When she got married and moved out, the other two invited me to come to New York.
"What's the special occasion?"
"I have news." Her expression remained enigmatic, and I knew Gemma well enough to know that I wouldn't get any more than that out of her until she was ready to spill.
My stomach tightened up into a knot. I wondered if my worst fears were about to come true. She wasn't dating anyone seriously, so I doubted she was getting married and moving out, but maybe she'd been promoted and was moving to a loft in SoHo or someplace infinitely more fashionable than our dingy little apartment.
"Is there a reason I need to dress up?" I asked. It was hard enough to choose one outfit a day.
"It never hurts to make every outing into an occasion. You never know who you'll run into." Gemma was our self-declared social director, determined to make the rest of us experience life in New York to the fullest. Otherwise, she insisted, we might as well have just found jobs in Dallas or Houston.
She was right, though. You never knew who you'd run into, like movie stars or musicians. Or Mr. Right from the subway, who might live nearby, even if he was a little weird. I got up and headed back to the bedroom. "Any suggestions?"
She bounced to her feet. This was her area of expertise. After all, she did work in the fashion industry.
By the time Marcia got home we were both dressed to kill. Wearing a borrowed sweater of Gemma's, I felt almost glamorous, even though I knew I was a total plain Jane next to the rest of the crowd. I certainly wasn't unattractive, but I was extremely ordinary. I wasn't short enough to be delicate and petite like Connie, and I wasn't tall enough to be striking like Gemma. My hair was somewhere between blond and brunette, not short, but not long, and my eyes weren't quite green, but not quite blue, either. On the bright side, if I ever staged an armed robbery, witnesses would have a hard time giving an accurate description that didn't sound like half the city.
While Marcia changed clothes, Connie showed up. She was all a-bubble, which made me suspect that whatever Gemma was up to, Connie was in on it. That made me relax ever so slightly. It probably had something to do with setting all of us up on blind dates. That wasn't my idea of fun, but it was better than suddenly having to come up with an extra couple of hundred bucks a month because Gemma was moving out.
We got a sidewalk table at a little cafe on St. Mark's Place in the East Village.
Gemma ordered the first round of drinks. "This round's on me," she insisted. That meant she was really up to something.
Once we'd all drunk enough to have any edges taken off, Gemma and Connie exchanged a look, then Gemma turned to us. "I have great news!" she said.
Now Marcia and I exchanged a look. "What is it?" Marcia asked suspiciously.
"We all have dates for this weekend."
"We do?" I asked. We all had dates almost every weekend, not because we were particularly popular, but because Gemma loved playing matchmaker. She was always setting us up on blind dates, and she'd accept any setup offer for herself that came her way.
"They're friends of Jim's," Connie explained, referring to her financial whiz husband.
"That way, Jim and I can come along, and the guys will all know each other like we all know each other. It'll be fun."
It sounded like dating in junior high to me, but I kept my mouth shut. At least this way I'd still have someone to talk to, even if the date bombed.
Before Marcia had a chance to react, the waiter appeared with a tray of drinks. "We haven't ordered another round yet," Gemma protested.
"These are compliments of that gentleman over there," the waiter said as he set the drinks in front of us. We all turned to see a man sitting by himself at another table on the sidewalk. I almost fell out of my chair, for it was Slick from the subway.
I turned back to my friends, who were practically drooling on the table, even Connie, the married one. "Well, hello," Gemma murmured, crossing her long legs so her miniskirt crept a little higher. Marcia leaned forward against the table, enhancing her cleavage. Connie smiled and played with her hair. I looked back at him, but he was just as oily as I remembered from the subway. There was obviously something I wasn't getting.
I leaned closer to the others and whispered, "Is he someone I should know?"
"Why do you ask?" Marcia asked, not taking her eyes off Slick.
"Because y'all are staring at him like he's Johnny Depp."
"Mmm, Johnny Depp would be an accurate comparison," Gemma said. "You don't think it is Johnny Depp, do you?"
"Doesn't he live in Paris?" Connie asked.
I looked back at the guy, just to make sure I wasn't crazy, but it looked like I wasn't the one with mental health issues here. "Are you crazy?" I asked. "He doesn't look anything like Johnny Depp, not even when he gets all icky-looking for a role."
"Honey, you need your eyes checked," Gemma said.
I really did not get the appeal of this guy, who'd had the women on the subway and now my friends falling at his feet. I also didn't like the idea of him just happening to show up where I was having dinner. New York might be small geographically speaking, but there are thousands of restaurants, and the odds of him just happening to choose this one were slim. Oh goody, my first stalker. If one of the men on the subway was going to follow me, why couldn't it be the cute one?
I leaned forward again and whispered, "I think maybe he's following me. He was sitting next to me on the subway this morning."
"You lucky thing," Marcia purred. "If you don't want him, can I have him?" She winked at him and licked her lips.
"Oh look, he's coming over here!" Connie squeaked. They all set about arranging themselves attractively as he approached.
"Good evening, ladies," he said in the same oily voice he'd used with me on the subway. "Are you enjoying your drinks?"
They lost all pretense of New York sophistication as they dissolved in giggles. I just crossed my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow.
He studied me intently, then, with his eyes still on me, said, "My name's Rod Gwaltney."
That was the name on the job offer e-mail. I was too stunned to respond.
Fortunately—or not—Gemma was still on the ball. "I'm Gemma, and this is Marcia, Connie, and Katie."
"Pleased to meet you," he said.
I still couldn't respond. Now I was absolutely sure this wasn't a coincidence. But which had come first, the following or the job offer? Had he already been following me when I saw him on the train? Now I was even more sure that the offer was a scam. I'd never heard of stalking used as a job recruitment tactic. He probably ran some kind of sex slavery ring, but it had to be a pretty low-rent ring if they were resorting to someone like me, unless they specialized in procuring women for men with
unhealthy girl-next-door fantasies.
While I'd been lost in shock, my friends were busy chatting flirtatiously with him.
"It's been nice meeting you ladies," he said at last.
"And nice to meet you," Marcia said.
"Thanks for the drinks. That was sweet of you," Gemma added.
He glanced around the table, then looked directly at me as he said, "I hope I'll see you again, soon." Then he left.
As soon as he was gone, they all burst into giggles again. "I think he likes you, Katie," Gemma said. "Maybe we should cancel your date for the weekend. Looks like you're going to be busy."
I still felt sick and too stunned to speak. Connie must have noticed this, for she said,
"Katie, hon, what's wrong?"
"I told you I saw him on the subway this morning, right? Well, he also sent me an e-mail today offering me a job. Three e-mails, come to think of it."
"What kind of job?" Marcia asked.
"I don't know. He didn't say. That's why I was so suspicious and just deleted them.
I thought it was spam, one of those 'great opportunity' things where you can make a fortune working at home. He did say something about knowing my experience and work ethic, but how could he? I'm pretty sure I never saw him before this morning.