Like a Boss - Annabelle Costa Page 0,38

begging in the streets. I grew up in suburban New Jersey, so panhandlers were not something I was used to. In the beginning, I used to feel obligated to hand out spare change to everyone who asked me for it, but then I realized I was going through like ten dollars every time I went through the Square. I’ve learned to look straight ahead and ignore the pleas for spare change.

The good weather has brought out all the panhandlers and performers today. There’s a band playing in the middle of the Square with a guitar case open for contributions, then a guy with a violin across the street with a baseball cap filled with coins and dollar bills, and about twenty feet from him, a girl with a banjo and a harmonica taking loose change in a shoebox. I don’t mind the street performers as much, although they make walking through the Square a cacophonous experience.

Then there are the homeless people. They are much more persistent and will hold out a hand and ask for change as you go by. It’s hard for someone like me, with my middle-class guilt, to ignore. I could give them each a dollar. It wouldn’t break me. After all, I just wore a five-thousand-dollar dress last night.

Luke’s presence seems to somehow amplify the begging, though. He looks wealthy in his Armani suit, and there’s just something about him that cries out, “I have money!”

He ignores them until a homeless guy in a wheelchair approaches us. It’s not clear why the homeless man is in a wheelchair. He’s got both his legs and they seem to be moving. The wheelchair doesn’t even have footrests like Luke’s does, and he’s using his legs as well as his arms to propel himself forward. “Hey, man,” the guy says to Luke. “How about a few dollars, from one crip to another?”

Luke looks the guy up and down, taking in his perfectly functional-looking legs, and the wheelchair that looks like it was swiped from the steps of a hospital. “Why don’t you get a job?” he retorts.

“You know what it’s like, man,” the homeless guy says.

“No, I don’t,” Luke says. He looks pointedly at the guy’s legs. “Why do you need a wheelchair?”

“Because I’m crippled!” the guy says.

Luke shakes his head in disgust. “What you’re doing,” he says, “is despicable. Get the fuck away from me.”

The guy sneers at us as we head down the street. “Yeah, fuck you, you bitter crippled fucker!” he yells after us.

“Unbelievable,” Luke mutters under his breath. “When I think about all the time I spent trying to get out of this chair, then I see some guy who can obviously walk pulling that crap… it’s just… insulting.”

Luke seems troubled for a moment, but then his shoulders relax when we reach the bar and grill. It’s a small, smoky restaurant called Charlie’s, and I find it hard to believe this place serves anything besides greasy burgers. There’s one step to enter, and Luke does wheelie to get inside. He looks so sexy when he does that.

“This place has the best lobster rolls in New England?” I ask skeptically. “Do they even have lobster in a place like this?”

“Of course,” Luke says. “This is Boston. They have lobster at McDonald’s.”

Luke has undone his tie completely and it’s hanging loose around his neck. I would have thought he’d look out of place in a bar like this, but actually, he seems very comfortable. I guess this is a place he comes to a lot.

“Luke!” A pretty waitress hurries over to us from behind the bar. To my surprise, she bends over and gives him a hug. I feel a twinge of something in my stomach as I watch the embrace. “Oh my God, it’s been ages since we’ve seen you!” she says in a thick Boston accent that I hardly ever hear in the office or fancy art gallery parties. I suspect she’d say it “Hahvahd Yahd.” Luke, who’s a native of Massachusetts, has no accent to speak of.

“Sorry, Tina.” Luke smiles up at her. “I’ve been pretty busy with work.”

“Taking over the world, huh?” Tina slugs him in the shoulder. “Nice suit. You look wicked sexy.”

He laughs. “Thanks.”

She turns and smiles brightly at me. “And who’s this?”

“This is my friend Ellie,” he says. And somehow I feel irked that he introduced me as a “friend” in front of this pretty waitress. Even though it’s completely accurate.

“Just a friend, eh?” Tina asks playfully.

“Absolutely,” Luke says.

The bar