And I Owe It All To You

Chapter Three: Relentless Advertising

“Where are ya goin’?” the older woman asked loudly in an unnecessarily heavy New Yorker accent as Quinn ducked into the taxi. She looked around the cab; it wasn’t exactly how she expected it to be. She wasn’t sure exactly how she expected it, but this was not it.

            “Bushwick.” Quinn said in her usual voice: jazzy and seductive. It was her normal voice, and in her opinion: it was a gift from God. Not to mention the singing voice he gave her isn’t too shabby either.

            “Address?” the woman asked as if she had asked a thousand times already. Quinn thought for a moment, trying to recall the address.

            “Shit… Can you give me just a moment, I’ll find out the address, please?” Quinn pleaded as she looked out the window, not wanting to make eye contact. This woman made her uncomfortable for some reason. She seemed colder. Even colder than Quinn’s sophomore self.

            “This is New York, I don’t have all day. Address now or find another cab.” She spoke sharply, as if Quinn had offended her in some way. Quinn looked up at the woman looking back at her in the mirror. Her eyes were dark and had dark circles to match underneath.

            Quinn wasn’t up for a fight; she had other things to worry about. She leaned over, pulled the sticky handle and pushed the door open with her foot. “Damn tourists” the woman spits out under her breath as she pulls back out into traffic, barely giving Quinn enough time to shut the door.

            Quinn looked down at her pale yellow shoes standing in the rain gutter. They were dirty. “Just ten minutes in New York and my shoes are already dirty.” Quinn said to herself as she stepped onto the sidewalk, pulling her phone out of her little brown bag. She felt that what she just said was a metaphor, but she couldn’t put her finger on it, so she dismissed it.

            “What’s the address again?” Quinn pressed send on the text to Rachel. Quinn looked around, there wasn’t anywhere to sit, and she sure as hell couldn’t stand in the middle of the sidewalk. She didn’t want people wondering about her story, because her story was depressing, and you could tell in her face.

            “I wonder where Sam is now.” Quinn thought to herself as she stepped behind a ginger haired woman in a blood red pea coat, which seemed to be popular now. “I bet he’s happy,” she hoped “I bet he’s doing well and has a beautiful girlfriend… a girl who may be Mrs. Sam Evans one day.” Quinn wished it would be her.

            Quinn turned the corner and found yet another Starbucks. There seemed to be at least one on every corner. Quinn finally gave in to the relentless advertising and walked into it. It was packed with an incredibly large line for such a small establishment. If anyone was looking for someone else in there, he or she would be close to impossible to find. But she could at least get a coffee while she waited on Rachel’s reply.

            Even with all the young, attractive eligible bachelors buzzing around her that were probably dying to get the beautiful blonde’s number, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. “Where does he even go to college? I mean if he decided to go.” Quinn thought to herself as she stepped forward in line. He could be anything he wanted, Quinn knew that. He wouldn’t have any trouble being the brightest star wherever he went.

            “Hi, how can I help you?” The thin black woman behind the counter asked her in a rushed tone.

            “Excuse me?” Quinn asked; she wasn’t exactly paying real close attention to her surroundings.

            “Your order, honey?” The woman asked sounding slightly agitated. Quinn could see why, too; the place was brimming with rushed business men and women.

            “Uh, a Carmel Mocha with a shot of vanilla, please.” Finally. Quinn felt like she had been waiting forever. The woman inputted it into her computer and relayed the price back to Quinn. It was high compared to New Haven’s Starbucks’ prices, but what did she expect? It was New York after all.

            Returning her wallet back into her cardigan pocket Quinn stepped off to the side and stood near the counter that held the sugar and stirring straws. She had just begun to watch the mother in yoga pants balancing a coffee in one hand, her phone pressed up against her ear in the other, and a child on her arm when her phone vibrated in her white cardigan pocket.

            The glare made it hard to see, but Rachel had replied with the address and a smiley face at the end. Quinn headed straight for the door. She didn’t really want her coffee, whoever wanted it could claim it. She really just wanted to see her friends again.

            The barista with the soda can sized gauges held up a coffee as the glass door detailing “Starbucks” shut behind Quinn. “Sam Evans,” the young man yelled out reading the name on the side of the cup. “Sam Evans!”