Read New Amsterdam: Tess for Free Online Page A

over her shoulder and laughs. “You kids have fun – I’m burnt from the weekend.”
    The three say their goodbyes as they make their way toward Beekman Street, Thessaly rolling her suitcase, and Meg coasting along on Seth’s bike while he flicks her arm.
     “Here’s my stop,” Thessaly announces.
    “Get some rest, Draper,” Meg teases.
    “Later alligator,” Seth adds, steering the handlebars to the bicycle as Meg blows kisses.
    Thessaly catches the invisible kisses before heading north. Her apartment building is an easy four blocks from the shop, and on a breezy evening like tonight, it’s one of the many things she loves about living in the City.
    Popping into Starbucks for another dose of sugar, Thessaly weaves her suitcase through the maze of bistro tables. At the counter, Thessaly realizes she hasn’t eaten anything all day except the king-size bag of Skittles on the plane. She orders her usual, venti vanilla ice latte with skim milk and extra caramel syrup. And to ward off her hunger, she adds two double-chocolate chip cookies to her order.
    With an iced latte and cookies in one hand, and her rolling bag being pulled gracefully by the other, she continues to her apartment on Pearl Street like a seasoned traveler. As Thessaly approaches her building, she notices a man, tall and athletic, fitting a foam egg-crate atop a sleeping bag. She can only see his backside, but his cargo shorts reveal tanned, muscular calves, and his fitted T-shirt exposes his well-defined arms. She considers approaching him, confused by his purpose and current state of distress, but ultimately decides to wait until tomorrow when it’s daylight.
    But as the man slides his makeshift bed into the small alcove between two buildings, Thessaly catches a shimmering flash of indigo coming from inside a large jar atop a camping stool. She takes a few steps closer, staying in the shadows of the towering buildings so as not to be caught spying. Squinting, Thessaly can make out the outline of at least a dozen peacock feathers contained inside the jar. Puzzled by their entrapment, she furrows her brows while advancing closer.
    In an instant, the man returns to the sidewalk to gather the rest of his things. Startled, Thessaly emits a tiny squeal as she trips backwards over her suitcase. She maintains her balance, but winces in agonizing pain. Vulnerable, Thessaly flinches and retreats backwards as the man stares down at her – his gaze intense but genuine. Beneath the luminescent shadows glowing from the street lamp, stands a man with a set of eyes in the greenest shade of hazel – harmless yet penetrating.
    What does he want?
    He quickly glances at the Starbucks items in Thessaly’s hand, causing her to recoil even further in embarrassment.
    Maybe he’s homeless. “Hi. Would you like a cookie?” God, that’s insensitive. “Or a latte?” Oh for fuck’s sake.
    The man smirks – he’s amused by the blonde with the Starbucks and the kind heart. He bends over to grab his jar and a small leather journal, and then cradles his possessions in his arm. With one last look at Thessaly and a subtle nod, the man with the peacock feathers disappears into the alcove.
    He couldn’t be much older than me. He didn’t seem like a psycho. Maybe he’s not homeless – maybe he’s a European performance artist.
    Feeling comfortable with her rationalizations about the mysterious man, Thessaly heads into her building. After trading hellos with the lazy doorman and a neighbor whom she doesn’t know, Thessaly takes the elevator up to the third floor. Stumbling into her apartment lifeless and exhausted, Thessaly leaves her suitcase by the door, kicks off her fuchsia pumps, and crashes on her couch with her cookies, coffee, and laptop.
    Oddly, she doesn’t even own a television, much to the dismay of her friends and family, but there isn’t a need. Thessaly is frugal where it counts, opting to buy handbags and shoes instead of tossing away funds on a cable