walking around in it, seeing little side streets and residential buildings and pockets, I was realizing how limited my previous trips into the city had been. We’d come in to do one thing, maybe have a meal, then go back home again. I’d never just let New York unfold.
“In that case,” Cary said, smiling at me, “there’s somewhere we have to go.”
* * *
“No hundreds,” said the guy behind the counter at Gray’s Papaya, looking at me like I was crazy.
“I did try and tell you,” Cary said as he pulled out his own wallet.
“Yeah,” I said with a shrug as I looked around the tiny hot dog restaurant, which was one block over from Maverick Cleaners West. I was pretty sure I’d seen it in a Nora Ephron movie but had never actually been inside myself. When we’d walked in, the letters on the side of the building had been lit up in red neon, and this, coupled with the fact that I was about to get something to eat—to say nothing of the fact that Cary was promising me it was the best hot dog in Manhattan—had given me a jolt of happiness.
There were people standing and eating by the windows, where there was a counter, and brightly colored signs everywhere, advertising the different kinds of fruit drinks you could order. There were paper fruits hanging from the ceiling—apples and pineapples and bananas and oranges dangling over our heads. I’d gone with the same as Cary, a hot dog and a drink. I’d chosen papaya—it seemed like the thing to do—and Cary had gotten pineapple. I was secretly adding up all the money he’d spent on food for me tonight, so that I could Venmo him as soon as I got my hands back on my phone.
“Thanks so much,” I said as I took my hot dog and drink away from the register to the area with extra condiments and napkins. He went right for the mustard dispenser, while I walked up to the ketchup, which is the only acceptable condiment to put on a hot dog. Everyone knows that.
“Ketchup?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.
“Mustard?” I replied, raising one right back at him.
“Yep.”
There was a silence between us, and then I shrugged. “So, this has been fun,” I said, pretending to leave.
Cary laughed and nodded at my hot dog. “What do you think?”
I took a bite, then widened my eyes at him. It might just have been because I’d had nothing to eat since lunch other than two bags of Doritos, but it was the best hot dog I’d ever had. “Oh my god.”
“Right?” he asked happily, taking a bite of his. “I usually stop here either before or after work.”
“Which work? I mean,” I said, swallowing, “you’ve got a lot of jobs to choose from.”
“It’s true,” he said with a grin. “But I meant Maverick.”
“Well, I’m glad that after this you’ll be done for the night.”
He shook his head. “You’d think! But no. I have another job later tonight, but I’ll get a little break first.”
“Your sixth job?” He nodded. “What is that?” I asked, remembering that I still didn’t know. Cary took a breath to answer just as a woman, juggling four hot dogs and two little kids, walked up behind us.
“You done with the ketchup?” she asked, looking aggrieved, and I nodded and stepped out of the way.
“Sorry about that,” I said. Like we’d discussed it ahead of time, we both headed out and started walking down the street, finishing our hot dogs in companionable silence. When I was done, and had thrown out the little paper tray it had come in, I tried my papaya drink—cold and sweet and exactly what I wanted right then. “How’s the pineapple?” I asked, glancing over at Cary.
“Excellent,” he said, with an affirmative nod. “You’ll have to try it next time.”
I nodded, even though I had no idea the next time I’d be in the city—much less with enough time to wander up to the Upper West Side and get a hot dog. But it was a nice thought. “Absolutely.”
“So what’s this play about?” he asked me, after we’d gone into Maverick Cleaners West and Cary had picked up a large black duffel of laundry—since there was only one, it meant he didn’t need a cart this time. “The one we’re making sure you get to on time?”
“I don’t actually know.” I took a last sip of my papaya drink and tossed it into a nearby