Manhattan Is My Beat (Rune 1)

Rune whispered to Richard, "Oh, you meant that show?"

Richard shrugged. "Either one."

In the morning, when Rune woke up, Richard was making coffee on her hot plate.

She asked, "Where're your friends?" She was looking intently for something under the cushions. She surfaced with her Colgate and toothbrush.

He looked around. "Dunno."

"You find the john?"

"Downstairs. I liked the plastic dinosaurs. You did the decorating yourself, I assume."

Rune was examining him. Now he seemed out of place, wearing the black outfit--night clothes--in the bright, open-air loft.

He said, "What's your real name? It's not really Rune, is it?"

"Everybody asks me about my name."

"What do you tell them?" he asked. "The truth?"

"But what's the truth?" Rune smiled at him ambiguously.

Richard laughed. "But the fact you've got a fake name is very interesting. Philosophically, I mean. You know what Walker Percy says about naming? He doesn't mean like first names or family names but humans giving names to things. He says that naming is different from everything else in the universe. A wholly unique act. Think about that."

She did, for a moment, then said, "A year ago, I worked in a diner over on Ninth Avenue. I was Doris then. I think I only took the job to get the name tag they gave us. It said, 'Chelsea Diner. Hi! I'm Doris.' "

He nodded uncertainly. "Doris."

She said, "So, what do you do, Richard?"

"Stuff."

"Oh. I see," she said dubiously.

"Okay. I'm working on a novel." She knew he was a writer or artist. "What's it about?"

"I don't really talk about it much. I'm at a tricky part right now."

This was even better. A mystery man writing a mysterious novel. In the throes of creative angst.

"I write," she said.

"You do?"

"A diary." Rune pulled a thick, water-and ink-stained booklet off the shelf. A picture of a knight--cut from a magazine--was pasted on the cover. "My mother's kept a diary every day of her life. I've only been doing it for a few years. But I write down everything that's major in my life." She nodded at a dozen other booklets on the shelf.

"Everything?" he asked.

"Nearly."

"You going to write anything about me?" Richard asked. He was looking at the notebooks as if he wanted a peek.

"Maybe," Rune said, combing her hair out with her fingers.

He said, "And you ... You want to be an actress, right?"

"Guess again. You're thinking of what's-her-name: Woody Woodpecker."