CHAPTER EIGHT
Apparently, hot dogs are a big deal here. There’s a line out the door of this restaurant, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me because there are hot dog vendors standing with their carts on almost every block. I guess these dogs are special. Amber is looking around the sidewalk outside, a frown marring her features.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Sam watches us, waiting for Amber’s response.
“I’m looking for Ray. He’s usually here this time of day.”
I look around too, not that it’s going to help. I have no idea what the guy looks like. “Maybe he’ll be here later,” I offer. I’m actually glad he’s not around. Amber says he likes to put people on the spot with his rude comments, and I’m already feeling self-conscious enough. I’d rather not have to worry about the crazy things he’s going to say that will throw me off and remind me once again how much I don’t fit in here. Amber can handle that kind of thing like it’s nothing, but I’m likely to pee myself and run for the hills. And if it were only my sister witnessing my humiliation, that might be okay, but Sam is here now, too. He’s already seen enough of me being a goofball.
“Is that him?” Sam points.
I follow his gesture over to a man handing out leaflets near the curb.
“No,” Amber says, sounding disappointed. “He’s too well dressed to be Ray.”
Sam’s eyebrow goes up, and I get why—this man’s outfit doesn’t look like it’s seen a washing machine in at least a month. Ray must be something to behold.
My sister opens up her handbag and looks down into it with a sigh. “I guess my present is going to have to wait for another day.”
“What is it?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation going as the line moves forward.
“Just something silly.” She closes her bag. “You’ll see when I show it to him.”
“How do you know this guy?” Sam asks.
“He’s usually here, hanging around inside or outside the restaurant. We struck up a conversation one day, the first time I ate here, and every time I visit, we continue that conversation.”
“What’s it about?”
I try not to stare at Sam’s face, but I’m really curious what his reaction will be when he hears Amber’s answer. I know what mine was—something bordering on disgust.
“He asked me if I was going to have sex with my hot dog.”
Sam just looks at her, blinking a few times.
She shrugs like it’s normal for a person to speak like that to a perfect stranger. “He likes to say stuff for pure shock value. It cracks me up.”
Sam nods a couple times and then turns to face the front door of the restaurant.
His non-reaction makes me think he’s judging my sister harshly, and now I’m mad at him for it. If Amber wants to have a conversation with a derelict about sexy hot dogs, that’s her prerogative. It doesn’t make her strange. Okay . . . so maybe I’m not the best person in the world to judge what’s strange or not, but I know the kind of person she is. She might be bold and unapologetic, but she’s not a perv. I feel the need to rush to her defense as I stare at his unyielding back.
“My sister doesn’t take baloney from anybody.”
“That’s one way to put it,” he says, not looking at either of us.
Amber and I share a glance. She shakes her head at me slightly, telling me not to say anything more, but I can’t keep my mouth shut. Sam is still being way too judgy for my liking. “Better that she stand up for herself than hide in a corner and be afraid to go out anywhere.”
He looks over his shoulder at me. “You know anybody like that?”
My face burns red, and my frustration level skyrockets. I wish I could answer his obvious challenge out loud, but I can’t; I’m too chicken. In my head I can, though, no problem. The answer is, Yes, I do know somebody like that. She’s standing right here behind you, you big dope-head. So what of it?
If that guy Ray asked me if I was going have sex with my hot dog, I would’ve immediately walked—no, run—away, abandoning my lunch with the solid plan of never returning to this part of the city. I’d mentally cordon off a three-block area in all directions and never venture inside it again. Avoidance—that’s my game. Surrender. Retreat. Hide. Abandon ship. I sure as heck wouldn’t have answered his question and then bought him a gift. But I’m not Amber. I don’t have her lady-balls or her generosity.
“So what made you come out to New York early?” Amber asks Sam, a dare in her voice.
I reach over and take her hand, shaking it a couple times before letting it go. I don’t want her to think she has to jump to my defense now. This is her boyfriend’s brother, and they need to get along, which will never happen if she does the big-sister act trying to protect me.
He shrugs, not looking at either of us. “Some personal stuff.”
“Anything I need to know about?”
She’s not going to back down. I feel my blood pressure creeping up because I don’t think he’s the type to retreat either. Are we going to have a showdown at the G. P. Corral? This is New York . . . Will people join the fray and start throwing hot dogs around? With my luck, I’ll get hit right in the face with one, and then that’s all Sam will ever see when he looks at me. Not that I care. Or . . . upon further reflection, I might care. I don’t want to be known as the girl who took a wiener to the forehead. I look left and right, searching for a place that might serve as cover in the event things get out of control. There’s a nice little niche right next to the garbage can to my left . . .
Sam slowly turns to face Amber. “Why would you need to know about something going on in my personal life?” One of his eyebrows goes up. He doesn’t look happy.
I stare at my sister, wondering which version of her I’m about to see: the girl I grew up with in Maine or the new and improved, badass New York version. My fingers and toes feel like they have pins and needles attacking them as the tension rises.
“Because I’m the one who’s handling your contract.” She shrugs, taking some of the sting out of her words. “I’m a detail-oriented person, what can I say.”
“It’s not a detail you need to worry about.” He turns around and starts walking forward, filling up the space created by the advancing line.
Her expression morphs into one of anger as she glares at his back.
A movement catches my eye, and I see a man who looks like he could be my sister’s friend. I’ve never been so happy to see a homeless man in my life. “Look! It’s Ray!”
My outburst has the desired effect. Amber turns to follow my gaze, and Sam moves forward again, putting more space between us.
“That is him,” she says. “How did you know?” Her voice sounds a lot more cheerful now.
Phew . . . crisis averted. “He looks just how you described him.” Like a man who doesn’t have a home and who’s mentally ill. He’s big and broad shouldered but stooped over and shuffling. His clothes look like rags hanging from his large frame. He’s wearing a bright-red knitted hat—the only thing of any distinguishable color on his body. The rest of him is the same dark shade of gray as the dirty street, including his long, knotted hair.
Amber grabs my hand as she speaks to Sam. “Hold our spots; we’ll be right back.” She abandons the line, pulling me with her. I so wish she had taken Sam instead, leaving me to stand in the line alone, but alas . . . here I am, running on tiptoes so I can keep up with my sister and not fall flat on my face as she rushes over to greet her friend, the hot dog pervert.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in,” he says in a gravelly voice when he recognizes her. I wouldn’t say he looks particularly happy to see my sister, but he doesn’t look angry either. I think his face has this expression permanently affixed to it.
“I thought you weren’t going to be here, you old grouch.” She’s smiling as she delivers her insult.
“It’s lunchtime. Where else would I be? Your bedroom?” He laughs at his rude joke.
She snorts. “You wish. How about the park? The grocery store? You know, hot dogs are terrible for your health. You should go hang out at another restaurant sometime.”
“Who says I don’t?” He’s not laughing anymore. I don’t think he likes her lecturing him.
She shrugs, digging into her purse. “All the spies I have watching you tell me.”
He narrows his eyes at her. “You’d better not be surveilling me. I told you how I feel about the government.” He looks left and right, suspicion darkening his expression.
She pulls a silver packet from her purse, thrusting it out at him. “Here. This should help keep the government from being able to find you. Consider it a tinfoil hat for your whole body.”
He takes it from her and turns it over, confusion drawing his eyebrows together. “What’s this?”
“Open it up and you’ll see.” She sounds proud of herself.
He pulls the plastic cover off and holds up the flat, folded-up piece of silver in his hand. It’s about a half-inch thick.
“Open it,” Amber urges.
He slowly unfolds it, one square at a time. When he’s done, a shiny silver sheet as long as he is and twice as wide is revealed.
He grunts as he stares at it, turning it left and right to see it from all angles. “Are you sending me into space?”
“Yeah. I’m sending you into space. This is the first thing you’re going to need: it’s a blanket.”
He points at his head. “You already gave me a hat.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and winter is coming, dummy. You’re going to need more than a hat to stay warm.”
My jaw drops open as I realize she just called this monster of a man a dummy. Is she insane? I ready myself to grab her and pull her out of harm’s way. He doesn’t look like he could move too fast, thankfully.
He smiles at her. “Who’s the dummy? Where’d you get this piece of junk? China?”
Amber holds her hand out. “You don’t want it? Fine. Give it back.”
He hugs it to his chest immediately, his expression suddenly very possessive. “No. Go away. You already gave it to me.” Ray turns and starts shuffling away.
She shouts at his back. “Don’t trade it for anything. It’s Mylar. You’re going to need it when it gets cold. It’s good for shade too!”
He waves his hand over his head, his dirty fingers sticking out of the ends of cut-off gloves. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says. “Nag, nag, nag.”
I look at my sister, fascinated by her smile. Ray smells really bad and is obviously three different kinds of crazy, but she’s actually enjoying this relationship somehow. We’ve dealt with a lot of interesting characters out at the farm over the years, but none of them came even close to this guy. I’m even more in awe of my sister’s metamorphosis now than I was before. This city has turned her into the most tolerant person I’ve ever met. I don’t think even our mothers could handle this Ray person as well as she has.
“That was really nice of you to buy that for him,” I say. “The hat too.”
She shrugs, looking down at her purse as she rearranges things inside it and then closes it more fully. “Winter is coming. I have no idea where he sleeps.”
I look over at him. “Do you think he’s out on the streets full-time?” He’s setting up a little spot next to the exit door of the restaurant, a bag of belongings on either side of him. He leans against the building with the silver blanket now wrapped around his waist like a skirt. He looks hilariously bizarre. I almost admire his style; no one could say that he cares what people think, at least . . . and in a city like this, that means something. It seems like everyone else is dressed like they’re hoping to be scouted for a fashion magazine.
“There are a few shelters and some churches that take people in when it’s really cold, but I haven’t gotten to the point with Ray that I can ask him where he stays.”
Interesting . . . they can talk about sexual relations with food items but not sleeping accommodations. I really don’t understand New Yorkers.
We make our way back over to the line. Sam is just at the entrance to the restaurant, and there are only five people ahead of us now.
“That was nice,” he says, looking down at my sister.
She stares straight ahead. “It’s nothing.”
He shrugs and turns to face the front of the restaurant along with her. “He’ll probably appreciate it in a few days. I hear a cold front is moving in.”
“Yeah, I heard that too.”
I’m behind Amber and Sam, looking at two really stubborn, prideful people who may be calling a truce. It’s hard to say. Observing behavior, both animal and human, is one of my favorite things to do, something I’ve had a lot of practice with at the farm. It’s funny to me how similar these two people in front of me are. I like that they’re managing the conversation around me, though, and that my sister is in control, never backing down or admitting defeat . . . never saying anything embarrassingly silly because she’s panicking and doesn’t know what else to say. She makes me proud.
The line moves forward again, and now I can see a menu. I stare up at it, trying to figure out what I’m in for. A stomachache for sure . . .
“We’re each getting two dogs with a drink.” My sister points to the menu board. “Those are the different drinks you can get. Tell me what you want on your dog, and I’ll order it for you.”
Sam and I speak at the same time: “Ketchup.”
Amber looks first at Sam and then me. “No cheese? No chili? No onions? No mustard, even? You guys are in the hot dog capital of the world and you’re getting plain old ketchup?”
Sam rubs his abdomen. “I don’t want to get an upset stomach. I hear these things are murder on the intestines.” He winks at her and then looks up at the menu.
Her eyes narrow as she stares at the side of his face. Then she turns and glares at me.
I’m trying really, really hard not to laugh; it’s making me look like I have gas pains, I’m pretty sure. As soon as Sam turns away more fully, Amber mouths a sentence at me: You are going to pay for that log cabin comment.
I throw up my hands and lift my shoulders, trying to express my innocence, when Sam turns around and catches me. I immediately drop the pantomime and stare at the floor, praying for the moment to be over. I’m torn between laughing and wanting to run all the way back to the apartment. Once again, I am the dingbat in the room.
Amber is going to kill me as soon as she gets me alone. I owe her a big, fat apology for embarrassing her in front of her boyfriend’s brother with that whole log cabin comment, and I don’t relish the dressing down I’m going to get, so I vote for staying put and eating one of these horrible-looking hot dogs that probably aren’t even made of real meat, so I can delay the inevitable as long as possible.