177a Bleecker Street New York Novels & Stories

I took the usual shortcut home through the park. Typically, it was always a bad idea to travel alone through Central Park, but it was the middle of the day and I had nothing to worry about except my own clumsy feet getting stuck in the snow. To state this very clearly, I am a klutz. Floors and walls are my greatest enemies. The building I go to was directly off of Central Park West, actually known as the West Apartments. The outside of the building was rustic but elegant, and if you were a full paying tenant of the building you’d also experience luxury internal designs year-round. But I was not a full paying tenant, and technically I didn’t actually live in the building, but behind it, above

“He’s at the Empire State Building. He said something about the last dregs of World’s Fair business.” “It’s not to see Mr. James,” Evelyn stated, pouring hot water into her cup from the kettle Mary kept filled and heated on the stove. “I need to make a visit to Murphy’s bagel shop not far away. After that, I’ll need you to take me to my apartment in the Village, at Tenth and Waverly.” “Of course, Mrs. James. Would you like me to let the police officers know? Or will you be doing it?” “Police officers?”

We'll t vou know the time and location of our next briefing." The press rose to their feet and one voice, a female re- from the Post, rose above the others and screamed porter from ut Promise us you i bring the Pied Piper back!» Number 941 Park Ave was a solid cube, a thirteen-story Aone up tastefully in marble and chintz. Will bby ao e retracing David Swisher's last steps brick pre-war, its two lower floors clad in fine white gran-

Why do eccentric people always have chess sets at the ready? I stand at the oversized windows and gaze out at the snow falling on the city. The skyline sparkles, but I’m not familiar with any particular landmark within close proximity, so I surmise we’re in Tribeca, especially given that it’s one of the most expensive neighborhoods in New York. A trendy locale where the upper crust resides. I’m not sure what to do. If I should take my coat off and “make myself comfortable.” Or if I should take everything off and go into the bedroom and put myself on display there.

Mr Burkley opened the door and turned to me. " Good luck Brielle. " " Thank you sir " I smiled and walked out the apartment and onto the busy streets of New York City. I caught a taxi and I sat in the back. I rarely rode in taxis. The only time I did is when I was late for something and I only had 25 minutes to get to the building. I gave the man the address and he drove off. After about 15 minutes I noticed the area start to look a little more expensive. I gasped as I looked up at the huge buildings that was covered in mirrors as it reflected the sky and the streets. There was one that caught my eye specifically.

The morning sun broke over the Hudson River, casting a brilliant, unclouded light across the terrace of a beautifully restored brick townhouse in Brooklyn. There were no flashing paparazzi bulbs here, no cold glass walls separating the residents from the world below, and no shadow of the past lingering in the hallways.

’ She asked hoping her grandson won’t hide anything from her anymore. ‘Yes grandma...we are in New York.’ ‘Do you know the address of your location?’ ‘Yes grandma. Mom made me memorize it just in case the need arises for me to describe where I live.’ Eva chuckled. ‘That’s so thoughtful of her. Let me grab a pen real quick to write it down.’ She moved around a bit. ‘I got it. Let me have the address.’ ‘We stay at house 156, Orange Street Brooklyn.’ ‘Oh my God! You both are so far away from me.’ Eva lamented.

Just the sound of my own breathing and, growing louder by the second, a dry, papery rustle from every direction at once. I looked up at my building. The windows of Apartment 4B were dark. But the windows of 4A were dark too. And 4C. And 3B. Every window on Cedar Street was dark, because every building on Cedar Street had received the same fortune. The same address. My address.

Because he thought that was what husbands did. "Okay," I said. "I'll set it up." Saint Aurelia's Cathedral sat on the corner of Bleecker and Ninth. A century of city soot had darkened its stone facade, but the stained glass above the entrance still caught the afternoon light and threw fractured color across the front steps.

They had lucked out in many ways concerning the apartment issue. Rick did indeed own serveral apartment buildings in New York. But the only one suitable for their current needs was in Hell's Kitchen. It was a neighborhood close to the theater district, as well as Time's Square. The location was to the west, down south of Central Park. It had just undergone a massive renovation to bring it up to city codes. The only problem was that is was not furnished. And Larry Watters was no where to be seen. Apartments in the states were not normally furnished. Most Americans owned all of their own household furnishings.