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Supposedly, I have this killer wink that everybody loves. I wink at myself in the mirror. It doesn’t help. I wink at myself again. Nope, nothing.
I laugh out loud, and for a moment, I forget about the horrible dream and my neighbor from hell.
But only for a moment.
Because I still can’t figure out the music and where it’s coming from.
Walking around my apartment like Elmer Fudd hunting rabbits, I press my ear against the walls. Feeling totally ridiculous, I drop to my knees and try listening through the floorboards.
Only after grabbing a chair to climb closer to the ceiling do I realize what’s going on. The music isn’tcoming from anywhere.
The music is inside my head.
Chapter 3
THIS IS NOT GOOD!
I stand perfectly still in my living room and try to listen…between my ears. The music is faint, but it’s definitely there. How bizarre is this? How scary? What a weird, weird morning this has been, and I’ve barely been out of bed five minutes.
I close my eyes. It’s a song, and it sounds familiar. I’ve definitely heard it before. For the life of me, though, I can’t put my finger on it.
Just keep quiet and keep listening, I tell myself.
But in the next second, I can do neither, as the silence in my apartment is upended by the phone ringing. It’s okay, though. It’s always okay when he calls.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Michael whispers, “this is your phone sex wake-up call.”
I’ve heard him say the line a hundred times and still I giggle. “Good morning,” I whisper back. And now I’m smiling.
“How did you sleep, Kris?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I had this horrible, horrible dream, and to top it off, my crackpot neighbor just pounded on my door and flipped out on me.”
“Let me guess,” he says. “It’s that nasty old lady from down the hall. The one out of Rosemary’s Baby. ”
“Bingo. The woman’s got one foot in the grave and the other in her mouth. I swear, the things she says, she’s going to drive me crazy. «Maybe she has already.
“Even more of a reason to move, Kris.”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“The offer still stands. It’s only what you deserve.”
“I told you, Michael, I don’t want you getting me a new place. I need to do it myself. I will. My portfolio is at the Abbott Show. I’m go
“Of course you are. But you’re so stubborn sometimes.”
“That’s what you love about me.”
“You’re right,” he says. “The fact that you’re smart, talented, and gorgeous has nothing to do with it.”
God, how I lovehim. He’s such a sweetheart!
Mind you, it doesn’t hurt that he’s also handsome, athletic, and a managing partner at Baer Stevens Asset Management. Michael could buy me ten new apartments without batting an eyelash.
“So, are you already at the office?” I ask.
“Of course. Either you eat the Baer Stevens, or the Baer Stevens -”
I chuckle. The sun’s barely up. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Clean living, that’s how.”
“Ha.”
“Speaking of doing it, though…”
“Very fu
“Damn, I wish I could, except I’ve got to wine and dine some important clients in town for the night. Business before pleasure, as they say. What about after di
“We’ll just see about yum.”
Of course, Michael knows that’s as good as a yes with me. All I really want to do is my photography and be with him, my almost perfect man.
“Now tell me,” I say.
His voice drops to a whisper again. “I love you, Kristin. I adore you. I can’t live without you.”
“And I love you, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. I do, Michael.”
He sighs. “Such music to my ears. You really do love me, don’t you?”
I don’t respond. I can’t. The word has me momentarily frozen.
Music.
It dawns on me that since Michael called, I no longer hear the song in my head. What a relief! I’m not losing my mind after all.
“Kristin, you there?” he asks.
For a split second, I consider telling him about the music. I don’t, though. It’s a little too flaky.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I say.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine – sorry, I was just checking the time. Don’t want to be late for work.”
“You’re right,” he says. “I’ll let you go. Lord knows you don’t want to piss off that boss of yours.”
1
Chapter 4
SO, WHAT OTHER BAD THING can possibly happen to me this morning?
I think I’m kidding as I hang up and head for the bathroom. That’s when I turn on the shower and discover there’s no hot water. Ugh! No way!
Now there’s a different sound in my head. It’s Michael, laughing, with yet another reason why I should let him be my sugar daddy and buy me an apartment. No way!
Shivering under what amounts to an arctic drizzle, I proceed to take the world’s fastest shower.
I dress, gulp some OJ while munching on a Chai Tea Luna bar, and do a quick inventory of my shoulder bag before heading out the door. It’s all there – wallet, keys, cell phone, and the only other thing I carry with me at all times, my Leica.
Walking up Second Avenue past 46th Street, I pass the same cramped newsstand I do every day. It’s lined sidewalk to ceiling with every magazine imaginable, and I glance at the covers, my eyes taking in the flawless faces of various celebrities and supermodels. Good morning, Brad, Leo, Gisele, Angelina.
Fu
That’s my dream, and I’m getting very close, according to my agent and a few big editors. And hopefully according to the Abbott Show, the prestige gallery where my work is being considered. But until it comes true – when I make a name for myself and those same famous people shout, “Get me Kristin Burns!” for the cover of Vanity Fair – I keep right on walking.
To my job as a na
Cutting over to Third Avenue, I head up five blocks before crossing to Lexington. I head north five more blocks and then cut across again, to Park Avenue. I do the same thing every day, the same zigzag pattern. Don’t know why – I just do. Or maybe I do know why, and do it anyway.
Normally, I’d be taking pictures along the way, capturing the faces of the drones as they head to work while trying not to dwell on the fact that I’m one of them. There’s not a lot of happiness along the sidewalks at this early hour. What I see is fatigue, angst, and a tremendous amount of boredom.
Of course, that’s what makes for good photographs. I mean, when’s the last time a smile won the Pulitzer?
Still, after the morning I’ve had, I decide to keep the camera tucked away in my shoulder bag. I’m feeling a little preoccupied. I’d say my head is in the clouds, except there aren’t any today. It’s a beautiful blue-skied morning in the middle of May, the kind of day that makes people happy to be alive.
So I take a deep breath and berate myself. Snap out of it, Kristin! And for a while, I do.
Right up until I turn the corner onto Madison.
And scream.
Not just a little one either.
I scream at the top of my lungs.