Falling Stars (Shooting Stars 5)

He looked at me and then he smiled.

"Good. I've got an apartment that overlooks the East River," he said. "Actually, it's not my apartment. It's my uncle's. but he's in Europe until February. so I've got it to myself for a while. Hey." he said, suddenly stopping, his face full of excitement. "you're into music. right? You've got to hear this stereo system. It's built into the walls with Surround Sound and everything. -When you're sitting there listening, you can close your eyes and feel like you're at a live performance in Carnegie Hall or the Met or

someplace like that.

"Who's your favorite composer?" he demanded before I could comment one way or another on his invitation. "Come on. Who?"

"Well, I enjoy playing Mozart."

"Great, perfect," he said, slapping his hands together. "He has all the Mozart albums. Come on. Now I do want to walk faster."

"But..."

He pulled my hand and we crossed a street against traffic. The horns blared.

"Don't worry," he said. "it's New York. Everyone jaywalks!"

I ran along with him, caught up in some whirlwind, my conscience trailing far behind like some loyal but exhausted puppy, losing me.

Maybe forever.

8 A Shocking Discovery

"Are we close to my school?" I asked when we rounded a corner and headed toward an apartment building. Despite our pace, we had been walking for quite a while,

"Oh, sure. It's only about a dozen blocks south of here. No problem," Tony assured me.

We stopped before a tall building just at the ,corner. It had a gray brick front and a faded burgandy awning over the entrance. "This is it," Tony said. "Wait until you see the view. It's on the fifteenth floor." he said, and we entered the small lobby.

There was nothing much to it, some mail boxes on the right and a bench just under them with packages that were delivered for the tenants. I thought the elevator was very small, too, and it looked old and worn, so much so that I became anxious when the doors closed and he pushed the button for fifteen. I didn't want to say, but I had never been higher than the third floor in any building. I heard the metal cables grinding and groaning above us as if we were close to the maximum load

or something.

"From one of the windows you can see the cable car that takes people to Roosevelt Island," he said.

I smiled and nodded as if I knew what he was talking about, but by now I was so nervous, I wished I had simply gone straight back to the school.

The elevator opened on a narrow hallway with pale yellow walls. I noticed scuff marks along the sides near the chipped and broken molding. The hallway floor was covered in a grayish brown rug that was very worn and dull. From some apartment came the heavy aroma of a pot roast cooking. Was that the way it was in New York apartments? Everyone knew what you were having for dinner? Why was he so excited about living here? I wondered.

We stopped at a door and he dug his hand into his pocket to produce the keys that opened three door locks. I laughed to myself. thinking how we never locked our door back in Ohio.

"Voila," he said, stepping aside after he had opened the door.

I walked in slowly. There was no real entryway. The doorway opened on the small kitchen. Mama would laugh at it. I thought. Our pantry was bigger. The appliances looked old and the walls were almost as faded as the hallway walls.

"In here," he guided, taking my elbow and turning me into the living room.

It, too, was rather small, with one oversized dark brown sofa, two matching chairs, and a glass coffee table. There was a scratched and dull hardwood floor with one oval area rug that looked like it needed a good shaking out. On the far side of the room was a sliding glass door that opened to a balcony just big enough for two people if they stood side by side, and close to each other at that. A curved black iron grating was set in the balcony walls. It curved inward with arrow heads as if to discourage anyone from leaning over too far.

The walls of the living room were papered in a vanilla ice cream shade. There were two large framed prints on opposite walls, both rather uninteresting pictures of city scenes, put up for their color coordination more than for their artistic merit. I thought. Even the frames were drab. The room itself was quite messy: some dirty dishes with remnants of sandwiches, dirty glasses with the soda now flat and oily-looking like some stagnant pool, dirty silverware, a few empty cans of beer lying on their sides, another on the floor by a table holding a pizza box. Magazines and books were strewn over the sofa and one of the chairs and on the floor beside a pile of notebooks.

"Looks like a boys' dorm. I know," Tony said, and started to clean up. "I had a few of the guys over two nights ago for a study session."

"Two nights ago?"

"Well..." He smiled. "I was never one for housework. Take a look at the view," he urged. and I went to the sliding doors. He rushed ahead to open them for me. "Go on, step out. It's safe." he promised.

I was grateful for the fresh air. While I stood an the balcony, he scooped up the dishes and cans. I heard him knocking about in the kitchen, throwing things into a garbage can and platting dishes into the sink. The view was impressive, although not enough to get me to want to live here, I thought. Some cargo boats were moving up the river, and I could see the line of traffic on what I knew was the East River Drive. It seemed so long ago when Mommy and Daddy and I drove on it.