respond to my questions because he’s on a phone call. He’s not being deliberately evasive, he simply didn’t hear me.
I take a deep breath and sink back into the seat.
I’m being silly, I tell myself. We’re traversing up Third Avenue, surrounded by cars and pedestrians.
Still, it takes a full minute for me to feel steadier.
I lean forward and repeat my query a third time, my voice louder.
He glances back over his shoulder, then says something that sounds like “Madison and Seventy-sixth.”
Between the radio and the noise of the engine, though, I’m not sure, and the driver has resumed his phone conversation.
I pull out my phone and google the location. A bunch of businesses show up—the Sussex hotel, Vince and Rebecca Taylor clothing boutiques, a few residential apartments, and an Asian fusion restaurant.
Okay, I think. All innocuous places. Which one is my destination?
The restaurant seems the most likely.
I reassure myself that Dr. Shields is probably seated there already, waiting for me. Perhaps she wants to give me more instructions about the real-life test.
Still, I can’t help but wonder why she needs to see me outside the office for that. Maybe there’s another reason.
For a brief moment, I imagine we’re two friends, or maybe a younger sister going to meet her older, more sophisticated one, to share a seaweed salad and some sashimi. Over a carafe of warm sake, we’d share confidences, too. This time, though, I would ask her all the questions that have been bubbling up in my mind.
In the side mirror, I see the bright headlights of an approaching car. At almost the same instant, my driver begins to swerve into that lane.
A horn blares and the Hyundai jerks back, brakes squealing. I’m flung against the door, then forward. My hands shoot out and I brace myself against the back of the passenger seat.
“Asshole!” my driver yells, even though the near-collision was his fault. He was so busy on his phone call, he didn’t check his blind spot.
For the rest of the ride, I keep watch out my side window. I’m so busy looking out for pedestrians and other vehicles that it takes me a few seconds to notice that the Uber has pulled up behind a black Town Car. We’re directly in front of the Sussex hotel.
“Here?” I ask the driver, pointing to the entrance.
He nods.
I step out onto the sidewalk and gaze up and down the block, unsure of what to do next. Am I supposed to wait inside the lobby?
I turn back to look at the Uber, but it is already gone.
A group of people pass by and one of the men bumps against my arm. I’m so startled I almost drop my phone.
“Sorry!” the man calls.
I look around for Dr. Shields, but the only faces on the street are unfamiliar.
I am on one of the safest blocks in all of Manhattan, so why do I feel so uneasy?
A few seconds later, another text arrives: Go directly to the bar on the lobby level. You’ll see a group of men at a large circular table about halfway back. Choose a seat at the bar close to them.
Clearly, I’ve guessed wrong. I have no idea what’s in store for me this evening, but it’s not going to be an intimate dinner with Dr. Shields.
I walk the nine steps to the entrance of the hotel and a bellman pulls open the door.
“Good evening, miss,” he says.
“Hi,” I say. My voice sounds timid, so I clear my throat. “Which way is the bar?”
“Past reception and all the way to the back,” he says.
I feel his eyes linger on me as I proceed through the entrance. I realize my dress rode up a bit when I got out of the Uber and I tug down the hem.
The lobby is mostly empty except for an older couple sitting on the leather couch by the fireplace. Behind the reception desk, a woman wearing glasses smiles at me and says, “Good evening.”
My heels sound too loud tapping against the ornate wood floor. I’m acutely conscious of my stride, and not just because I’m unaccustomed to wearing pumps.
I finally make it to the bar and pull open the heavy wooden door. It’s a good-size space, filled with a few dozen people. I squint as my eyes adjust to the dim lighting. I look around, wondering if Dr. Shields is waiting to greet me. I don’t see her, but I do spot a bunch of guys at a large table about halfway back.