitely looked like a "Francois."

"Richard" had to go.

Rune glanced out the window, dug under a futon, and found some sunglasses. She put them on.

"Feeling like a celebrity?" Richard asked, nodding at the fake Ray-Bans.

Suddenly the sun came over the building to the east and the entire room filled with intense raw sunlight.

"Ouch," he said, blinded.

"I maybe'll get curtains. But I can't afford them and my roommate won't help pay."

"You're not paying rent, why have a roommate?"

"Well, she pays me something. Anyway, having a roommate's like trial by fire. It toughens you is what it does."

"You don't seem tough to me."

"That's part of being tough--not looking tough. Anyway, I'll have to be out in a few months. The owner sold the building and I'm only staying here 'cause I told the contractor that I'm the mistress of the old owner and he dumped me so they're letting me stay until they start renovating this floor. So you going to ask me out on a date?"

"A date? I haven't heard that word for a long time. It sounds, I don't know, like Swahili. I'm not used to it."

True, she supposed. Really chic people don't ask other chic people out on dates. They just go places together. Still, there was a certain commitment involved in the concept. So she said, "Date, date, date. There. Now you're used to it. So you can ask me out."

"We just spent the night together--"

"On separate futons," she pointed out.

"--and you want a date?"

"I want a date."