Page 13 of The Newcomer
“Excuse me,” the customer at table 2 said, when she stopped to refill his coffee. “I uh, overheard you telling your friend that you need a place to stay.”
Letty regarded him warily. She was used to being hit on by customers, but Table Two had never shown any particular interest in her.
“Yeah,” she said, shrugging. “Sucks. I mean, the apartment was a dump, but it’s all I can afford. I was splitting a room with one of the girls, but now her boyfriend is moving in, so they voted me off the island.”
“I might know of a place,” he said slowly. “If you’re interested. It’s in the neighborhood.”
“This neighborhood?” she laughed. “No way I can afford anything around here.”
“You might be surprised,” Table Two said. He pulled a business card from a slender leather portfolio, jotted something on the back, and handed it to her. The address was a building two blocks from the diner.
“The tenant just moved out, and I don’t like my places to stay vacant. It’s bad for business. Let me know if you want to take a look.”
She shook her head. “I appreciate it, but honestly, whatever you’re charging, I can’t afford it.”
“Where are you living now, and what are you paying?”
“Don’t laugh. My share is nine hundred dollars, and it’s a stretch. My credit card is already maxed out.”
“You’d be living alone? No boyfriend in the picture?”
“No,” she said, already regretting the weird turn this conversation was taking.
“Okay, well, I think we could work something out,” Table Two said. “What time do you get off today?”
“After lunch.”
“Just think about it. You’ve got my number. If you want to take a look, I can meet you over there, probably between two and three.”
By then, Letty had been living in New York for nearly two years. During her first subway ride she’d seen a man in a clerical collar expose and fondle himself while staring directly into her eyes. She’d had her wallet stolen in an H&M, been casually groped by more customers than she could count, and actually fended off an overly aggressive grill cook with a five-pound block of frozen ground chuck.
“I’m interested in an apartment,” she said coolly, “but that’s it. I’m not gonna sleep with you, and I’m not into kinky shit, so if you are, forget about it.”
He tilted his head and seemed to be considering her in a new light. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated for a moment. “Letty.”
Table Two pointed at the name badge pinned to her uniform. “According to that, your name is Chynthia.”
“Oh, yeah. Long story. It’s actually the name of a character I played in aLaw & Orderepisode. I played the hooker who finds the politician’s body in the bathtub in a motel room at the start of the episode. You know, like, the part before the music goes, ‘BAH-BUM!’ I liked the sound of the name, so I borrowed it.”
“You’re an actress?”
“Sometimes. Not enough that I can afford to quit working here.”
The cell phone he’d left sitting beside his plate buzzed. He looked down at the phone, then back up at her. “Okay, Letty, I gotta take this. I look forward to hearing from you.”
“Maybe.”
He picked up the phone. “Not that you asked, but I’m Evan.”
6
FRIDAY MORNING, JOE LEANED AGAINSTthe front counter, sipping his coffee and watching the motel’s newest guest making her way across the courtyard, a plastic laundry basket under one arm, with the little girl in tow.
Letty was dressed in shorts and a tank top, and the little girl was dressed in the same pink-and-white bathing suit she’d been wearing all week.
“There’s something off about that woman,” he told his mother.
