Martin's Big Night

I'm sitting on my creaky hotel bed in Queens when the phone rings and Ida's profile picture appears on the screen. I hadn't thought about her in years but something in her eyes rattles me. We exchange a few words, joke that we already have each other's cell numbers and don't need the app. We decide to meet over a drink. It was so long ago and all that. We meet at the crossing where Lafayette Street turns into 4th Avenue. Ava leads me into a colorful hotel lobby. The wall behind the counter is painted in a stark orange color that almost feels blinding. Two couches are squeezed up against the cement wall to the right, one dark green, one purple. On the left five expensive-looking satin chairs are facing the entrance. We walk past a large canvas of a smudged face. It looks like the artist gave up halfway through and left it out in a hailstorm for a finishing touch. I can't tell if it helped or not. The two men behind the counter smile at us as we pass them. We are almost at the elevators when I notice a flower in one of the receptionist's breast pockets.

"Are we going to a gay bar?" I ask.
"What? No" Ava says. "Why would you think that?"
"No reason" I say, swallowing my words.

Ava gives me a stern look, indicating I should keep it clean. I get it, but honestly, that flower could have fooled anyone.

We take the elevator up to floor 20-something. We watch as the numbers on the digital display slowly tick upwards. No one says anything. A feeling of nervous uncertainty descends in the elevator. The situation isn't improved by the cramped sauna heat. I sweat profusely. 

Ava looks at me with a dubious grin.

"Are you okay? You're sweating like you just ran up the stairs" she says.
"I'm fine" I say, without losing eye contact with the display.

I use the back of my hand to wipe the sweat off my forehead. Ava escapes into small talk with a guy from the kitchen staff. I hadn't even noticed him standing there, pressed into a corner, like some forgotten floor lamp. I listen with half an ear.

"Working late?" she asks with an effortless confidence.

He nods politely. Ava smiles warmly at the stranger.

"Is the food any good here?" she asks.
"The restaurant it's excellent miss" he says.
"What about the rooftop bar?"
"Haven't tried it."

I consider joining in. It's not like I have anything better to do. But my tongue feels like a dry sponge, swollen and useless. And I don't want to intrude when Ava is in her element, chatting with strangers as if she'd known them for years. Besides, I have my role: the claustrophobic mute, better stay in character. 

The floor lamp steps out - a good ten floors before the top and leaves us to our fate. The awkward silence continues. 

When the elevator doors open, I feel a sense of relief. Like I'm over a hump. I'm unsure why, cause the dubious look has not left Ava's face. But her focus shifts, I'm saved by the small crowds of fancy New Yorkers scattered around the rooftop. She starts moving her head to the music, a monotone lounge beat playing in the background, and heads for the bar. I'm not sure what to do but don't want to look too baffled so I push straight ahead, past two guys in blue blazers. I want to get a glimpse of the view. I need to stand on my toes to get my head over the railing. The sky is painted in pinkish colors that shine through a thin layer of clouds. The sun has withdrawn behind the rooftops. I look at the building on the opposite side. My eyes wander down to the foot of the building. Down there, I see people no bigger than tiny rice grains walking on the sidewalk. My eyes jump from one grain to another, before I backtrack to where I started. I keep doing it, back and forth, back and forth. It feels oddly satisfying. I can't help but smile.

Ava wants my attention. She tells me that people drink champagne here. It's a hint. I nod. She goes back to the bar to pick up her order while I look for a table. I sit down and pull at my shirt to cool my chest. Ava shows up with two glasses and an ice bucket but barely has time to sit down before she spots some friends. I follow her elegant movements, comparing what I see now—her blonde shoulder-length hair and the light green blouse that matches her eyes—to how she dressed before. Something about her hair feels unfamiliar. Didn't she have brown hair the last time? I don't remember. She feels like a different person now. So sharp, so worldly. She stops at a corner where three girls in sleek dresses are squeezed together. I'm hypnotized by her naturally rosy lips as she starts moving them. Were they always that red? Ava looks in my direction before heading back to our table. Her friends waves to me. I don't know how to respond so I raise my hand in the air. I guess she told them I'm an old friend. At least that's what I would have done in her shoes.