egotistical and unfair. Any man who wasnât interested in going to bed with her on first meeting wasnât necessarily gay. And there was something about this man she instinctively liked, but in the same platonic fashion in which he seemed to see her. âOkay, Graham, thanks for the offer. And if you ever need a thumbtack, knock on my door.â
âNot many people at the Cody would say that. Most of us donât even know each other and donât want to meet.â
âNew York,â Allie said, dousing her French fries with catsup. New York, like a disease.
âMost big cities, Iâm afraid.â
âMaybe, but itâs special here.â
âCould be it is. Well, I better get movingâorders are piling up. Come in sometime when weâre not busy and weâll talk.â
She nodded, holding the catsup bottle still, and watched him smile and back away, moving among the tables toward the serving counter.
Did he want something? Or was he simply as heâd presented himself? Was she being cynical? Everyone didnât have an act, an ulterior motive and an angle, even in New York. She had her choice now: she could stop coming into Goyaâs, or she could become a friend, or at least an acquaintance, of Graham Knox.
She sampled the salad with the house dressing, and bit into the double burger. Graham was right, they were both delicious. And among the cheaper items on the menu. She decided what the hell, she could use a casual friend who didnât clutter up her life with complications. Allie sensed that was all Graham wanted to be to her, someone she could talk to, and someone whoâd listen if he felt compelled to talk. She almost laughed out loud at herself, thinking she could trust her instincts about people. She and Lisa.
Allie wolfed down the rest of the salad and hamburger, then ate what was left of her fries more slowly.
Afterward she ordered another Diet Pepsi and sat sipping it through a straw while most of the lunchtime crowd drifted outside. A vintage Beatles tune, âStrawberry Fields Forever,â came over the sound system. Softly. People came here to eat, not listen to music. It was one of Allieâs favorite Beatles numbers, so she leaned back, closed her eyes, and let it play over her mind. And she was thinking of Sam, trying not to cry.
When Stevie Wonder took over, she opened her tear-clouded eyes and saw that Graham was staring curiously at her from the other side of the restaurant, like a confused terrier.
Allie nodded to him and he looked away. Not ill at ease, but as if he didnât want to cause her embarrassment.
She slid her cool glass to the side and examined the classified columns of the newspapers sheâd bought, laying each one flat on the table, not caring about the spreading damp spots from puddles left by her glass.
She decided to call her ad into the Times. The other ads in their âApartments to Shareâ column seemed respectable enoughânot placed by creeps or swingers trying to make contact. Abbreviations abounded in the small print: Single white female was, in the lexicon of the classified columns, âSWF.â Also being sought to share âApt W Pvt Rmâ were âYng Profâl Fem,â âGWM,â âSBF,â and âSBM prof nSmkr.â Allie took these to mean âYoung professional female; gay white male; single black female; and single black male professional, nonsmoker.â
She decided to make the wording of her ad more economical and change it to read âSWF seeks same.â
Graham took the order of a middle-aged couple whoâd just entered the restaurant, then walked over to Allie. For the first time she noticed that he had an oddly bouncy sort of walk, jaunty, with a lot of spring in his knees. A tall Groucho Marx. He used his sawed-off pencil as a pointer. âRefill on the Pepsi?â
âNo, thanks, Iâm going in a minute.â
He tucked the
Brenna Ehrlich, Andrea Bartz