This Book Made Me Think of You(59)
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Being a tourist is exhausting. Even Tilly’s specific brand of tourism that involves avoiding all the regular landmarks in favor of bookshops, libraries, and cafés has caused blisters to form and her clothes to cling to her skin in the heavy heat. By early evening she heads to Book Club in the East Village. She finds a seat at the long bar at the front, people browsing in the bookshop at the back and reading in leather armchairs.
“What can I get you?” asks the bartender as Tilly consults the list of literary-themed cocktails.
“I’ll go for a Murder on the Orient Espresso Martini, please.”
“Great choice.” As he prepares the drink, Tilly’s phone buzzes with a new message from Alfie.
So, how was the Ripped Bodice?
She can chart her travels around the city through the photos she has sent to Alfie. The flowers in the Shakespeare Garden in Central Park, where she’d sheltered from the heat beneath the trees, reading the messages on the memorial benches and thinking of Joe. The Morgan Library, which was just as beautiful as the New York Public Library. And then the Ripped Bodice, a pink-fronted shop in a quiet neighborhood in Brooklyn made up of brownstone buildings. A bookshop that sold only romance novels.
It was amazing. There was this really calm atmosphere in there. Like you’d just stepped into another world where things just…work out.
That sounds amazing. I’d love to visit one day.
The bartender places her martini down with a smile. Tilly takes a photo of her drink and her bookish surroundings, pinging it to Alfie.
Wow. Perhaps I should diversify in the shop and start selling wine, he replies. Although, I’m not sure I have space for a bar, or not without getting rid of the books…
You don’t need to diversify, it is the perfect bookshop exactly as it is. Cheers!
She takes a selfie holding her drink, and a few seconds later he replies with a photo of him propped up in bed wearing a navy sweatshirt, tousle-haired and holding a mug of what looks like mint tea, a book splayed on his lap.
Cheers back!
Tilly looks at the time and does the calculation in her head.
Oh my god, it’s the middle of the night there. I hadn’t even realized, I’m so sorry.
It’s OK, I was up reading anyway. And I’ve liked hearing about your adventures. It’s almost felt like I’ve been there myself today. Thanks for showing me your New York. Enjoy the rest of your evening x
She stares at the x for a long time, wondering if it’s a typo. Then she orders another martini and types her reply.
Night Alfie x
Thirty-Eight
Perhaps buying seven books at the Ripped Bodice was a bit much. And perhaps it was a mistake to walk back from the East Village to Midtown, but by the time Tilly had finished her second martini, it seemed like a good idea. She wanted to soak up more of the city, the heat of the day finally cooling off. She grabs dinner to go from a food truck at Madison Square Park, eating it looking up at the Flatiron Building before continuing the final blocks through the city, about ten blocks too many, as it turns out.
Her feet ache, her shoulders sore from carrying the day’s book purchases, but when she spots a street name she recognizes, she can’t help taking a detour. She never saw the Alphabet office in person, but she recognizes it from the website that she pored over fastidiously ahead of her interview. She’d used Google Street View to explore the local area, locating what would be her local subway station, finding the local deli she imagined grabbing cream cheese and lox bagels from for lunch, and locating the nearest bookstore she pictured herself browsing in after work.
Now she stares up at the glass-fronted building, the lights still on despite the late hour. Through the revolving doors, she can see an airy reception, the wall entirely covered with books. She allows herself a moment to imagine what it would have been like. If Joe didn’t get sick. If she’d taken the job. If they’d moved to New York.
And then she spots someone pushing through the revolving door, phone in hand, a full tote bag slung over her shoulder. She wears a denim pencil skirt and a sleeveless blue shirt, her face framed by bright red glasses that Tilly recognizes, her lips painted a matching shade.
As she looks up, a frown passes across the woman’s face. It is too late for Tilly to move away—she is standing directly in the woman’s path. A beat longer and Liz Cohen’s eyes widen, a smile cracking across her face.
“Wow. Tilly Nightingale. It’s been a while.”
She has the same composure that intimidated Tilly in her interview. But there’s a warmth to her, too, evident in the way she gives Tilly a quick but firm hug.
“Liz, hello. I’m surprised you remembered me.”
“I’ll be honest, it took me a second. I wasn’t expecting to see you here. But of course I remember you! What are you doing here?”
“I’m just visiting but I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I’d come and see the office.”
“Of the publisher you turned down?”
Liz raises an eyebrow, revealing her infamous steely side, known for negotiating the toughest contracts as the formidable publisher of Alphabet.
“I’m sorry about that.”
Liz laughs. “I’m just teasing you. We were disappointed, but these things happen. I’ve always wondered what you did instead though. Tell me, who snapped you up?”