Sunday - August 16th, 2020 - Fiction Sundays: “Upon the Street Below.”

I was walking across 47th Street on a Saturday in July, wearing chinos with a button-up shirt. I was picking up coffee for Elise and myself. I had spent the morning before on the phone with Andrea’s friend Monica. Monica knew Andrea from college. I knew Monica from work and Andrea through Monica. I had met Andrea three weeks before on a Saturday. That was the end of June. We were on a rooftop in Queens at night.

  I had been at the party on the rooftop in Queens at night for an hour, and was on my way out when Monica stopped me. She introduced me to Andrea. We shook hands. I was going home that was all. Andrea asked me about my job, about how long Monica and I had been working together. I said about a year. I said we both worked in financial advising. We were both helping people spend money wisely. Andrea asked me where I stayed in the city. I was living in Brooklyn, she was living in Queens. She stepped away to grab a beer and I thought of walking out the door without saying goodbye. I stayed. She returned.

            She said Monica had thought we should meet. I can’t remember what kept me up on Monica’s roof through the June night so long besides Andrea’s smile. Then it was three, and we were still standing beside each other, and I said I needed to go. She asked that I call. I said that I would.

            I woke up the next day to a rainy Sunday, showered, and went out for a sandwich and coffee. The sky was dark. I felt light. I dropped into Michello’s, a small place a few blocks away from my apartment. I stayed for a while. Hector stopped in an hour later. By the time he got there I had already reviewed a few spreadsheets for work with Andrea on my mind. I had ordered another coffee with Andrea on my mind. I had looked out the window at the stormy late June sky with Andrea on my mind.

            Hector was meeting me before he went to see Carolyn. I told him about the night before, about the woman I had met. He smiled. He asked when I would see her again. I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know. Two weeks passed.

            I worked and went home. I worked and went home again and again.  Once on the subway in the evening I sat across from a woman who looked like Andrea. Had I known what to say I would have spoken to her. She stood up and walked out at Canal Street. I moved my briefcase from my lap to the open seat to my left and thought again of Andrea.

            The Wednesday after I met Andrea I sat around a chess table in Hell’s Kitchen Park. For an hour I sketched out as best as I could the shape of her face, the nape of her neck, and what I could remember of her smile.

            Two Saturdays after the night on Monica’s roof I picked up the phone in my apartment and called Andrea. She answered. We both laughed. I asked whether she’d want to meet the next day, Sunday afternoon. She couldn’t. I asked whether she’d like to meet for dinner Monday, or Tuesday, or Wednesday, or any evening. She couldn’t.

            I went out that night. Hector and Carolyn and Elise and I took the train over into the city and went drinking through the evening. Elise and I had broken up in January. We found a bar with a roof-deck a few blocks south of Washington Square. I sat beside Elise. She had long brown hair and eyes that were a light green. She wore a dress that ended at the top of her knees, a navy blue print with white stripes going diagonal from her left shoulder toward her right knee.

            I kissed her. Carolyn and Hector left. Elise came back to Brooklyn with me. We made love. She left in the morning. I heard from her Tuesday and she wanted to get back together. I told her we should meet to talk about it and we did. We got back together.

            Elise and I were having fun again. Once we met in Central Park and shared a pitcher of iced tea with a bit of whiskey. We stayed out all afternoon beneath the early July sun. We didn’t leave until the park closed at night. On our way out we stopped for a while beside and beneath a yellow lamppost. We kissed.  I had missed her.

            Then one Friday in July, I was walking along 47th street and spotted Andrea again. I had spent the night before at Elise’s. I saw her first and she didn’t see me. I kept walking but she looked up then saw me. She called out to me. I stopped and turned around. It was the hottest day of the year. Her hair was in a bun.

            I walked over to her and we embraced. I hadn’t seen her since we were on the roof that June night. She asked where I was headed. Two men in big boots, white socks, and jean shorts walked out of a doorway to my right, carrying a large white sofa wrapped in plastic. They walked between us. As they passed I held my words. I said I was headed to grab a coffee. It was ten in the morning. I went west. She headed east and asked that I call sometime.

             Two weeks passed. Elise and I went to the Bronx Zoo on a Saturday. She was wearing the same navy summer dress. She laughed at the flamingos and reached for my hand. I asked about her brother. She said he had decided which schools he would apply to, that he might move out east. We took the train back into Midtown. She fell asleep on my shoulder. It was late August.

            Hector and I went running on a Thursday after work along the Hudson. He was faster, though I kept up as best as I could. I thought I’d call Monica that weekend. Elise and I stayed in Friday night and didn’t leave her place until Sunday morning. We went to the movies. A woman was having a mental breakdown and looked to her husband for support that he couldn’t give because he was having a mental breakdown as well. They divorced. I drank a ginger ale and wrapped my arm around Elise’s shoulder. When we walked out of the theater it was night.

            Elise was thinking of quitting her job. She told me over dinner on a Thursday night in mid-September. She let the glass of red wine hold still against her lips for a while as she paused between sentences, waiting for my words. I didn’t care what she did. For whatever reason I thought of why we broke up in January. She needed promises. Again she asked what I thought and I told her I didn’t know. If she wasn’t happy with her job, then she should look for something else. Two weeks passed.

            On a Friday, Monica called me just after I walked out of the office. She was having people over that next night. I was invited. Elise for the weekend was out of town. I showed up around nine, hoping to see Andrea again. She wasn’t there. I spoke with Monica, thanking her for the invite and asking how she had been. Busy she said. We were all busy. We were all in New York in our twenties and thirties and busy.

            Monica walked with me down the steps toward the living room, away from the roof. I sat there in the love seat across the coffee table from where she sat on the sofa. Elise was calling me. I didn’t pick up. When she’d return I decided, we’d break up again. Monica got up and poured herself a drink in the kitchen. I followed. Finally there she asked about Andrea. I said I hadn’t spoken with her. Monica was leaning against the refrigerator and looking out over the island that faced the living room. It was late. Most everyone had gone home. I told Monica I would like to see Andrea again sometime and she said she would set something up. I left and walked home toward the train through the night.

            I only left one blazer and button-up shirt at Elise’s after I gathered my things from her place. We were through.  I called Andrea again the moment I returned from Elise’s for the last time. It was the third week of September and I let the windows in my bedroom wide open. The late summer wind blew in. She answered. She’d love to meet sometime. We set a date for the next Friday. The week went fast.

            At 8:00pm on the 28th day of September I was waiting outside La Primavera Cafe on Elizabeth street wearing navy chinos with a light grey blazer over a white button-up shirt. Andrea arrived at five after.  We went inside. We sat near the window. We talked and talked and talked: about the first night we met, about her and Monica in college, about what would happen if the world ran out of green apples. I didn’t know whether I was falling in love with her. After dinner we walked north along Broadway for a while. The taxis’ headlights moved toward us then away from us. I held her hand. We found a quiet place for coffee not far from Cooper Union. We sat inside listening to the conversations around us. It was nice just being near her without speaking.

            Elise called me the next day, and the Sunday following, and the Monday and Tuesday afterwards as well. I called back and she didn’t answer.

            Monica and Andrea and I had dinner at Monica’s place in Queens, the three of us and Monica’s brother Stanley. Stanley was in from Cleveland. He worked in accounting and was in the city on business. He and I were washing dishes a long while after Monica and Andrea had finished cooking and the four of us had eaten the steak frites and steamed vegetables. I was washing and rinsing and he was drying. He asked me about Andrea, whether we were an item and I said I didn’t know yet. He smiled. He said be careful with her.

            Two nights later Andrea asked me over to her apartment to have dinner with her and her friend Chloe. And Stanley would be there as well. I showed up around eight with a bottle of wine I had never heard of. Andrea buzzed me up and answered the door. We embraced. Stanley was strewn across her sofa, his pant legs rolled up, the buttons of his shirt undone, presenting his chest. It was mid-October. He stood up and shook my hand. His boss needed him to stay in New York for a while longer. He had been sleeping on Andrea’s couch. He got up, moved toward the stereo, asked whether I enjoyed classical, and played a bit of Verklarte Nacht on a compact disc.

            Andrea’s friend Chloe arrived a few moments later. She sat beside me on the couch. Andrea and Stanley were in the kitchen. Chloe knew Andrea from work. Chloe had heard so much about me. Chloe had heard so many good things about me from Andrea. Chloe asked whether I smoked and if I did would I like to join her on the balcony. I didn’t but said I would join her. Chloe was tall. Five feet nine inches with black hair to the length of her shoulders. Though it was in the mid-forties that night, she was wearing a summer dress.

            Chloe had a denim jacket around her shoulders when she walked in but left it on the table near the sofa. We looked out over the balcony. We couldn’t see much aside from the street directly below and the apartment building across the way. We looked into the neighbor’s window and she asked me how I met Andrea. On a rooftop in Queens in June I told her. She dropped and stomped out her cigarette then reached into her purse for another one. Stanley walked into the living room behind us and said that he needed help. I’ll let you smoke I said to Chloe, and went back inside.

            Elise was calling me. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and picked it up then hung it up. She called again and I let it ring to voicemail. She left a message that I deleted without listening to. I pulled the vegetable lasagna from the oven and set it on the counter beside the bread maker. Stanley said he’d open the wine then moved to the living room with a corkscrew and did. Chloe stepped into the room again before drifting toward the kitchen. We all had wine and lasagna. Stanley asked whether any of us liked classical and moved toward the stereo. He pulled the Verklarte Nacht out and replaced it with a Wagner piece. He smiled and joined us again in the kitchen. After dinner we all went out to a bar that had just opened a few steps away from Andrea’s.

            Through the night I walked alongside Chloe as Stanley and Andrea took steps beside one another. They were just ahead of us. Chloe said she designed clothes but couldn’t find enough clients to open her own store. I asked what type of clothes she made. Women’s clothing, all types. She said she made the dress she was wearing. It was a pale yellow and sleeveless, of a length that went just past her knees. I said I liked it because I did. Andrea said this is the place and looked back at me and Chloe. Stanley showed his ID and went in. We all did the same. It was loud.

            We made our way to the bar. Chloe stood to my left, Stanley stood to my right, and Andrea stood to Stanley’s right. Stanley ordered drinks for the four of us. Everything was poured and handed out. He gave the bartender two twenty dollar bills. We said a cheers. Stanley dove in to asking me whether I preferred the Verklarte Nacht to the Wagner. I said I didn’t know and yelled that it was hard to decide beneath the music that was already playing at the bar. Chloe laughed. Stanley said that he used to prefer Wagner ––– above all other composers ––– but that over the last year he’s fallen out of favor with Wagner’s work. I didn’t care.

            Andrea and Chloe excused themselves and headed toward the bathroom. Then there I was, with Stanley. He said not to worry about he and Andrea. That they had something years ago but it was cool now.  We stayed for two more drinks. Along with the wine I felt drunk. We stepped out into the night around two in the morning. Andrea said Stanley was crashing at her place and that Chloe and I were welcome to join. Chloe said she’d take a taxi back to Brooklyn. She suggested we share a ride. Andrea said she’d call the next day.

            Inside the cab Chloe leaned against my shoulder. I placed my arm around her. Together over the Pulaski Bridge we watched Manhattan pass by across the East River, the Empire State Building lit in a deep orange, and the Queensboro Bridge with white lights, delicate and bright behind us.

            I called Andrea three nights later. I heard Stanley in the background. I think I heard Brahms as well though it’s hard to be sure. She said I should call her again over the weekend, that the four of us should meet again soon.

            I met Hector and Carolyn for dinner after work the Wednesday before Halloween. They asked whether I had plans for the weekend. I didn’t. I invited Andrea to Hector’s that Saturday night. She said she couldn’t make it. She said one of Stanley’s old friends was having a reunion, and that it would be okay if I joined.

            I went to Hector’s and Carolyn’s party with Chloe. She was Albert Einstein. I was Albert Einstein’s research assistant. She ordered me around all evening. We laughed and went home together for the first time that night. In and around her apartment, Chloe and I spent the next afternoon talking, reading, drinking wine, and all the while waiting for the winter storm. The trains stopped running. Through the evening it snowed twelve inches in four hours. And for a while we sat out there on the fire escape, just beside her bed, watching the snowflakes. Quietly they landed and gently they collected upon the street below.