for kids to play—”
“Yeah, that’s another thing,” Kendra said. “You don’t see so many kids anywhere else. The city is a lousy place to have a family. Families should live in Connecticut or Pennsylvania.”
I wanted to ask if her family was Republican. Or I could have told her that the only time I’d been mugged, I’d been outside an art gallery in the Village, which was probably Kendra’s idea of a safe neighborhood.
“Why are you so quiet? You artistic types are always brooding,” Kendra said.
“Brooding? Who uses that word in real life? I’m thinking.”
“You artistic types are always thinking,” she amended.
“You do know this isn’t a club we’re going to, right? We’re not having some Sex and the City moment. We’re not tweakers or club kids. Or even a bunch of overwrought, emo poets—”
“Disliking rats, free-range chickens who live in trash cans, and drive-bys doesn’t make me a snob,” Kendra said.
I put my arm around her as we walked. Regardless of what Kendra thought, anyone who paid attention to us at all seemed friendly. Older people even smiled, maybe mistaking us for a couple.
“I’m a reverse snob,” I said. “I’d rather walk these streets than walk into a loft in SoHo. Or a shop on Park Avenue. Talk about brutal people.”
“You don’t have to be rich to live where you don’t see homeless people sleeping on stoops,” Kendra said and pointed.
“You get what you pay—does she have clones? The bitch is everywhere.”
“Who?”
Sister Divine was sound asleep, and I couldn’t stop myself from checking out how she looked when she wasn’t screaming about demons. Without the intensity of her waking hours, the creases on her forehead and around her eyes weren’t as visible. She looked like a filthy fallen angel at rest.
As I stared at her, Kendra and the neighborhood around me faded. I remembered how I’d felt when I first moved to New York. The city had seemed magical. The crowded sidewalks, the rumble of the trains beneath the surface, the streets jammed with cars, cabs, and buses going places. I was always outside, always carrying my sketchbook. Even though I rarely left Midtown, there was inevitably something—an iron fence, a hidden garden, a bodega, or building masonry and adornments—with details that I couldn’t wait to get on paper. And the faces. After the sameness of people in the Midwest—or maybe I was just accustomed to them—I couldn’t get enough of the variety.
Sister Divine’s face had a childlike innocence as I looked at her, and I itched to have my sketchbook with me again. I wanted to protect her, even though nothing about her sleep showed fear. That comforted me, and I knew why.
There would always be before and after. I’d been in Manhattan for almost a year before September 11. A year when I immersed myself in every day and thought the adventure would last forever. Then came the nineteen months after.
Seeing Sister Divine asleep made it feel like before again. Like I was cradled by the city the way she seemed to be while lying there.
Kendra pulled impatiently at my sleeve, and the spell was broken.
We were greeted with warm, stale air inside Cutter’s. I held my breath, not knowing if Cookie would let me stay or make me bounce. Cutter’s was the kind of place where your eyes had to adjust once you went inside, no matter what time of day it was. But I spotted the ex-Marine watching us almost as soon as we went through the door. I kept my head low when I walked past the bar, where he was setting a beer in front of a guy with a hard hat hanging from the back of his stool.
“No trouble tonight,” Cookie said.
It was more of a decree than a warning. I got the idea that he didn’t blame me for what had happened the last time I was there. And I was sure he’d supported Dennis in that battle. I did a quick scan of the bar, but Dennis wasn’t with the rest of the blue collars.
I led Kendra to the usual table, where Fred was flanked by Roberto and Melanie. Melanie, who looked like a younger version of Meg Ryan, had been popular at BHSA. I wasn’t sure if she was in school anywhere now. A sculptor of rare talent, she could shape stone, wood, or metal into astonishing beauty and motion. It wasn’t often that she joined our group, but I always liked it when she did. She had a certain upbeat purity to her, a little like Kendra’s sunny disposition. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why the two were different. Sometimes Kendra had a childlike quality that I was pretty sure Melanie hadn’t had since she was about five.
I’d often thought that unusually talented people were robbed of childhood. It showed up in different ways in each of them, whether in their art or their personality. If Dr. Mark had been there, I could have told him that this was where my romantic streak showed itself. I was a fool for anyone gifted with creativity.
“You’re late,” Fred said, smiling at me in a way that I found sexy.
“Since you’re already here, I must be,” I said.
“My own special blend of spiced tea,” Melanie said, reaching to fill two empty cups as Roberto introduced her to Kendra. “Unless you’d rather have a beer?”
“Tea’s fine until I get warmed up,” Kendra said, shaking out of her coat. “My grandmother made her own tea. I was never allowed to have any, though.”
Everybody stared at her until I introduced her to the group; then I said to Fred, “You won’t believe this, but I saw Sister Divine again on the way here.”
“The homeless woman? What was up with that?” Kendra asked. “I thought you were going to kiss her or something.”
While Fred explained about Sister Divine, I sipped my tea, wondering why Cookie put up with us. He couldn’t make any money selling us hot water. I saw Roberto staring at me, but before I could ask him how he’d known to join us, I felt a presence swoop in behind me, and then two strong hands fell on my shoulders. As Blythe loudly pulled out the chair next to me and straddled it, I turned to see who’d taken possession of me.
“Davii! Aren’t you supposed to be on some remote island styling Lillith Allure models?” I asked.
“I needed him,” Blythe said, running a hand over her new spiky haircut. It was colored mostly dark red, with just the tips of the spikes hot pink. “He had to give me good luck hair.”
With one last squeeze of my shoulders, Davii slid into a chair between Melanie and me. More introductions were made for Kendra’s benefit, and Fred and I exchanged a glance. We both thought that Davii was possibly the hottest man we knew. Tall. Slender build. Icy blue eyes that contrasted with his nearly black hair. We competed to be the focus of his good energy, because it was calming and stimulating at the same time. As far as we knew, Davii was single, but Fred had never gotten any farther with him than I had.
“I only repaired what she did to her hair,” Davii was saying. “Then I escorted her to her opening.” He turned to me and added, “The photo shoot was rescheduled. Although I think they should do it here. How could a beach in Puerto Rico be more fabulous than Cutter’s?”
“Opening? Are you a performer?” Kendra asked Blythe.
“She’s the most amazing artist ever,” Melanie said.
“Ever?” Blythe asked and tried to look modest. “That may be stretching it.”
“Pay no attention to her false humility,” Davii said. “When we left, the Rania Gallery had already sold a half dozen of her paintings.”
“It was four,” Blythe said.
“Not that you noticed,” Roberto said, and I could sense the envy under his joking tone.
I understood his frustration. Roberto was happiest when he was consumed by his art. As a little kid, he’d been intrigued by stories about the Quetzal,