“I really can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I’m not about to quit my dream job, and I’m not about to ask my father for anything.” I swung my legs up onto the couch and lay on my back staring at the ceiling. “It’s really starting to upset me that you’re defending him.”
“I’m really not. I’m just trying to offer you a way out.”
Grace was always trying to solve my problems. And the problems of all the guys she dated. There just wasn’t anything Grace could do to fix this situation.
Footsteps thudded across the ceiling, causing my light fixture to rock gently back and forth. Jesus, the last thing I needed was my neighbors going at it again. I didn’t want to be reminded of my lack of sex life.
“Thank you, but I don’t need a way out. I’m exactly where I want to be.” I wasn’t a quitter.
“But you’re miserable.”
“I’m not.” I should complain less. I was just frustrated to find Max in my building. “My standards are just too high.” The thudding upstairs sounded like someone pacing back and forth. “I’m going to readjust, reset, and everything’s going to be just fine.”
Classical music, Bach maybe, blared from upstairs. It was so loud my apartment started to vibrate. Metalheads or coked-up dance music addicts were supposed to play their music loud and annoy their neighbors, not classical music buffs.
“Do you have classical music on? Jesus, less than a week in Manhattan and we’re already growing apart.”
I chuckled. “No, it’s not me. It’s upstairs.”
“The shaggers?”
“Yes. Although they’re not shagging. One of them put their concrete boots on and is dancing like an elephant across my ceiling.” The music hadn’t drowned out the consistent pound of footsteps. “I can’t tell if there are two people up there.”
“Brooklyn looking a little more attractive?” Grace couldn’t hide the smug tinge to her voice.
“I’m sure the music will die down in a little bit. Maybe they’ve had a bad day and they’re trying to drown it out, like I do with—”
“Taylor Swift?”
I shrugged, unembarrassed by my Swift predilection. “I was going to say Stevie Wonder, but Taylor will do.”
“You’re not pissed off by the noise?”
Any other day I would be furious, but if I allowed myself to get irritated with my penthouse neighbors, I’d have nothing left. Work was so disappointing it left me hollow inside. All my excitement about the job had dissolved, and it had become just like my college bartending job—a means to an end. And now with Max in the building, the only place I felt safe was behind my front door. Surely my neighbors would stop pacing and turn down their music soon.
“Tell me about your date?” I asked. “That’s why I called.”
Grace had a thing for penniless musicians, artists, or really anyone who didn’t have their shit together. It meant there was always drama in her life, always someone to fix.
“Ahhh,” she sighed. “He’s so talented. He just needs to find the right patron, catch a break, you know?” I’d forgotten what this one did. They all seemed to morph into one guy whose middle name was loser.
“You think he’s got what it takes?” Grace liked the idea of finding a guy before they made it and being the one who was there from the beginning. Problem was they never made it. She just jumped from one loser to another.
“I really do. This guy is the next Damien Hirst or Jeff Koons, I swear.”
Oh, right. This one was an artist. I glanced up at the ceiling as the light fixture swayed even more violently.
“He’s putting together an installation in New Jersey next week. You should come. You’ll love it.”
I wasn’t sure New Jersey was the place to showcase the next Jeff Koons, but hey, it would get me out. “Sure. But when you say ‘installation’, what do you mean?”
“It’s an interactive piece he’s working on. He won’t show me, but I’m sure it’s amazing.”
Grace was so sensible and practical in every way but wanted to believe the absolute best of everything. It was kinda endearing, kinda annoying.
“And he has a friend I want to introduce you to.”
I groaned. “Grace.”
“No, you’ll like this guy. He’s a suit.”
Upstairs cranked up the volume. I didn’t know classical music, though my mom had a thing for Johann’s cello suites. Nice, but did it really have to be this loud?
“I can dress my dog in a suit. It doesn’t mean I want to date him.”
It wasn’t wealth that attracted me; it was drive. It didn’t matter if they wore a suit—although there was nothing like a man who could fill out custom-cut, navy wool as though he owned it. I might hate Max King, but Jesus, did he know how to wear a suit. And gym clothes, apparently. Seeing him in the gym hadn’t changed my mind that he’d clearly been in the front of the line when they were dealing out hot.
“You don’t have a dog,” Grace said.
“Not really my point.” I didn’t want to date anyone, didn’t want love to distract me. I’d seen a number of my friends doing so well in their careers and suddenly becoming less ambitious because they’d fallen for some guy, and then when they’d taken their foot off the pedal, the guy would predictably dump them. It had even happened to my mother. And I wasn’t going to make the same mistake.
“This guy is successful. He does something in finance, or maybe it was architecture.”
“Yeah, I can see how you’d get the two mixed up.” The very last thing I wanted was a man in finance. The industry bred men like my father and they were the worst kinds.
Grace laughed. “You know what I mean. Will you come?”
“If you promise not to set me up with anyone. I’m not interested.”
“I’m not setting you up. But what can I say? He’ll be there; you’ll be there.”
“I’m hanging up. I have to get my beauty sleep.” I pressed cancel on the phone and tossed it on the table. It was just after ten, but an early night would be impossible until my Bach-loving neighbors shut the hell up.
Warm milk and a Benadryl would help me sleep, but I only had wine, and I was out of Benadryl.
I poured myself a glass of Pinot Noir, climbed into bed, and turned on the TV.
After forty-five minutes I could barely hear my TV through the music, and the thudding footsteps hadn’t lessened. What, was someone training to climb Kilimanjaro up there? My limbs began to twitch with irritation. Whoever was up there didn’t sound as if they were changing things up anytime soon, and I wanted to sleep. I’d been more than patient. Could I call the police? Wasn’t there something in the lease about not making noise after a certain time? Where had I put my lease?
I threw my covers off and stomped out of bed, then flung open the blanket box Grace and I had lugged up here when I moved in. The box of denial—it was where all my life admin went. Eventually I found the papers I’d signed just over a week ago, and I started to flip through the pages, almost ripping one in half. How could anyone be so selfish? Loud sex was one thing, but music and marching practice was another. I ran my fingers down the pages as I became increasingly impatient. Yes. It said I wasn’t allowed to disturb any other neighbor after ten in the evening. The people upstairs were breaching their lease. Clasping my papers, I scrambled toward the front door, grabbed my keys, and took the stairs one flight up. I glanced around. There was just one apartment door. Well at least I didn’t have to worry about disturbing the wrong person.