Sunrise in New York

I sat up properly, but kept my feet covered with the yellow sheets and stared up again at the map of New York State hanging on his wall.

Perhaps confiding in Jimmy would make me feel better. He was a reporter. He probably had connections. But what if he told me to go to the cops about my situation? I’d already tried that back in Atlantic City, and had nearly died doing it. If I didn’t go to the police myself, maybe Jimmy would and I didn’t know for sure how far Frankie’s influence stretched. It could be limited to Atlantic City, but I doubted it. He’d been around long enough. I had to assume he had informants on this side of the Hudson.

Peeling my eyes away from Jimmy’s wall art, I looked over at him.

‘Don’t take this the wrong way or nothing, but I can’t tell you what’s going on. There is somethin’, obviously, but I really can’t say what it is,’ I said, running my fingers through my hair and straightening out a knot I found in the back. Flattening it down as best I could.

‘You don’t trust me.’ Jimmy lowered his gaze down to the lime-green carpet, which seemed to line the floors of every room in the whole apartment, save the kitchen area behind the sofa where he’d had wood-effect lino fitted.

‘It’s not that. If I tell you, it could be dangerous. It’s better you don’t know.’

‘Maybe you oughta let me worry about myself,’ he said, staring back at me.

‘I can’t. If anything happened to someone else because of me, well, I just can’t risk it.’ I shook my head and looked down at my fingernails. They were painted with black nail polish that was chipped to hell from strumming my guitar.

For once Jimmy didn’t have some wisecrack to make but I heard him sigh and could see him shaking his head out of the corner of my eye.

I had to get him off this subject quick.

‘You got a record player?’ I asked, tilting my head to one side. He paused, frowning at the question.

‘Yeah I got a record player, I’m not a caveman.’ He reached a hand down to Louie who’d been whining off and on and gave the short fur on his head a ruffle.

‘Mind if I play a record or two?’

Jimmy squinted his eyes just enough at the corners to let me know he was well aware I was trying to throw him off the scent. Then he looked at his watch, which I guess never left his wrist since he’d just jumped out of bed. ‘It’s three in the morning.’

‘Music always makes me feel better,’ I said, with a small pout to my lips. Something about the way I did it must’ve amused Jimmy because a smug-looking smile came over his lips.

‘Alright,’ he replied.

Pushing aside the sheets, I stood in my purple plaid nightshirt and walked barefoot over to the corner with the lamp where I’d left my suitcase about three hours ago. Louie scampered over to join me and I gave him a quick pat whilst kneeling to open the clasp on my luggage. Lifting the lid, I pushed aside the sweater dresses and T-shirts I’d thrown in before bolting for Atlantic City bus station. Underneath my toothbrush and my notebook, where I wrote down all the song lyrics I never shared with anyone, was a small pile of 45s. A modest selection of the best records from the last three decades.

I felt the heat of Jimmy’s breath on my neck as he squatted down near me. He was looking over my right shoulder and goosebumps pushed up through my skin at the thought of him being that close. It’d been too long since I’d had a guy that close to me. For the last few years my major concern had been making enough money to pay rent. But showing my parents I could make it on my own had been harder than I’d thought it would be and, as a result my love life, had been sort of on the back-burner.

‘That’s what you choose to pack in an emergency? Records?’ said Jimmy, waving a hand at my suitcase.

‘Yeah, just the essentials,’ I said, turning in his direction and trying again to look at his face rather than his chest.

‘Any good ones?’

‘Only the best ones.’ I made a show of looking insulted.

‘Alright, let’s hear one.’

‘Hmm. This one.’ I passed him a record in an orange sleeve. He took it and held it close to his face to read in the dim light.

‘“Concrete & Clay” by Unit 4 + 2.’ He shook his head at me. ‘Never heard of it.’

‘Then you’ve never heard really great music.’ I smiled. ‘Play it.’

With a shrug, Jimmy walked over to a small nook near the TV I hadn’t spotted before. It was stacked up high with old, folded newspapers but once they were lifted away a small music centre appeared underneath, complete with a record deck on top. Jimmy blew the dust off it and set the record in place. I walked over to the window and drew back the orange curtains, gazing down to the empty Brooklyn street four storeys below. Tinged yellow by the streetlamps, from this angle the world outside was a jigsaw of fire escape ladders, blacked out windows and water hydrants.

There was nobody out there. Not that I could see, anyway.

The scratch of the record sounded out, followed by the metallic chime of a cymbal right before the sprightly rhythm kicked in. I turned back to face the room and leaned with my back against the wall, running my fingertips over the cheap woodchip. Closing my eyes, I let the music surround me and at the sound of Tommy Moeller’s rich, smooth voice, my shoulders loosened, the tension bleeding out of me.

As the first chorus played out, Jimmy said, ‘That is a good record.’

I opened my eyes. Jimmy stood a few paces away at the record player. Still shirtless, and apparently confident enough about his body not to think about it. Still, he looked, to me, somehow vulnerable in his part-unclothed state. So much softer than I’d first thought him in the diner, when he was making suggestive comments and ogling everything south of my chin.

‘Actually, Esther is the one who got me onto these guys. They’re a British band from the sixties. I was feelin’ kinda low about singing in the Sexties one day. It’s not exactly a dream job, musically speaking, and she said I should hunt out this record. Said it was one her dad used to play before he died, and it was impossible to listen to it without smiling.’

‘I didn’t know, about her dad. But, I guess I’ve gotta give her credit for her taste in music, even if I don’t rate her taste in men,’ he said, while fussing Louie who was play-tearing at Jimmy’s trouser leg with his teeth.

What was this guy’s deal? Why did he have so much to say about who Esther was seeing, and how the hell had he got on the wrong side of her? She was nothing short of reasonable with me, even after the way I treated her. He must’ve really struck a nerve for relations to still be awkward between them.

And yet, this guy, the same guy that had somehow mortally offended Esther, had taken me in without any real reason to trust me, and definitely without any benefit to himself. My own parents would’ve kicked up more of a fuss about inviting me in out of the cold than he had. Something about him just didn’t add up. I guess we had that in common.

What was it he’d said back at the subway station? Something about him knowing what it was like, not having anywhere to go. It seemed out of line to ask what that experience was, especially since I’d told him nothing about my own predicament, but I couldn’t help but wonder. What’d happened to this man to cause him to take in a stray like me so easy? Someone who was so difficult to love.

Oh God damn it. No, please no. Don’t think about that again.

Too late.

Two nights ago on Christmas Eve, I’d found refuge in a church in Philadelphia for the night and sat through their All Souls service. Philadelphia was where the first bus out of Atlantic City was headed, and I hadn’t yet figured out that Esther was my best bet of staying safe for a while. I just needed to get out of town. In that church, I’d somehow managed to sing my way through ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ without breaking down into a blubbering wreck. I’d even pitched out that unsettling question in the last verse with a clear voice: ‘What can I give Him, poor as I am?’ a fact I’d chalked up as a win, and then the priest went and said it.

‘Let us pray for all those we love, and for all those we find it difficult to love.’

It was then I’d felt the lump in my throat, my face growing red with the strain of holding back the tears, because I knew that was me.

He was talking about me: the girl who was difficult to love.

The lump I’d swallowed down two nights previously regurgitated from the pit of my stomach and lodged itself at the back of my throat again. There, it bloated out, feeding off the shame I dared not speak about. Jimmy looked back at me, and I at him. The record came to an end and the needle scratched over and over. I hopped across to the record player, hooked the needle back on its stand and in doing so moved nearer to Jimmy. He was standing just to my left. I looked at him.

‘Probably should let you get back to sleep,’ I said, half smiling.

‘Uh, yeah. I guess. I gotta go into work tomorrow,’ he said, rubbing his eyes.

‘Mmm. Maybe I’ll play this record one more time before I turn out the light.’ I said, placing the needle on vinyl once more.

‘Alright, knock yourself out. Goodnight, Blue.’ He turned to walk away and as he did so, revealed a tattoo on his right shoulder blade. It was a compass, like any other, apart from one odd detail. It had the initials for all the directions etched around it, except north. There was no N for north. Just an empty patch of skin, which had a natural tan to it.

It was weird, but something about the look of it made my stomach turn over. His back was more muscular than I would’ve expected and even though I’d been brought up to believe tattoos were trashy, Jimmy’s didn’t seem cheap or nasty at all. To me, it looked like a work of fine art on his bare canvas.

‘Jimmy…’

He turned back to face me, eyebrows raised.

‘I know I’ve said it maybe a hundred times already, but I really appreciate you taking me in.’

‘It’s alright. I’ve been there,’ he said and then pressed his lips together tight, unwilling to say any another word even though there had to be more to that story.

‘Well, I’m grateful. I just want you to know that.’ And with those words I pushed up on my tiptoes, which lent me just enough height to peck him on the cheek. Though I couldn’t see his expression, I heard his breathing get heavier. It was a sound that gave me more pleasure than I would’ve imagined; I let my breathing deepen so it could keep time with his.

The right thing was to withdraw then.

That was proper.

But temptation held me in position, with my lips still close to his cheek, and I wasn’t the only statue. We were both frozen in the moment. Our chests the only things moving, closer, puffing out with every intake of breath, and then shrinking away again as we exhaled together. Slowly, so slowly, I dropped to the balls of my feet and moved my lips an inch down Jimmy’s cheek, an inch closer to his mouth. I kissed again. His face was smooth and freshly shaven. Jimmy began to turn his head towards me while Tommy Moeller sang about lovers embracing in the purple shadows of some perfect evening. Our mouths were aligned then, though not touching. His breath warmed my lips. I could smell the mint from his toothpaste. He didn’t advance but he didn’t pull away either.

The last few days had been so scary, so lonely, what harm could it do? Just for a minute to feel the warmth of someone else. It was only a kiss, after all.

Just a kiss…

Looking up into his eyes, I leaned forward and touched my lips against his. At first, he was hesitant but after a moment his mouth dropped open just that bit wider and my mouth copied. I pushed harder against him and he gasped, possibly in realisation that this moment was actually happening. No longer content with standing still, he traced his fingertips up my neck, pushing back against the force of my kiss. His lips were firm but also had a softness to them that made the contact much more dizzying than I’d expected. A low moan escaped my lips as his grip tightened around the back of my neck and, to my surprise, Jimmy moaned into my mouth in return. The bass vibration of it seemed to pulse right through me, shaking me to my core. My heart thundered in my chest with the need to be closer to him and he, it seemed, had the same idea.

Locking his arms around me tight, he pulled me into his body. I weaved my arms under his so I could press my hands flat against his back and cling on to his shoulder blades to keep myself steady. Our tongues brushed up against one another, triggering a heat inside I couldn’t control and didn’t want to. Jimmy held me even tighter, but somehow still not quite close enough. Our mouths crushed hard together and I sighed in relief at being touched with that much urgency. At feeling strangely lost and found all in the same moment.

The record came to an end. The needle started scratching. Our lips parted and I took the opportunity to catch my breath. For a moment Jimmy’s face held on to the dreaminess that’d washed over it, but in the next instant all that disintegrated.

He frowned and dropped his arms to his sides.

‘Why’d you do that?’ Jimmy’s eyes had narrowed so much they didn’t look like the ones that had stared into mine just minutes ago.

‘I’m… I’m sorry I just…’

I wanted to. I should just go ahead and tell him. Admit that I’ve been so lonely I’ve been praying for a stranger to kiss me, just so I might feel wanted. Or so I could tell myself that somebody might miss me if I weren’t around. Maybe I should even confess the worst truth, since he’d asked. That I’d got to the point that I didn’t even care who it was, so long as they had nice hair and straight teeth.

‘You know, I don’t need your pity,’ Jimmy said out of nowhere, tearing me out of my thoughts.

‘Who mentioned pity?’ I shook my head. ‘You’re the one who took pity on me and gave me somewhere to stay. I’m the pitied one. Not the person dishing it out.’ I crossed my arms. ‘Anyway, that’s not my style. I haven’t kissed a boy outta pity since 1984.’

Jimmy didn’t laugh as I hoped he might. He didn’t even smirk.

An emptiness began to fill my stomach. God damn it, Bonnie, always doing the stupid thing. I had to do something to diffuse this situation quick; getting turfed out was not an option.

‘I’m sorry if I offended you. Don’t mind what I do. I do dumb things sometimes. I meant no harm. I’ll just go to sleep and I’ll be gone in the morning. I promise.’ My eyes had widened at the thought of losing my bed for what remained of the night over yet another dumbass decision. If there were two choices in any given situation, I’d choose the wrong one. Guaranteed.

I swung round to the record player and hurried to put the record back in its sleeve. Turning off the music system, I scuttled over to my suitcase to stow my record back where it belonged. If I got under the sheets on the sofa quick enough he’d probably think it was more trouble than it was worth trying to get me to leave. There really wasn’t much of the night left anyway. Technically, it was morning, but I’d still rather wait till the sun was up before venturing back out there again. An hour out in the cold at this time of year could feel like a month.

When I turned to head back to the sofa, Jimmy was standing in front of me. He didn’t look me in the eye. He seemed to be fascinated by my toes, the nails painted black to match my fingernails.

God damn it, he was going to tell me to leave. I could see it in his face – he was trying to find the words.

‘Night then,’ I said, a little too loud, before sidestepping round him and piling myself back on the sofa, pulling up the sheets and snuggling my head into his spare pillow. It was lumpy, but who cared? It was a bed for the night. ‘Oh, could you turn out the lamp?’ I scrunched my eyes shut. I was practically asleep. It’d be downright rude to try and move somebody once their eyes were closed. I was pretty sure this was a universal, unwritten law – and if it wasn’t, it should be.

‘Alright. Goodnight, Blue,’ said Jimmy, hushed and subdued.

‘Goodnight,’ I said. Even with my eyes closed, I sensed the room darken. The light thud of Jimmy’s footsteps sounded out, fading as they neared his bedroom, followed by the excitable scamper of Louie’s paws.

After that, silence.

I thought about getting up again – pulling aside the drapes, and looking down into the street to see if they had caught up with me – but exhaustion was taking hold and I’m sure I would’ve noticed if someone had followed me to Jimmy’s.

No. They still hadn’t caught up with me.

Yet.

I’d live to fight another day, whatever that was worth.

Chapter Four

The next evening I stood outside the Starlight Diner, looking in. Watching Esther Knight through the glass frontage, and plucking up the courage to open the door. She looked just the same as she had back in Atlantic City. Her long blonde hair trailed down her back and she was wearing thick, black-rimmed glasses, but they took nothing away from those polar blue eyes of hers that’d so often narrowed in my direction back when we worked at the Crystal Coast Casino. Esther took herself so seriously; I was never able to resist teasing her. On the whole she took it well enough, but if she squinted at me that was a warning sign not to push the joke any further.

Judging by Esther’s lack of uniform, and the fact that she was ignoring the customers sitting at the booths and tables behind her, she wasn’t on shift. She was instead sitting at the counter, wearing a pair of acid-wash jeans and a blue checked shirt that looked about five sizes too big for her, chatting away to a small circle of friends. The girl sitting next to Esther was real catalogue-model material – long, brown hair and slender – and the guy sitting on the other side of her was athletic with a mischievous grin. The catalogue model and her buffed companion were holding hands so I figured they were a couple. To Esther’s right sat a tall, dark-haired man who, after a minute, I recognised as Jack Faber, the actor. He’d grown a beard, which he hadn’t had on screen, but it was definitely him. Like almost everyone else last summer I’d caught his big Hollywood debut in the hit movie Without You. The guy could act, there was no disputing that, but the film itself was garbage. Probably an opinion I should keep to myself if I wanted a bed for the night.

I took a deep breath and stared at them all. I couldn’t hang around in the cold anymore.

It was time.

Pushing the door with my shoulder, I shuffled my suitcase and guitar into the diner. Mona, who was on shift, looked over, tapped Esther on the arm and leaned her head in my direction.

At first, Esther frowned at me. I stood just a few steps in, shaking – partly from the cold and partly out of nervousness over what would happen next.

‘Bonnie?’ Esther slipped off her stool, stood on the red and white chequered lino and adjusted her glasses so they sat a bit further up the bridge of her nose. ‘Is that you?’ I’d forgotten about her prim British accent. She could sound stern without even meaning to, and when she did mean to, boy did you know it.

‘Yeah, it’s me,’ I said, my chest tightening.

‘What happened to your hair? You look like a character from Jem and the Holograms.’

Was that Esther’s version of a compliment?

‘Oh, just fancied a change,’ I lied. I didn’t want to deceive her again, really I didn’t, but for her sake it was the right thing to do just then. ‘You know musicians. Always doing something nutty with their hair.’

‘Well, it’s good to see you. Come here.’ She held out her arms to me. I put my bags down and walked over, accepting the embrace and holding on to her perhaps a little longer than was proper. She still smelled of rose oil, an ingredient in whatever fragrance she wore. I took in a deep breath of it and then pulled back to look at her, the mist of rising tears fuzzing up my vision.

‘I’m so glad you’re back in New York, I really… I really needed to see you,’ I said. Her head tilted to the side and she frowned at me. She always was sharp, and it was clear that she knew then: this wasn’t just a social visit.

‘Why don’t you come sit up at the counter and we’ll catch up,’ Esther said, gesturing at Jack. He shuffled down into the next seat along so Esther and me could sit next to each other. I picked up my luggage, dragged it over to the stool next to hers and sat up as she suggested.

‘You’ve met Mona, I believe.’

I nodded at the waitress who was standing behind the counter, just as she had been last night, and smiled.

‘And this is Angela.’ Esther pointed to the catalogue model, who pushed a section of her crimped brown hair out of her eyes with one hand and waved to me with the other.

‘This is Ryan.’ She waved at the athletic fella who, reaching a long arm across the ladies and Jack, gave my hand a firm shake.

‘Didn’t know Esther had any other friends,’ he said, and I was surprised to hear he also had a British accent. I chuckled at Ryan’s comment while Esther shot him the patented withering look I’d seen her use on a customer or two back at the casino buffet. The managers there generally insisted on service with a smile but, when they weren’t looking, Esther wasn’t afraid to let a customer know if they were testing her patience.

‘And this is Jack.’ Esther waved a hand at the actor. I smiled at him and did what I could to keep my expression relaxed. I’m not really one to be impressed by celebrity but it was weird, and even a little bit exciting, being up close to a movie star. ‘Jack’s my, er…’ Esther looked at him, thinking hard about her next words, then looked back at me. ‘Well, he’s my…’

‘Boyfriend,’ Jack finished. ‘I’m her boyfriend. But she seems to have a bit of difficulty with the word.’ He smiled, running a hand through Esther’s hair. She raised an eyebrow at him but it was obvious to anyone she was trying not to smile.

Like Ryan and Esther, Jack also had a British accent. I’m not sure I’d ever been in the same room as this many people from merry old England before, but their accents were so cute, I could listen to them all day.

‘You’re pushing forty,’ Esther said to Jack. ‘I’m not sure the term “boyfriend” is all that appropriate. Are you?’

‘Life partner?’ Jack tried.

Esther’s face crinkled up in disgust.

‘Significant other? Sweetie pie?’

The rest of us laughed as Esther’s expression became more disgruntled with each suggestion.

‘Life partner? You’re getting far too ahead of yourself, Faber.’ Esther gave his nearest cheek a tap with the flat of her hand.

‘Oh, don’t mind me, I just own the place,’ a voice called down from the end of the counter, interrupting the fun. I swivelled on my stool to see a dumpy-looking fella in a pink polo shirt and a loose-fitting pair of jeans. Though he hadn’t yet greyed, judging by how little hair he had left I guessed the guy must be at least forty. He had a plate of mac and cheese in front of him and was about halfway through eating it.

‘That’s Bernie,’ said Esther. ‘You’ve caught him in one of his better moods.’

‘I just love your diner, Bernie,’ I called down the counter to him, hoping the compliment might raise a smile. He looked like he hadn’t smiled in a long time, and his face was fixed in a chronic state of disappointment. ‘Never seen another one quite like it.’

‘Oh.’ Bernie’s grimace loosened. ‘Well, nice of you to say so.’

‘Can I get you somethin’ to eat or drink, honey?’ Mona asked.

‘Yeah, I’ve been outside all day, busking. Could use a grilled cheese and a coffee.’

‘Sure thing, honey,’ she said grabbing a cup from next to the coffee machine and pouring out my drink. ‘You start warming up with that and your food’ll be out in a snap.’

Smiling at her, I poured some cream into my coffee and emptied a sugar packet into it too. When I looked up, Angela, Ryan, Jack and Esther were all staring at me, watching. Waiting. Esther was the first to speak.