Page 29

TWENTY-EIGHT

The text from Tom comes in the afternoon.

Shakespeare in the Park? They’re doing Macbeth.

Alex has been distracted all day, replaying the situation with Lucy. She has avoided the newsroom today, not wanting to see Howard at his desk pretending to be some upstanding moral leader.

But she’s been wondering when Tom would text her again. A part of her has been hoping he wouldn’t, that their date was a one-off and her life will remain simple, uncluttered by the complications of a relationship. But the nonlogical, less-thinking force in her brain has been waiting for his message, has craved nothing more since their very first meeting than to just be near him again.

She hesitates. A second date with Tom means moving toward something else, something she can’t come back from, something she worries she won’t want to.

When? she replies, her heart beating faster as the bubble appears on her screen, starting and stopping several times.

Tonight?

Is it too brazen to suggest something so last-minute, or is it just spontaneous? She isn’t sure. It doesn’t matter, she decides, remembering the electricity she felt when they said good night. The way their lips nearly brushed as the lights from the restaurant played on their faces is all that is on her mind when she replies, quickly and without thinking:

Sure.

Again, Tom is already there when she arrives, leaning casually against a stone gate at the edge of Central Park. He’s wearing one of his suits in a textured navy linen, cut slim. His white shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, which suggests he removed his tie before coming to meet her. They embrace quickly.

“I came straight from work,” he says as he pulls away, glancing down at his clothes.

“You look good in a suit,” she replies, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him. “I’ve never been here before.”

He looks at her, surprised. “I would have thought a cultured woman like you would have been to Shakespeare in the Park before, especially as you live so close. It’s such a New York institution.”

“There are quite a few New York things I haven’t done,” Alex says, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I guess I’ve let some of the things I always wanted to do here slide. I’ve just been focused on work.” And staying out of sight. She glances around nervously as they join the crowd moving toward the amphitheater. People look relaxed and glowy, happy to be in New York City on a beautiful summer evening. She allows herself to get swept down the path with them, to appreciate participating. “I’ve actually never seen Macbeth at all. I just read it in high school English,” she admits.

“Honestly, when I was younger, I always thought Shakespeare was unbelievably boring. I felt like the people who said they liked his plays must be pretending.”

She laughs. “What changed your mind?”

“Would you laugh if I told you it was all those audiobooks?” He glances sideways at her, a crooked smile appearing on his face.

“Maybe?” She smiles back.

“When I listen to the classics, I don’t know, it’s like I can hear them in a way I could never read them. Scenes and people appear in my mind. There is a melody to it. I can close my eyes and see it. Obviously just the way Shakespeare intended.” He laughs.

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s pretty lucky to still be relevant, if you ask me,” she says.

He grins. They’ve come around to the entrance to the stage.

“Here we are.” He shows a barcode to the attendant. How different Tom is, Alex thinks again. His seemingly recent interest in old literature. His curiosity about, well, everything. Including her boss. She tries to push the dark cloud of Howard Demetri and his affairs from her mind. Tonight, for once in her life, she wants to just be Alex Marks, a normal, successful woman on a date with an attractive and interesting man who, she notes as the usher shows them to their row in the front of the theater. She sits down, feeling excited about having a new experience for a change. She feels for the first time like she has made it.

She glances behind her at the rows and rows of people, their faces illuminated by the house lights. So many faces, she can’t take them all in. Down here, anyone could be watching her. As she looks at them, everything dims and enthusiastic voices fade to a ripple of murmurs and then silence. She begins to relax.

It’s a bleak play, the story more morbid than she’d ever picked up on back in school. Intense and surprisingly engaging.

Their proximity to the stage means that she is able to see each actor’s changing expressions. It’s incredible watching a person get absorbed into a role, Alex thinks, mesmerized. Actors are such amazing liars; they must have to convince even themselves.

The sky beyond the stage has gone electric cobalt blue as the sun drops beyond the edge of the amphitheater. She glances at Tom. The angular planes of his face lit by the glow of the stage. He is rapt with interest as he follows along, trailing the movements of the actors. She is distracted from it all by her proximity to him. It’s been so long since she’s sat quietly next to someone. Why has she waited so long? What has she been so afraid of? Even as she tries not to stare at him, she notices the rise and fall of his chest beneath his shirt. His hand rests in his lap. She imagines herself reaching for it, their fingers entwining. It makes her shiver. He glances at her now, and she smiles at him and forces her eyes back to the actors onstage. The ones being paid to pretend.

Macbeth crosses the stage. His eyes are empty when he scans the crowd.

Infected be the air whereon they ride,

And damned all those that trust them.

The sky is a deep nighttime blue when they emerge from the amphitheater, the walkway in shadow. The crowd thins as they cut across the park, away from the entrance. They are talking and she pays no attention to where they are going until the path grows black under her feet and the trees start to knot above them. She is walking closer to Tom now as the trail in front of them narrows. They are no longer talking, their heavy breathing audible from the climb up the path. Their fingertips brush in the dark. He’s taken her a way she doesn’t know. Normally she tries to stay off the smaller paths. There can be strange people, unpleasant surprises or worse. She can’t see his face anymore. She can’t quell the cold hammering of her heart as she realizes how little she knows about Tom. Alex has tried not to ingest the stories of women murdered in the park, but they are bubbling up now. The bodies found in the woods. She can see it now on the front page of the Daily : the woman who got murdered on a second date.

The brush to one side recedes and they come to a clearing next to the pond. The full sky of city lights reflects in its surface, a magnificent sparkling city above and below that makes her breath catch. There is the footbridge all lit up; it spans the pond. Above the tree line the lights of the buildings that fringe the park. All of it reflects in the water below.

His hand reaches for hers, their fingers firmly interlace. She turns away from the lights toward him. The fear melts away. How many nights has she lain awake wishing her life was exactly this? She has spent enough time running from the past. She wants to be here now, to stake her claim on this glorious city.

She doesn’t try to stop him. His other hand is at her face, drawing her toward him. She completely gives in to the feeling of it, letting him pull her closer. His hand is firm but gentle against the nape of her neck. She bends her neck back as their lips meet, slowly at first and then faster. The thrill of it warms her body, makes the dangers dissolve. And when they finally draw away from each other and begin walking down the path toward the bright lights of Columbus Circle, she can’t remember being afraid at all.