Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
But now, I’m glad I promised we’d plan a Pudge-friendly outing for later in the week. Her gasp of excitement as we reach the top of our ride and the glass platform begins to spin in a slow circle is worth triple the price I paid for the VIP tickets.
The city spreads out before us, a snow-dusted landscape of architectural wonder beneath a light blue December sky. The One World Trade Center pierces the heavens to our south, while Central Park stretches north like a white blanket, dotted with bare trees and winding paths. From this height, even the yellow taxis look like toys scattered across a playmat.
“I thought the view from the Empire State Building was amazing, but this is…” She exhales with a reverent shake of her head. “This is next level. Thank you so much for bringing me.”
“Of course. I’m enjoying it, too,” I say wrapping my arms around her from behind. The warmth of her curvy body against mine contrasts perfectly with the winter chill. “We came here for a field trip when I was in fifth grade, but they didn’t have the Skylift back then. It’s nice to see everything above the crowds.”
“So nice,” she agrees. “Everything looks so different up here. More impressive, but also…more manageable somehow. Like a girl from Maine could really move to the big city, buy a piece of the action, and make something of herself.”
“You’re already something. Something pretty great,” I say, another prickle of misgiving itching across my skin as she leans back against me with a soft, “Aw, thanks. You, too.”
I did some research on the building she’s buying this morning before she woke up. It wasn’t hard to find. I know the neighborhood and there was only one building that matched her description.
One crumbling, likely asbestos-and-rodent-infested building that might very well bleed her reserves dry before she gets everything up to code and ready to actually make a profit…
Reading between the lines, it’s pretty clear she’s putting everything she’s saved into the down-payment. That won’t leave much for repairs, especially if they’re substantial.
I push aside my worries for now, not wanting to ruin the afternoon, but I’m going to make damned sure she touches base with me between her final walk-through on Wednesday and the closing on Friday. And if she’s about to make a potentially ruinous mistake, I’ll do whatever it takes to get through to her…even if I have to tell her the truth about who I am and just how much I know about buying property in Red Hook.
I own two warehouses in the area and a building I donated to a non-profit that offers emergency housing for victims of domestic violence, not to mention the three single-family homes my family inhabits not far from the waterfront. They’re all on the same block, making that section of the neighborhood feel like a Pissarro-family compound. My cousins’ kids ride bikes up and down the street at all hours of the day and night, especially in the summer, and getting enough signatures to close the street for a block party is never a problem.
The June crawfish boil has become such a hot ticket that my uncle had to start selling tickets on Eventbrite to make sure he had enough food for everyone, and they always sell out within twenty-four hours.
I bet Maya would love that, I think, as the platform begins its slow descent back toward the top level of the observation deck. Especially if she’s a member of the Red Hook community by then. She didn’t mention anything about moving into the apartment building she’s buying, but I doubt she’ll have enough money left over to afford to live anywhere else.
As much as I hate the idea of her in a sketchy area, I like the thought of her being a part of the close-knit community that always watched out for me as a kid.
But, of course, I can’t connect her to that community or promise her a ticket to the crawfish boil without giving myself away. Without letting her know that I’m a liar who’s been abusing her trust from the moment I gave her a fake last name in the club Friday night.
But maybe she would forgive you, my inner voice whispers. If the rest of the week is as perfect as last night and today have been, you’d both be stupid to let a little bump in the road derail something with this kind of potential.
I roll the thought over in my head.
Is lying about being a male prostitute a “little” bump in the road, though? Before I can decide, we’re back on the 70th floor and the attendant is opening the glass door for us to exit.
“Want to walk around a little more? I’d like to take a few pictures of the skyline,” she says as we move past the next group waiting in line, adding with a laugh, “I was so excited on the ride, I forgot.”