Fortunately for me, I had listened to advice my father had given me when I had gone on my first school trip. “Never keep all your money in the same place, Emma. Split it up so if you lose some or some is stolen, you’ll be all right.”
I had put over three hundred dollars in my wallet, which also had so many other important papers and pictures. I quickly located some of the money I had wrapped in a handkerchief and took out a fifty-dollar bill. Still stunned, I gathered my bags and started out. I was really walking in a daze and couldn’t stop trembling again when I started back to the apartment. My eyes were searching every alleyway and every person walking toward me to be sure I wouldn’t run into the disheveled man again.
“Miss?” I heard coming from right behind me, and stopped. It was the tall gentleman who had explained the meaning of pinched to the supermarket cashier. Getting a closer look at him, I thought he wasn’t much older than I was. Seeing someone this young in a jacket and tie was reassuring because it reminded me of the young men who worked in the bank with my father. For a moment, I imagined it was my father who had followed me to America just so he could protect me. Wishful thinking.
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?” he asked. Then, before I could respond, he asked, “Where do you think you were robbed?”
I looked around. “About here,” I said, and told him what had occurred. “I hadn’t taken out my wallet since I left England last night.”
“Last night?”
“Yes.”
He just stared at me a moment with a grin frozen on his face. He was slim, maybe six feet tall, with interesting eyes. They were charcoal but with a hint of green. I hadn’t noticed in the supermarket, but he had a dark complexion, strong, firm lips, and an almost perfect Roman nose. His hair, swept neatly to the sides and just a trifle below his earlobes, was a café noir shade.
“That’s terrible,” he said. “I mean, terrible that you were taken advantage of just hours after arriving. I’ve heard stories about tourists being scammed. Is this your first visit?”
“Yes, but it’s not a visit. I’m here to begin a career,” I said.
He nodded. “Well, what happened from what you described was you were a victim of a double scam.” He spoke slowly and didn’t sound like he was born in America. I couldn’t figure out his accent, however. “The homeless guy was probably partnered with the man who rode in on a white horse. You were distracted while he ventured into your purse. That’s what teams like that do. One distracts, and the other picks pockets or whatever. It almost happened to me on a subway in Rome once. A couple across from me began to get hot and heavy with their kissing while an older lady beside me was moving her fingers into my pants pocket. Luckily, I looked down and saw it happening.”
“I didn’t,” I said a bit mournfully. I hated sounding so pitiful.
“Yes, obviously not. You should report it to the police. How much did they get?”
“A little over three hundred U.S. dollars and my English driving license, passport, national health cards, and pictures of family.”
“Except for the dollars, the rest is in some garbage bin for sure.”
“Yes, well… what did you do when you saw the elderly lady’s fingers in your pocket?”
“Looked at her. She withdrew them quickly, and I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t about to accuse an elderly Italian lady of pickpocketing me. Not in that subway.” He smiled. “You still look pretty shaken up. Where do you live?”
I hesitated. It was like a blinking marquee on the entrance to Heathrow: Don’t Talk to Strangers, Especially in New York. Was naive, trusting little fool written on my face? I had within hours of arriving suffered one disaster. Was I about to suffer another?
“Not far. Thank you for your concern,” I said, and started away.
“Hey. Wherever you’re going, you’re in my neighborhood. I’ll walk with you, if you like.” He saw the hesitation in my face and smiled. “Okay, I’ll give you references.”
He shifted his bag of groceries to his left arm and reached into his inside pocket to produce his wallet. Than he flipped it open and showed me his driver’s license. His name was Jon Morales. He moved a wallet insert to show me he was an assistant investment manager at the UVE Group. The card had his picture on it. He put his wallet back into his pocket and shifted his grocery bag back to his right arm.
“Is that a bank, UVE?”
“No, it’s an investment managing company. I’m training to be a CFP, a certified financial planner. I’ve been living in New York for only two years. My family lives in San Juan, where my father is in banking.”
“So is mine. He’s a loan officer.”
“So we’re practically related,” he said, widening his smile.
I had my first real laugh since I had arrived. Suddenly, however, I was feeling quite tired. The jet lag and emotional experience had taken its toll. My body felt like it was sinking in warm mud.
“I’m just around the corner,” I said, even though I really wasn’t in the mood for company the rest of the way. I just wanted to get to my apartment, have a cup of tea and my muffin, and go to sleep. I’d start cleaning tomorrow after I worked my first day at the restaurant.
“Works for me.”
We started down the sidewalk.
“So what career are you beginning?” he asked.
“I’m a singer. But tomorrow, I start in a restaurant.”
“Which one?”
“The Last Diner.”
“I know it. Have lunch there from time to time. I have a potential client who invests in Broadway shows.”
I looked at him suspiciously again.
“You’ll never hear me make a promise that’s not supported with substantial collateral.”
I stopped at my stoop.
“Substantial collateral? Well, what do you know,” I said. “I never left home after all.”
He had a broad smile smeared across his face. I hadn’t looked before, but now I did. His shoes were clean and shiny, one of my father’s first tests of a young man’s quality.
I started up the steps and turned at the doorway. “Thank you for escorting me, Mr. Morales,” I said. “Good luck on your career.”
“Good luck on yours,” he called when I opened the door.
I nodded. Yes. If I didn’t believe it before, I believed it now. I would need lots of that.
Tons, in fact.
And from the way I was introduced to New York, I knew that luck, like money, didn’t grow on trees.
Thanks for that one, too, Daddy, I thought, and went into my new home, right now like someone condemned to it.
THREE
Even though I was exhausted, when I finally laid my head on the pillow, I remained with my eyes wide open for at least an hour. The sounds from the street did calm from what they were when I had first arrived, but for me they were still close to the noise of a holiday parade in Guildford. I couldn’t shut them out. I had to leave the window open a little, or else the stale odor in the room would also keep me up. I thought I might get some fresh flowers after I had given the whole apartment a good cleaning.
I had left a light on in the bathroom, but neon lights from grand signs across the street flickered on the walls. They seemed strong enough to come right through them. That and the light from buildings outside poured through the sheer old cotton curtains and kept darkness at bay. Realizing I didn’t need it because of that, I rose and turned off the bathroom light. The room still seemed to be on fire.