'M' is For...

2. No Good Deed

I was nearly a month into my barre classes when I finally had the chance to talk to Missy.

The size of the class was just large enough that you could easily get away with keeping to yourself, and my general MO was to get in and get out as speedily as possible. I might cast a quick smile to a fellow classmate, but I'd considered myself shy all my life and was uncomfortable striking up conversations with others. Besides, I rationalized, I didn't have time to hang around and socialize after class. If I hurried, I could just make the express train back to my apartment in Brooklyn.

It was after class on a Tuesday night, and I was in the process of doing just that. Having shrugged on my rain jacket and wrangled my sweaty hair into a messy ponytail, I was going down the stairs when I saw Missy's unmistakable figure stopped at the doorway. It was unusual to see her without her girl friends. Looking past her shoulder, I could see that the day's rain had not let up. It was coming down in thick, heavy sheets, overflowing the potholes and gutters along the sidewalks and turning them into dirty brown rapids.

"Please, go ahead," Missy said, noticing me. She took a quick step back from the doorway, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear. "I'm just waiting until it lets up a little."

Before my mind had caught up with my mouth, I found myself turning to her and saying, "I've got an umbrella. If you're headed toward 42nd, we can walk over together."

"Oh no, that's really alright." Missy waved it off gamely. "I can wait it out."

"Really, it's no trouble at all!" I insisted.

Missy flashed a grin. Her smile was just a little lopsided, with an appealing self-deprecating humor in its edges that shot straight through me like a lance. I felt my heart inadvertently skip a beat. "You're too sweet! Well then, if you're sure."

It wasn't the easiest thing to share an umbrella with someone who had a good five inches on me. I did my best to keep my umbrella extended well above her head, but despite my best efforts, we both got drenched. I could feel the water soak through my sneakers to my toes, and my whole left side was as wet as if someone had aimed a hose at me. It didn't help that I had to hop and scramble to keep up with Missy's long stride as she confidently set off down the street.

Missy, I soon realized, had her attention on other things.

"Oh, look!" she exclaimed after no more than half a block. I followed her gaze to a little restaurant with a light-up neon sign that read LA CASITA. "That used to be a sushi restaurant until they closed a few months ago. I didn't realize they were putting a Mexican restaurant there instead!"

Missy turned toward me, and I was startled to see her eyes sparkling with adventure. "What do you say we check it out? Unless you have other plans?"

I had had plans to go home, shower off, and maybe get a little reading in before going to sleep, but somehow that didn't seem like the sort of thing that I ought to admit. "No, I'm free," I said instead, my heart beating quickly.

"Perfect, we've got a plan—" Missy paused. "What is your name?"

"It's Mallory."

Missy extended a tanned, manicured hand, and I shook it. "Mallory, it is so nice to meet you."

❖❖❖

That whole first night, I marveled that this beautiful, sophisticated woman had chosen me as her companion for this adventure. She actually seemed interested in what I had to say, and I felt gratified whenever I was able to make her laugh freely. I told her a little bit about myself, how I had moved to the city less than a year ago and had just started classes at the studio. But I was much more interested in hearing her story.

I learned that Missy had been born in New Jersey but raised in North Carolina. She had an older brother and several step-siblings, only one of whom she felt particularly close to. She had always wanted to move to California, but life—and a string of exes—brought her instead to Paraguay, Scotland, and finally New York City, where she'd landed her first modeling gig. Now, she worked at a magazine as a style editor and took fashion design classes on the side, though, she confided, she wasn't sure if she really wanted to stay in fashion at all. "Everyone," Missy said with a droll eye roll, "is a shallow, cut-throat little bitch."

The women I'd seen Missy hanging out with before and after class were friends she'd made outside of the studio. Kiara was in her fashion design class. Adrienne she knew from back home and had reconnected with at a party. Danielle was another friend she had first met at a party, and it was Danielle who had been the one to recommend the studio to Missy.

"Do you go to a lot of parties, then?" I asked Missy.

"Oh, not many... But every now and then, I do like to throw a good book club." Missy gave a little smile.

"A book club!" That caught me by surprise. Somehow Missy didn't strike me as the kind of person to organize a book club. "That's great. I wish I could keep up with my reading."

Missy threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, yes, we do our best to stay on top of it."

Drinks after barre class became a weekly tradition. Missy introduced me to her friends, and usually at least two or three of us would head over to La Casita after class to hang out. I liked Kiara, who was sweet and bubbly. Danielle and Adrienne, however, were another story. The two of them ignored me whenever we were together. If I asked either of them a question, I'd be lucky to get a scrap of an answer before they switched to talking to one of the others. It was snobbish behavior that brought me back to high school, and I couldn't help but feel both resentful and slightly ashamed for not meeting whatever secret standard they had.

Still, Missy always made me feel welcome, making it clear to the others that we had been the ones to discover La Casita and it was our place first. I could never quite figure out what she saw in me, but I was grateful to be a part of her girls' club. Nestled in a booth with Missy and her friends, enjoying the drinks that we sometimes got for free from the other patrons, I could imagine myself as someone different. Someone who was confident in herself and successful in her life. Someone who didn't have to pay for her drinks because someone she'd never met before thought she was hot.

It was not a bad feeling at all.