Three for the City

July: Sink a Little Lower

Matt looked from his phone to the building in front of him. Brownstone was probably more accurate, given he was in the middle of Greenwich Village and standing stupidly on the sidewalk. He slipped the phone back in the pocket of his blue AE shorts, tugging uselessly at the neck of the lighter green button down he wore in an effort to give himself a bit more of a breeze. Mother Nature had decided to crank up the thermometer and everyone on the East Coast was feeling the heat.

And his assumption that tall buildings would cast a little bit of shade on the sidewalk had gone to shit the moment he’d stepped off the ferry in Manhattan.

He took a deep breath, followed by another, and debated a third steadying breath. It was just a request from an NYU student to let her take pictures of him, to see if she wanted to continue using him for her photography project. He knew this. There was nothing dirty about it, nothing wrong with what he was going to do.

But hell if he didn’t feel like he was whoring himself out and committing adultery on Topher in the process.

Swallowing heavily, he jogged up the steps to the door of the brownstone, ringing the doorbell before he could have a chance to second guess himself. He fidgeted with his shirt cuffs, making a mess of them so he could roll them up again. Should he ring the bell again?

Maybe he should just get his ass back to Staten Island where it belonged and never speak of this incident to anyone ever again.

The door opened; Matt jerked, trying for a charming smile and missing by more than a country mile.

“Are – are you Cadie?” he asked, refusing to shuffle his weight from foot to foot in anxiety.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. Bright red hair peeked out from under a knit beanie; Matt was, randomly, reminded of Corey, the woman he’d met once on the Brooklyn Bridge. “Who are you?”

“Matt – Matt Winchester. I called you? About – about the photography project job?”

Cadie’s blue eyes widened. “Oh! Matt! Hi.” She opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in. “Sorry about that, I kinda forgot you’d called.”

“Sorry,” he said, hoping his face wasn’t red as he stepped inside.

“It’s not your fault.” Cadie was damn near tall enough to look him in the eye, which partially intimidated the hell out of him. “I’m Cadie McAllister. Thanks for answering my ad.”

He nodded absently, fiddling with his watch. The brownstone was nice, clean, and held a throwback vibe.

“My studio’s upstairs,” she said, tucking in one side of her loose-fitting tank into her jean shorts. She started up the staircase, and Matt forced himself to look at her red Toms and skinny ankles. His mind flashed to other places before he could blank it out, and the feeling of adultery returned stronger.

They went up to the third floor. Cadie’s studio turned out to be the entire top of the brownstone, lights and white backing set up at one end and stools at the other by the ambient light from the big front windows.

“Do you want me to pay you before or after?” she asked, going over to a small, rectangular card table.

Matt, who’d kept his virginity until his sophomore year of college, felt like a prostitute. And not the kind found in Pretty Woman.

“After,” he said, looking down his front all the way to his Nikes. “If that’s okay with you?”

She smiled. “Fine with me.” She picked up a large, expensive-looking camera and motioned to the stool by the windows. “Have a seat. I’d like to start with some head shots.”