ever since new york || h.s.

six

By Friday, I was satisfied with what I'd accomplished over the course of the work week. I had finished this week's column about the ice boxes, along with an extra one about North by Northwest coming out in the cinema. My boss liked both of them, or at least I had assumed he did because he let out a satisfied grunt and a thumbs up before moving on to the next desk.

Mr. Ricci was an old man, probably around the age of seventy, with a shiny bald head and chains around his neck that had to be real gold because of how heavily they weighed him down, like his head was constantly drooping. He was a hopeless misogynist, his old Italian accent only making his ugly words more harsh, especially when he was yelling at the men for not being able to do better than an 'idiot broad.' He was a horrible boss, one of the worst I could imagine, but he was good at motivating and relating to the men, so he was able to keep his job without any threat of being fired. There were far more of them than there were of me so my light voice got talked over, my wishes for change in the office never being granted. I used to think that if I sat there and yelled for what I wanted long enough, my voice would become so hoarse that I would sound like just another one of the guys and then maybe I would be heard. I never tried it though.

It had started to get hot and sticky with the mid-July heat sinking in so I couldn't wear the jacket that I always brought along to work with me, the weather forcing me to drape it over my arms, only adding to the huge load I had to carry: my typewriter, my bag, my books, and then my coat. I'm sure I looked like a proper idiot, teetering back and forth down the street while trying to balance all of my things, looking like a tightrope walker that used the sidewalk to do her stunts.

The books that were teetering on top of everything started slipping and sliding around, creating a sort of avalanche of paper as I tried swinging my arms to keep them under control. A big, strong arm covered in a baby pink sleeve suddenly swung beneath me, a firm grip holding up the bottom of my Remington, causing me to jump back and almost drop everything.

"Hey, hey, hey. It's just me," a soft voice said from beside me as I cautiously turned my head, scared of who I might see. It was only Harry, standing innocently with his arm still stretched out and a big smile on his face. He started sweeping books into his arms before trading with me so he could carry my nearly twenty pound typer and I could take care of the lighter things.

"I'm starting to think you're following me," I joked to which he lightly giggled, his leather boots clacking along the pavement.

"Actually, just got finished at the cinema and happened to see you struggling," he said, bumping into me slightly, a playful grin still on his face.

"Your office is the other way."

"Well, so what if I'm following you?"

I laughed a little, not knowing how else to respond, letting the clacking of our shoes do some of the conversation work for us.

I didn't want to bring up how slightly weird it was for him to make unannounced efforts to talk to me. As the reporter, I should've been arranging meetings to sit down with him, not the other way around, and these weren't even considered meetings. Him taking me for lunch could've passed for one if you were stretching it just a little, but him running up to me in the street was nowhere close to being a meeting. He was acting like we were close friends that actually knew each other, which I didn't necessarily mind because he was sweet and fine to be around, but I couldn't shake the weirdness of it. But of course I couldn't mention it or else I would hurt his feelings and lose him as a subject for my column completely. I just had to go with the flow.

"You know I still think it's funny that you thought I was trying to get rid of you the other day," he said as we reached my apartment building, him waiting patiently as I unlocked the door to the inside, wondering if he was going to follow me all the way up to my number, trying to figure out if I would mind that or not.