Tricks of the Trade - By Laura Anne Gilman Page 0,34
Danny. I’m on it.”
And then we were at the stoop of my building, and I paused, my hand reaching out for the railing. The air around us was the dusky thickness that made it almost impossible to read someone’s expression, even if they were right next to you. I could have let down the walls a little more to feel what was going on... but I didn’t.
There was a hesitation in the air, like the entire damn city was waiting to see what we’d do.
I wanted him. Every damn cell of my body wanted him, and even knowing that it was one of my worst ideas didn’t dull the ache.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said. “Sleep well.”
And then he was gone, walking down the street like the UPS guy who’d knocked-and-dropped, and was on to his next delivery.
A wave of hurt swept through me, so unexpected that I almost called after him to demand an explanation, an apology.
Instead, I pulled my key from my shoulder bag, and let myself inside.
The shiver of unease that passed over the city days before had settled, for the moment, at the edge of Central Park. The usual steady noise of evening traffic on the avenue had been overlaid with a snarling mess of human voices and barking dogs. Two of the ubiquitous food carts that lurked along the perimeter had somehow slammed into each other, causing their contents – roasted nuts, for one, and hot pretzels and soda for the other – to spill all over the walkway, and the two owners to stand over the disaster, screaming at each other in two different languages, neither English, clearly insulting each otheer’s patrimony, while the two cops called to the scene tried to get someone to tell them, in English, what had happened.
Another vendor, off to the side and out of the direct line of sight, served up sodas to people who were drawn in to see what the fuss was about. The atmosphere had become less bucolic and more like an arena, spectators gathering to watch the blood spill.
“What happened?” one of them, a tall blonde with a small blond dog at the other end of a bright green leash, asked. The dog looked mournfully up at his mistress, who seemed oblivious, so the vendor slipped it half a hot dog that had fallen on the ground earlier.
“Damnedest thing. One minute they were doing bang-up business, you should pardon the expression,” the vendor said, deftly fitting the woman’s hot dog onto a bun and handing it to her, “and the next thing there’s a crash like you wouldn’t believe, and they’re going at each other like gangbusters. If the cops hadn’t shown up, I bet there would have been blood.”
“You didn’t see it?”
“Lady, I got a rule. I don’t see nothing if it don’t involve me. One guy hits another, somebody steals some lady’s purse, your dog snitches one of my hot dogs... ”
The blonde looked down just in time to see the last of the purloined sausage disappear into the dog’s mouth, and let out a horrified cry. “Damn it, Snooks, you’re going to throw it all up tonight, aren’t you? Damn it.”
The vendor grinned, as though pleased at the distress in the woman’s voice, but when she looked up again, his leathery face was solemn, and his gaze was more on the still-arguing combatants than his customers. The cops had managed to calm them both down, hauling them to separate corners to get their reports, and, show over, the bystanders had started to move on. “Huh.” The vendor sounded disappointed. “I really thought they’d have done more than yell at each other.”
“It’s a good thing the cops were nearby,” another man said, coming to the front of the line. “Pepsi, please.”
“Did you hear about the fight that broke out on the 72 crosstown last month?” his companion asked. “Speaking of cursing. The driver had to pull over and haul them off each other. Man, never ever piss off the little old ladies. They’re fierce.”
They accepted their sodas and walked on, leaving the square that, fun over, was rapidly emptying of people. The hot dog vendor cocked his head and pursed his rubbery lips thoughtfully, his nostrils flaring as though scenting something pleasant. “Buses. I hadn’t thought of buses. And subways!” The eyes that had seemed sunken and tired before now sparkled with a literal light, a muted dark gold. “Everyone trapped, tired, and anxious... Oh, that will be fun!”