The Trade by JT Kalnay Page A

the assorted nouveau were the
denizens of this new community. Any sized apartment was available
in Battery Park City, from studios to luxurious two story, three
bedroom units. Though it was clean, safe, within walking distance
of Wall St., the World Trade Center, and the World Financial
Center, it still hadn't caught on with native, territorial, and
fiercely tribal New Yorkers who usually refused to leave the
neighborhood in which they were born and raised. Not surprisingly
therefore, most of the people who lived in Battery Park City
weren't originally from New York.
    Jay walked west towards the Hudson River. A
Mercedes limousine's wheels rumbled as the large vehicle sped over
the newly bricked road. Jay hugged his sweater tighter around him.
Though the television had said it was 60 degrees out, it felt more
like 50. He saw no-one on his walk to the river.
    "Nine million people live here and there's
not one person on my street,” he mumbled. It would be the first of
many surprises for Jay that day.

    "Good morning. I'm Jay Calloway. I called
earlier.”
    "Good morning Mr. Calloway,” the perky
receptionist answered. "How may we help you.”
    "Oh I just wanted to make sure I could find
your office before it was an emergency,” Jay said. The young blonde
girl looked at him, as if expecting him to say something or do
something more. But nothing came to mind. Jay lingered and then
shuffled his feet and made to leave.
    "Maybe I should make an appointment for a
checkup,” he offered. The girl pulled out her book and they set it
up. Jay noticed her long, manicured nails and wondered how she
could hold a pen or type with them. They finished their business
and Jay drifted out.
    "Who was that?" the dentist asked, seeing Jay
walk out.
    "Just another lonely new boy in town,” she
answered. They chuckled a melancholy laugh, feeling sad and sorry
for the boy, remembering when they too had been all alone in the
big city.
    Jay emerged into the street and couldn't
believe his eyes. In the twenty minutes he'd been inside, the
deserted street had erupted to overflowing with people. Whereas
before he had felt the empty loneliness of the shadowed concrete
canyons, now he felt a brief rush of exhilaration as the multitudes
swelled around him. The downtown lunch crowd was out on this late
spring day. Secretaries from Brooklyn and Jersey with big hair and
long, painted nails. Wall St. traders in baggy multicolored
jackets. Pasty skinned computer nerds and data clerks crawling out
of their electronic caves for a few brief minutes in the sun. Jay
saw them all rush by in a hurry to be somewhere, to be someone. It
was chaos screaming for everyone to do and be more.
    Jay soaked in the energy. He headed towards
the shining towers of the World Financial Center for lunch. A new
spring was in his step. He figured a nice Italian sandwich at one
of the sidewalk restaurants he'd seen would be nice. Approximately
1,500 of his closest friends had a similar idea. Jay had the brief
revelation that even if you had an idea that was one in a million,
nine other New Yorker's had certainly already had that same idea
twice that day.
    "What'll it be?" the waitress asked. Jay
hadn't seen her turn to face him. He'd been daydreaming about all
the people. Trying to imagine where they all came from and what
they could all possibly do. He couldn't imagine so many people in
one place at one time. There were more people crowded into this one
little block than could fit into Cincinnati's Riverfront Stadium
for a World Series game.
    "And it's just a regular old Tuesday lunch
hour,” Jay said to himself.
    "A meatball sandwich, no onions and a diet
coke please,” Jay ordered. He'd learn to lose the 'please' quickly
enough.
    "Cheese?" the young waitress asked, annoyed
that she'd had to do so.
    "Pardon me?" Jay responded. He'd never heard
of a meatball sub without cheese so he wasn't sure what she was
asking.
    "I said, do you want cheese on your
sandwich?"
    "What kind do you