Ghosts of Manhattan: A Novel(8)

Sam turns to us and sees Dave laughing. I’m trying to be expressionless. Sam says, “Comma comma bonus. Never heard that before. I like it.” He laughs. At first I think he’s trying to seem unfazed. Then I think he is unfazed. He flags her back over and orders more shots and she pours them. I think she’s unfazed too.

The night with Dave and Sam is easy. They seem like they want to like me and I don’t try too hard. I just sit and drink with them. It doesn’t occur to me, at twenty-one, that it’s odd to be pounding shots at 5 p.m. on a weekday with a forty-five- and fifty-year-old. It seems great. It also doesn’t occur to me even to ask if they have a family, and they don’t bring it up.

“Hotchkiss have a good lacrosse team?” All we had to cover in the interviews was high school and college.

“Not really.”

“How’d you get recruited out of there?”

“I didn’t. I walked on at Cornell and made the team.”

“Good for you. You ever been with a hooker?”

When I’m sure I’ve heard the question right, I try to imagine what connection there is that I haven’t made. I miss only one beat. “No.”

“We’re going to arrange a little surprise for you tonight.”

I notice Sam is on a pay phone by the end of the bar. “Hookers?”

“Don’t worry. They’re gorgeous.”

I order a shot and drink it. Jesus. Hookers. In a short while I’m going to meet a hooker for the first time. It’s like waking up on graduation day or Christmas morning, things that always seem far off but then there are no more nights’ sleep of separation. In this stretch of awakeness it will be on me.

The driver has been waiting, double-parked outside Lucky Strike. Dave closes the tab and we’re back in the car. On the ride I learn that Dave has been divorced for more than ten years and has a place on the Upper East Side. The driver gets us to Dave’s building and is dismissed for the night. A few guys are already upstairs in Dave’s place drinking.

The three of us walk in the lobby and a doorman says hello, sir to Dave, then quick-steps ahead to press the up button for the elevator. Dave tells us his place used to be a two-bedroom, then he bought the two-bedroom next door and knocked down the wall to join them and switched it all around to make a huge three-bedroom.

Dave opens the door and ushers us into a mini foyer and long hallway. “Those are all Warhols on your right.”

The hall is lined with big framed faces of Indian chiefs and cowboys. Even then, my budding cynical side knows he isn’t into Warhol. He’s into saying he’s into Warhol. Even if only to say it to himself. He needs something of interest. “Nice.”

I hear the Rolling Stones at high volume, and at the end of the hall there’s a huge living room and the goon, Mark, at the far end dancing in an awkward way that seems more about flexing his biceps.

“Hey, rookie, get in here!”

I give Mark a wave but don’t try to shout over the music. It’s definitely a single guy’s apartment. I don’t know enough to criticize but it feels uncoordinated and underfurnished compared to noncollege dorm rooms I’ve seen. I imagine Dave just called some store and told them to bring over their two most comfortable sofas and three most comfortable chairs in whatever color was in stock and could arrive next day.

Another trader that I interviewed with is on a sofa with his feet up playing a video game. He hasn’t flinched and seems oblivious to the music. He’s under a spell cast by the TV.

On the coffee table next to his feet is a mound of coke and a twenty-dollar bill that looks recently rolled tight and is fighting to get back to its original flat shape.

Mark walks over and hands me a glass of bourbon with a few ice cubes. “You don’t have to wear this one.”

“I appreciate that.” I wonder if I’ll ever come to like this guy. I take a sip. I’ve never enjoyed bourbon before but it’s starting to taste good.

“You did good today, rookie. Not bad at all.” He smacks my shoulder way harder than he needs to. He likes to assert his bigness more than other big guys I know.

“Thanks, it was fun. I had a good time meeting everyone.”

“Well, the fun’s just getting started.” He turns to Dave. “Hey, buddy. We’re all set in the back room.”

“Excellent, excellent. Nick, come this way.” Even the guy playing video games looks over and laughs. Like a used-car salesman, Dave puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me deeper into the apartment. “Okay, pal. This is a little reward from us for doing so well the last couple days. Enjoy, and I don’t expect to see you come out of this room for at least an hour.”

We arrive at a door down a hall from the main living room and Dave knocks. “Ready or not, ladies.” He opens the door, nudges me in, and closes it behind me.

I plant a foot to stop my forward momentum, turn to see the door click shut, then turn back around to see two beauties in silk robes, one blonde and one brunette. “Hi, Nick,” they say together and drop the robes, leaving only strappy high heels and naked bodies. I’m stunned by the abruptness.

I had always imagined hookers as being older, missing a few teeth, and belonging in a frontier saloon. These girls are young and athletic and even wholesome by appearance. They could be any girl I’d see on campus except they’re twice as hot and naked.