Affairs of Steak by Julie Hyzy

the longest.
    She had to be over sixty by now, but living outdoors had aged her beyond her years. I worried for her, particularly on days like this. Every so often I stopped by and dropped off a few dollars. It was the least I could do.
    I hoped she was keeping warm inside her tent tonight. I also hoped that the last tourist, a hat-and-scarf-wearing man still reading her posters, would pull his hands out of his pockets long enough to drop a donation before he left. Whether he supported her protest or not, the poor woman had to eat.
    McPherson Square station was a few blocks from the White House. Most days I found the walk enjoyable. Not so much this evening. The other pedestrians hurried along as fast as I did, fighting the chill that nabbed us in its icy grip.
    As I made my way north on 15th Street, I became aware of a person walking quickly behind me. I turned to see the same man who had been outside Connie’s tent, hurrying as though to catch up. He lifted a hand in greeting. “Excuse me,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the street, “can you help me?”
    I glanced around, slowing my pace. I was ever suspicious of strangers, but there were plenty of other people around and he looked harmless enough. “What do you need?” I asked.
    Wearing a brown fedora, dark jacket, and red plaid scarf across his mouth and nose, he puffed out a dramatic breath. “Thank you. I may be lost.” Nothing about him set off any alarms, but when he took a step closer, I stepped back.
    “I’m supposed to meet someone at a restaurant aroundhere.” He stretched his left arm out and tapped the watch on his wrist. I’d expected a Rolex, but it looked more like a department-store Swatch. “I’m late and I can’t remember the name of the place. Which stinks, because I’m starving.”
    He didn’t scan the street for potential meeting places, he stared at me—studying me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. I didn’t like that I couldn’t see his whole face. “There are a lot of restaurants around here,” I said as I inched away, “why don’t you call your friend and ask?”
    He stepped closer. “Left my cell back at work. Hey,” he said as though the thought had just occurred to him. “Can I borrow yours? Just for a minute?”
    There seemed to be far fewer pedestrians than there had been just moments ago. I was definitely getting the creeps from this guy now. As he took another half-step closer, I said, “It won’t do you any good if his number is in
your
phone’s memory.”
    He blinked. “Right.” Switching gears, he continued, “You seem a little frazzled. Rough day at the office?”
    This conversation was very wrong, and I needed to get away without making any sudden moves. I worked up a smile of my own and took a step back, making sure to memorize all I could about this weirdo, just in case. Twenty-five to thirty-five years old, by my limited best guess. Dark eyes. No moles, no birthmarks in the part of his face I could see. “I hope you find your friend,” I said, giving a little wave. I started away at a brisk clip.
    Within seconds, he was at my side again. “Maybe if I describe the restaurant to you. It’s supposed to be famous for its gourmet menu. Do you know anything about food?”
    I didn’t slow my pace, didn’t look at him. “Not much.”
    “You’re a terrible liar.”
    Instinctively, I glanced over. I couldn’t tell whether he knew who I was or whether he was just socially inept. He shrugged, said, “Women always know the best restaurants,” then studied the streets, as though looking for an opportunity. “Where do you work?”
    Picking up my pace, I pointed east. “There’s a great steakhouse about a block from here.” I gave him the name. “On the next street. If that isn’t right, I’m sure they’ll be able to help you find the right one.” I tapped my wrist. “Gotta run.”
    “Wait—”
    I didn’t. I flat-out ran the rest of the way to McPherson and