Meet Me In New York

Chapter 1: When in N.Y.C.

"It's from my boss," he replies.

"Oh, God. What does she want?"

"Do you remember the guy who is going to testify against the Italian mafia? Albert Schultz?"

The news wasn't a surprise to Leah, but the name is familiar. Before Leah had gotten out of bed, her journalist girlfriend Paige wouldn't stop talking about Albert Schultz. She believes if he testifies to the grand jury, then the entire mafia will go down.

"So is this guy a real McCoy?" Leah asks in a doubtful tone.

"Yeah," says Holden. "The good news is that the mafia is in Riker's Island."

"What's the bad news?"

"Albert Schultz wrote a six-thousand worded draft of his experiences and he wants me to read them."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Holden stretches his arms and puts them behind his head. "The park looks like it's going to close soon. Let's find Matt and Callie."

The neon lights soar into the dark blue canvas as fireworks shower New York with intense color and cracking noises. Excited feet stop. Precocious eyes broaden at the sight of vigorous explosions - all except for Holden and Leah.

While the fireworks show went on, they journeyed through the park to find their friends. Holden and Leah checked the bathrooms, examine the rides, and asked the tourists if they had seen their friends. But no one has any clue where Matt and Callie are.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Holden stops pacing then asks Leah if she remembers where Callie and Matt head off to.

"Nope."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

As Holden shoots her a fierce look, Leah throws up her hands in frustration.

"Oh, give me a break, Holden." she snaps. "For all I know, they're probably fucking in some shitty bathroom."

* * *
Holding Matt's hand, twenty-one-year-old Callie Swan gazes at the bustling park and asks him if he wants to meet up with Leah and Holden.

"Nah," Matt shakes his head. "I am feeling a little dizzy from that crazy rollercoaster ride."

He fixes with his gray beanie as his thick, black curls tickle the back of his neck. Matt wears a Ying-Yang necklace, an oversized green t-shirt, baggy jeans, and sandals. Playing with his wedding ring, Matt notices his wife Callie smoothing her floral blouse from the chocolate Oreo crumbs. Her soft hands tuck inside the pockets of her zip-front jeans.

Pushing the thin dreadlocks out of Callie's almond brown eyes, a thoughtful Matt asks: "What's wrong, babe? Do you want to sit down somewhere?"

"No, honey." Callie rolls her eyes. "It's just that I told you not to go on that ride."

"I know." he moans, sliding his arm around Callie's shoulder. "But it was so fun! Do you remember the time we rode the fucking Thunderbolt together on our first date?"

Callie's cheeks redden. When they first rode the Thunderbolt, Callie clung onto Matt's arm like a nervous six-year-old. The angry wind caused her frizzy hair to smack her terrified face; her vocal cords were strained from screaming.

Squeezing the bridge of her nose, a flustered Callie sighed, "I wish I never got on that damn ride. Did you know I almost choked on a fly?"

"Oh come on, babe." Matt snickers. "You were smoking hot."

"Really?"

"Fuck yeah. Why do you think I married you?"

Bowing her head, Callie grasps his hand then leads Matt to the carnival games. Some made cotton candy, while others have children sacrifice their monthly allowance to test their wits, strength, and patience.