City Love(9)

Rosanna and I nod compassionately. It can’t be easy to watch your hippie neighborhood become a suburban mall.

“Sorry,” Sadie says. She breaks into a smile. “End of rant. Onward and upward, roomies! What’s next on the agenda?”

We’re looking for things to brighten up the apartment. Sadie wants plants. Rosanna wants a new pillow. I don’t blame her. The one on her bed is disgusting. I ordered a bunch of cute stuff for our place already, so I’m not looking for anything in particular. Window shopping is super fun. I hear what Sadie’s saying about how the neighborhood’s changing. And yeah, I feel bad that the flavor of this historic district is being spoiled by chain stores and pretentious boutiques. But I would be lying if I said the new Bleecker Street isn’t fabulous in its own way. Because it totally is.

A clump of tourists is crawling along at a glacial pace in front of us. Sadie motors off the sidewalk and skitters around them in the bike lane. I’m both horrified and impressed by her dexterity in navigating the bike lane. Rosanna and I follow her lead. Sadie is such a New Yorker. She tries so hard to stay positive that I know she’s not going to grumble about the meandering tourists the way she probably wants to.

A girl who looks a couple years younger than me passes us. I turn to admire her fun DIY style. She’s rocking pink Hello Kitty knee socks over black leggings, a distressed Pink tank shredded across the back, vintage white Nikes with a purple swoosh, huge turquoise glasses, and long ponytails with retro ribbons dangling in the breeze behind her. New Yorkers are known for their unique style. I’m having a blast getting to see it all up close and personal.

“Gross,” Rosanna says. “Did you guys see that?”

I twirl back around. At first I think she’s talking about Hello Kitty Girl. But she’s looking ahead of us.

“What did I miss?” I ask.

“A guy went into that deli and didn’t even hold the door for the old lady behind him. Hello, she has a walker! Rude much?”


We watch the old lady attempt to maneuver her walker so she can push open the door. Sadie runs ahead of us. She pushes open the door and holds it while the lady lurches in.

“Bless you,” the lady says.

Sadie comes back to us. Rosanna is staring at her.

“What?” Sadie asks Rosanna.

“That was awesome,” Rosanna proclaims.

“Not really.”

“Yes really. You freaking rule.”

“Just a random act of kindness.”

“Can I be you when I grow up?”

Sadie laughs. “I’m pretty sure you know how to hold a door open.”

“But you have the confidence to actually do it.”

“I’ll let you do it next time.”

“Okay. Anything I can do to reduce the amount of rude in the world. Seriously, did he not see her? People are way too caught up in their own worlds.”

“I know!” I say. “I saw a guy practically run down a family of German tourists this morning. All because he was racing to catch the light. Is knocking people over really worth gaining an extra minute? Oh, and stay clear of the bike lanes. Just saying.”

We approach a boutique with beautiful bags in the window. I stop to admire the view. I’m a sucker for beautiful bags. One in particular catches my eye, calls out to me, and gives me a seductive wink. High-end accessories know how to play me like a fine-tuned string instrument.

“That bag is exquisite,” I announce, pointing out the one that looks like it was made for me. There’s no way I can resist going in. I open the door and step aside to let them in. “Ladies?”

Sadie and Rosanna browse while I chat with the cute guy who comes over to help me. I would so be hitting on him if he wasn’t gay. He tells me all about the bag: how it’s one-of-a-kind, how it’s imported from Italy, how its classic lines will never go out of style. Sold. I pay for the bag while Sadie holds a dress up against herself for Rosanna to see. Rosanna smiles halfheartedly. Her gaze shifts around the boutique. She’s tottering by a rack of summer scarves, one leg crossed in front of the other, arms nervously wrapped around herself. She clearly does not want to be here.

Back outside, I hold the bag up for their approval. “What do you think?”

“It’s gorgeous!” Sadie gushes. She tentatively touches the satin piping. “How could you even think about carrying any other bag when you have this?”

“A girl can never have too many bags.” I look at Rosanna for her reaction.

“Wasn’t it really expensive?” she asks.

“Oh, no worries there. My dad gave me a credit card with a ridiculous limit. His attempt at erasing the travesty of never being around while I was growing up. It’s like, Hi, I’m a workaholic who can’t be interested enough to raise my daughter, but I can throw money at her when she’s older to make up for it. I don’t think so.”

Rosanna is agog. They both are.

“TMI?” I inquire.

“No, it’s . . . that’s amazing. I wish I could see anything I want in a window and just go in and buy it. You’re so lucky.”

Sadie glances at Rosanna, then smiles at me. “We basically want to be you.”

“Trust me. You don’t.” A woman who’s attracting a lot of attention is walking toward us. People she just passed on the sidewalk are staring. They’re taking pictures of her from behind. I recognize her under the big black sunglasses and shiny hair pulled back into a relaxed pony. “That’s Claire Danes.”