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Tuesday, July 15

The Herald Towers Apartments are located on West 34th Street in the Garment District of Manhattan. It is twenty-six stories high and its three prewar towers, in the shadow of the iconic Empire State Building, accommodate 690 luxury residential units. The location, nestled at the crossroads of all major New York City subway lines, was more than perfect for me.

The taxi ride from the hotel to my new residence for the next three months took a mere fifteen minutes, and, while I was relieved to leave my depressing room at the Riverside Studios, I was not prepared for the stark contrast between the hotel and the apartment building. The lobby alone would have been more than acceptable for any grand hotel in the neighborhood.

“Your belongings arrived yesterday,” said the concierge, a middle-aged woman in a navy blue dress, as she handed me the key to my studio. “They are in your apartment.”

I had travelled very light for the first two nights in New York City, only my computer and a duffle bag, just enough to provide the bare necessities of life on the road. Sophie had arranged to have the bulk part of my luggage delivered through UPS, courtesy of a large insurance company in the Washington D.C. area.

My studio was located on the eighth floor, and the concierge pointed me to the elevators, but, first, I was burning to check out the exercise facilities. My plan was to keep in shape and, as I did at home, work out on a daily basis. I was not disappointed by what I found. The room was huge, and there were all kinds of exercise machines, enough to entertain a whole football team. Even at this early hour when I arrived there were already a good number of people, women and men alike, running, climbing, pumping, and sweating.

I walked back to the elevator, where a young man, dressed in short workout pants and a very tight, very sweaty T-shirt, already waited at the door. He was medium-sized like me, but slender and, without a doubt, very muscular. I guessed his age somewhere around the early thirties. His most significant features were his spiky blond hair and the golden earrings he was wearing.

When the door opened we stepped inside, and he hit the button to his floor.

“Which button can I hit for you?” he asked in a very polite tone.

“Eighth floor, please,” I answered.

“Already done,” he grinned. “That’s my floor, too.”

He looked at my small luggage.

“You’re a new tenant, I assume.”

“Yes. Just arrived this morning.”

“Well, welcome to Herald Towers,” he said. “No matter how long you will stay, you will enjoy it. It’s a great place.”

“Looking forward to it.”

We stood there, wordless for a few more moments, until we reached our floor, and we stepped outside. His apartment was three doors down from mine, and, while I was fumbling with the key, I called out to him.

“Hey. You should know,” I said, grinning and nodding at his haircut. “I am looking to get a good haircut in the neighborhood. Any recommendations?”

His answer came surprisingly swiftly, “Eddie’s Salon. It’s down the road next to Old Navy. Ask for Tommy. He’s the best! As a matter of fact, I know he has an opening this afternoon at five.”

I frowned. “To be honest, I don’t like guys cutting my hair. I’d prefer a female touch and, don’t get me wrong, some passion.”

“Oh, not to worry,” he assured me. “They’re all gay at Eddie’s. Will that do?”

“Perfect!” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said and turned again to walk over to his place.

“By the way,” I called again out to him. “I am Stuart. What’s your name?”

He turned just briefly and winked at me.

“Tommy,” he said, and then he disappeared into his apartment.

I shook my head and grinned, and then I opened the door and stepped inside. I had expected some luxury inside, but I was surprised by the mere size of the studio. For a minute I admired the Oriental rug covering parts of the beautiful hardwood floor, the king-size bed covered with silk sheets in the far corner, the large antique mahogany desk, the huge flat-screen TV on the wall, the black leather couch and love seat, and the huge table with a top made from black slate. There was a small, but beautiful kitchen fully equipped with brand-name appliances, all of them the best of the best. The bathroom was of similar quality, but the studio’s best feature was the huge walk-in closet, where I also found my luggage.

I spent some time with hanging my stuff, then I had a long and hot shower, something I had skipped at the hotel this morning in anticipation of a more luxurious setting later in the day. After I was done, I briefly called Sophie at work and left her a message that I had arrived at the apartment. As usual, she was hard to reach during office hours, being busy with all sorts of meetings and interviews. I worked on my computer for a little while, and worked through the information I had received on the New York City subway system. After all, I would most probably use it very frequently.

Then it was time for my haircut. I walked the short distance to Eddie’s Salon. It was one of those hot summer days in New York City, the temperature hitting the mid nineties even this late in the afternoon, and the foot traffic on 34th Street was enormous. You see tourists from all over the world, and I learned quickly how to recognize them easily. They are the only people to stop at red lights at pedestrian crossings. A true New Yorker pays attention to traffic, not the lights, and sometimes not even that.

I was slightly sweaty when I arrived at Eddie’s Salon, and it was everything you would expect from a salon in this location without being overbearing. Everything, exterior as well interior, screamed expensive, but whoever did the design, did it with extraordinary taste. In view of the environment, I felt a little misplaced here, wearing my washed-out jeans and a short-sleeve shirt, but nobody seemed to be worried when I stepped in.

“Can I help you?” asked a young guy behind the reception desk. With his painted fingernails and the amount of jewelry he was wearing, there was no need for him to explain that he was gay, but his appearance and his sexual preferences didn’t concern me. His service was no-nonsense and very professional.

“I have an appointment with Tommy,” I answered.

“He will be right with you,” he said politely. “Please feel free to take a seat over there.”

He pointed to the large seating area, then he picked up the phone and dialed a three digit number.

“Tommy,” he said after a few seconds, “Your five o’clock is here.”

Then he hung up and continued with some activities on the computer behind his desk.

Less than a minute later Tommy appeared, we shook hands like we were old friends, and he lead me to his chair and asked me to sit down.

“Let me see what we have here,” he said as his hands combed through my hair. “It definitely needs a cut, Stuart. How would you like it done?”

“I tell you what,” I started, but hesitated as one of Tommy’s colleagues came by to seat another customer next to us.

As soon as Tommy’s attention was focused back on me, I continued, “I need something more progressive. Why don’t you just go ahead and make something out of it that would make you swoon.”

I had made sure to emphasize the “you” in the swooning part, and to my surprise I noticed the Tommy’s colleague looking at me in utter disapproval, but Tommy didn’t notice.

“Alrighty then,” he grinned, “I think I can do that!”

After washing my hair, we returned to the seat, and while he was cutting my hair we engaged into a lively conversation. First, he asked where I was from and how I came to New York. I told him the truth, that I was from Montgomery Village in Maryland, and that I was here temporarily for business. It turned out Tommy was born not too far away from my hometown, and we talked about places we both knew. I was still a little irritated by the guy at the next chair, who, for some reason, did not seem happy about overhearing our conversation.

“Are you going to watch the MLB All-Star Game tonight?” Tommy changed the subject, peeking over to his colleague. Apparently, he had noticed the disapproving looks from the other side, too.

“I guess I will watch it from home tonight,” I answered. “Are you with the Yankees this year or, as I would hope, with the Orioles?”

“Sorry,” he laughed, triggering yet another bad look. “I love the Orioles, but I still believe the Yankees have a better chance to win the World Series this year.”

Then he added proudly, ”Actually, I do have tickets for the All-Star game.”

I had forgotten, but the game was at New York’s Yankee Stadium this year.

“Unfortunately, my boyfriend doesn’t like any sports,” he added wryly, “and I had to ask somebody else to go with me.”

He peeked over to his colleague, who had turned away.

It was time for the hair-dryer, and when he was done and had brushed off the hair from my shoulders and neck, he asked how I liked the result.

“Great!” I said. “Exactly what I needed! You’re a genius!”

Yes, it was indeed a hotshot haircut. Sophie wouldn’t have liked it, though. Her taste was a bit more conservative, but at the same time she would understand. I was here not only to sell my novel, but to a great part also myself.

Tommy walked me over to the register, and I paid and made reservations for the next appointment. The price was horrendous, but I also thought it was worth the result. Sophie had encouraged me to get only the best of the best, and that’s what I got.

I turned over to Tommy to hand him his well-deserved tip.

“By the way, who’s the charmer over there?” I asked him, nodding to the chair next to Tommy’s.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s my boyfriend Paul.”

I felt a little embarrassed.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”

“That’s okay,” he laughed. “He can be a prick at times.”

And then he blushed. “Oh, my God!” he said. “Now I get it. He’s jealous of you!”

“I am sorry,” I said, “but I am not…”

“Not gay?”, Tommy responded, raising his eye-brows in mocked disgust, but then he laughed. “I knew that from the second I saw you. Unlike some people I know…”

He looked over to his boyfriend, and then turned back to me.

“…I don’t think with my sexual organs. I actually have a brain.”

We both grinned.

“He treats me like shit, though,” Tommy continued in a more depressed tone. “He doesn’t appreciate me at all. Maybe some jealousy is just the right thing for him.”

“Well,” I said and turned toward the door, “I’ll see you around I guess.”

Then I looked over to Paul, and I had an idea. I made sure he was watching us when I reached out for Tommy and caressed his cheek.

“Thank you, honey,” I said loud enough for Paul to hear us. “Call me!”

Tommy looked at me, surprised at first, but then he grinned and mouthed a “Thank you.”

Next: Chapter 6