The Trade by JT Kalnay Page B

have?"
    She rolled her eyes. "Provolone, Cheddar, or
Mozzarella?" she rattled off. Jay took note of the tone of her
voice. It was grating. He thought she must be angry at someone or
ready to scream or something. The hard edge and urgency and
simmering hint of violence that were in her words put Jay
ill-at-ease. His earlier good feelings were rapidly
dissipating.
    "Provolone,” he ordered.
    "Lemon?" the waitress asked.
    "On a meatball sandwich?" Jay asked
incredulously. He couldn't believe it.
    "No asshole, in your freakin' soda. You want
lemon in your soda or no?"
    "No lemon,” Jay answered meekly. She'd
intimidated him. She stalked off leaving him confused about this
place and these people and the things they did to their soda and
lunchtime customers.
    "Who puts lemon in soda?" Jay asked
himself.
    He could feel the energy all around him, but
he couldn't understand it. He sensed he would do great things here,
be part of some large thing, but he was starting to know the
isolation of being a nameless, faceless foreigner who had most
recently been a big fish in a small pond and now, in New York City,
had yet to find the water.

    The grocery store and dry cleaner were new
experiences to him as well. Being used to the wide open
well-stocked spaces of the Kroger Super Stores in the Midwest, he
found the crowded, noisy, under-stocked, over-priced, new but
already dirty hole-in-the-wall that was the sole grocery in his
area very unsatisfactory. No wonder this neighborhood hasn't
caught on , he thought, though he could have spoken out loud.
The entire staff at the grocery was Lebanese. The dry cleaners had
been Asian.
    Weary from his travels and carrying three
sacks of essentials he returned to his apartment. It was almost 3
o'clock. He'd been out five hours but felt like he'd endured an
entire month of being pushed and shoved and hurried along and
spoken to by people who seemed to be in a bad mood for no
particular reason. And he felt dirty. The accumulated filth and
pollution that plague New York had not yet defaced Battery Park
City, but Jay still felt the grit of the city in his pores. He
headed for the showers.
    After an early supper and a Mets game on the
tube, he flopped into bed. Alone, lonely and exhausted. It would
become his habit. Hard days, lonely nights, exhausted, fitful
sleep.

    In his dream he was walking along the Hudson.
Tonia Taggert was beside him. His hand held hers. The sun was
setting a glorious riot of red and orange behind the Statue of
Liberty. He turned to her. She looked up into his eyes. The
unspoken words leapt between them. Their lips came together and he
could feel her body press up against him. He could feel the
firmness of her breasts, the heat from her breath.

Chapter
     
    "So how's everything going so far?" Bill Beck
asked. Jay held the phone against his left shoulder, with his right
hand he worked the remote control, channel surfing for anything of
interest. After four days in New York City, spent mostly walking
around, watching TV, and playing Galaga at the World Trade Center
arcade, he was starting to get cabin fever. He was ready to do
something, meet some people. Bill's call couldn't have come at a
better time.
    "Not bad,” Jay lied. He sucked in his breath
to talk, but Bill beat him to it. He found New Yorker's were always
getting their words in before him.
    "Well the reason I called was to let you know
about a happy hour after work tonight. I know you don't start until
Monday but I thought you might want to meet some of the guys, and
gals, from the office. You up for it?" Bill asked.
    "Sure" Jay answered. He would have killed for
a date or a party or anything where there were going to be people.
The doorman would be happy to see him with something to do too. Jay
had taken to talking his ears off before and after he went out for
his daily jogs and video binges. Even the attendant at the World
Trade golf center where Jay was playing virtual Pebble Beach every
day would have been happy to