"That was probably the dumbest movie I've ever watched," Walter said as they walked out.
It was a Friday afternoon in July, and they'd both just gotten out of the theater. The sun was still up, something that Phoebe wasn't used to whenever she went to the movies. She preferred night sessions, but Walter wanted to get an early showing, and she caved only so he wouldn't leave her hanging. It was already enough he had agreed to watch it with her.
What he didn't get was why she had chosen to go with her boss instead of with her friends.
"Well, I liked it, Mr. Intellectual."
"Of course you did," he teased. "The song at the end was all right."
Her mouth swung wide open.
"You just admitted to liking hip-hop! Mind you, it was low-key. But, still!" Overjoyed that the stuck-up Walter could actually enjoy music of that style, the corners of Phoebe's mouth were firmly set upward. "Here come the Men in Black. Galaxy defenders! Here come the Men in Black. They won't let you remember!"
"Will Smith would probably slap you if he could hear you butchering the song like that."
"Excuse me? I'm a good singer." She wasn't. But Walter didn't really mind her off-key voice.
Only about five minutes after they'd set foot on the street, dark spots started to cover the sidewalk.
Walter stretched his hand out, looking up at the grey skies.
"It's raining."
"I can see that," she responded condescendingly.
Phoebe was not yet very familiar with summers in New York, but she did know that there were the occasional showers. This certainly felt like one when the rain fell even stronger, beginning to soak their clothing.
"Agh! My hair..." Her precious blow-dry that always took her the whole morning to perfect was being watered down.
Phoebe intended to call for a cab, but Walter stopped her, telling her not to bother with a motion of his head.
"This is my street," he stated.
Fancy buildings on a shiny clean street? Yeah, it checked out.
They made a run for it, almost bumping elbows with the people who thought ahead and therefore had an umbrella to shield them from the unforgiving drops.
Walter came to a drastic stop in front of a gray/white stone building, much like the ones in Wall Street. This one was almost as tall as the Woolworth building, and quite similar in structure. It pleased Phoebe that it was an old building with character. Not a soulless megastructure with apartments yet to be filled.
There were only two pieces of modern architecture in the whole city that she had learned to appreciate, and largely because she was biased.
He used his key, letting Phoebe in first by holding the door. The girl hurried inside. Unfortunately, the proximity of Walter's apartment did nothing for their clothes and hair. They looked like they'd just emerged from a swamp.
Phoebe began laughing at the man's expense. That flattened hair made him appear like a completely different person. When she stopped to think about it, she decided that he closely resembled a wet golden retriever.
Walter's eyes rolled upward, pretending the girl's mockery affected him, but the shape of his mouth indicated otherwise. She did not realize she was just as risible.
The doorman was apparently just getting back from somewhere else in the building.
"Thanks for opening the door, Oliver," Walter told him sarcastically, but with a friendly tone.
"A doorman has to take a leak from time to time, too, you know?"
Too friendly maybe.
Doorman Oliver did however call the elevator for them, seen as he was standing closer to it. Walter thanked him before stepping inside.
He pressed a series of numbers on the panel, a security key then pressed another button.
While in the elevator, Phoebe thought for a moment that they had been teleported to the North Tower, because the ride was taking longer than she expected. When the elevator dinged, she understood why. The button Walter had pressed wasn't a number, it was a letter.
"Penthouse," indicated the robotic voice.
For some reason, despite being aware of how loaded he was, Phoebe wouldn't have taken him for a penthouse owner. It seemed a little over-the-top, even for him. It wasn't exactly the tallest building around, but it still was impressive that one could afford to live someplace like that.
The penthouse lobby was classy. The floor was covered by a burgundy carpet and illuminated by mood lighting, which seemed to be a repeated characteristic of the building, as Phoebe would see.
He let her walk inside his apartment first, and once there she observed as he entered as well. When he did, he made a gesture that she found intriguingly odd; he touched the frame of the door and then kissed his fingers.
"Why did you just kiss the door?"
"I didn't. I kissed the Mezuzah."
It was like he'd just spoken complete gibberish to her, so she let it go in case he threw more of that in her way. She was not that intrigued.
Now what? She thought as she stood there drenched, and dripping on the perfectly polished floor.
Walter was thinking the exact same thing and trying not to let the puddles forming on his apartment bother him.
There was a fresh smell, sort of like the one when you buy a new car and sit in it for the first time. It could mean that Walter's penthouse was a new acquisition. It could also simply be that he barely was at home. The latter one was parallel with his 'big billables'.
Another surprise as they walked away from the entrance, was to find that the the apartment wasn't classic and old-fashion like the rest of the building. It was fairly modern but not cold-looking like she imagined all corporate residences to be like. The wooden features with those mood lighting fixtures helped to bring warmness and character to the place.
The kitchen and living room shared an open space. Their paths flowed organically, erasing the feeling that they were separate spaces. The scenery was straight out from a home decor magazine.
"I'm probably taking a gamble here, but it's not like I can stay in these clothes." She pointed at the trail of water on the floor. "So, does the suit whisperer have something I can change into in the meantime?"
"Not sure," he told her, guiding her into a room. "Take a look in there."
He was referring to the walk-in closet, which was visibly full of suits hanging from the perches. Shirts, sweaters, and cardigans stacked by color on shelves. Phoebe looked inside the drawers, scarcely finding informal items.
She walked back out with a pair of track shorts in one hand.
"Okay, and do you have anything that's not a dress shirt?" She questioned with a bit of frustration at the limited choices his swanky, high-class closet offered her.
"There should be some T-shirts in that drawer," he replied from the edge of the bed, where he was sitting while he took his loafers off. Which were full of water beads stuck to their shiny surface.
Phoebe opened a drawer and immediately realized she'd opened the wrong one when she saw it consisted of his unmentionables.
"Oops."
The next one was the right one. The T-shirts were so unsurprisingly folded into perfection, that she almost felt bad disrupting them.
"No way! You're a Jets guy?" Phoebe held open the T-shirt she'd picked for Walter to see.
"Would you have taken me for a Giants guy?"
"I wouldn't have taken you for a football guy. At all."
"Maybe it's because I prefer baseball."
"Yikes." She pretended to yawn.
"Or golf."
"Double yikes." Phoebe repeated the action before holding the item up high in her fist. "Well, I'm taking this one, since you don't care for football that much..."
"Actually-"
He wanted to explain that he only kept it for one reason, and it was one that meant a lot to him. But Phoebe was already walking into the en-suite to change.
She got rid of her top, her jeans-now darkened by the water on them-and even the socks on her feet, then changed into the gray Jets T-shirt and Walter's comfy tracksuit cotton shorts. The shorts in question fell down as soon as she had pulled them up. So Phoebe had to tie a pretty tight knot until the waistband was all scrunched up.
The mirror not only reflected how comically oversized those clothes looked on her, but the mess her hair had become.
Not wanting to snoop around, Phoebe decided to walk out the restroom to ask Walter for what she needed.
"Hey," she said while turning the corner. "you wouldn't happen to have a-"
Her words fell short as soon as she looked ahead.
The sight shouldn't have knocked her out like that. Phoebe liked to think that she was in control of that side of things. That she was not someone who was easily awed at a man's physique.
But Walter's torso as he finished taking off his white shirt might have proven her otherwise.
The muted, cold afternoon light coming in from in between the gaps of the venetian window blinds fell over him in stripes adapting to every shape of his smooth skin.
He was quite well defined. Phoebe didn't care for muscles, as long as a body was lean and healthy-looking, she saw little importance in anything else. And yet, he had them. At least more than she would have expected from such a busy forty-two year old man.
She couldn't believe she was staring at him that way. What little disdain could be left in her toward him, no doubt dissipated into oblivion right there.
In any case, his body wasn't even what caught her attention the most. It was the little gleam that emitted from the upper part of his chest as he turned in her direction which mesmerized her.
Soon she realized that it was coming from the Star of David hanging from a golden chain and falling over some blondish chest hair.
Was that the star she'd given him? It appeared so much more opulent than when she'd picked it in the store. Maybe simply seeing it on him gave it a different value.
"A what?" He appeared a little shaken that she'd caught him off-guard like that, but played it off by using a nonchalant tone.
"Hairdryer," she responded slowly and with a dry throat, still taken by the discovery.
"Yes," he also said with a raspy voice that he couldn't hide any longer. He cleared his throat before continuing. "yes, I do happen to have one. Bottom drawer of the gray cabinet."
As she went back in, Phoebe started to fear that gray was his favorite color.
The girl leaned on the sink, feeling a heavy breathing filling her lungs over and over.
"Holy mother of Jesus on a bike," she said, biting her fist in repression of what was the closest thing to an inaudible exclamation.
Why does he have to be exactly my type?
While Phoebe rethought her whole outlook on Walter, the man in question had finished changing into casual clothes without any other interruptions. Casual, by his standards, only meant something slightly comfier than a suit but still giving off an Ivy League feel, which is what Phoebe found out when she was finally done drying her hair.
Her bare feet comfortably stepped on the heated floor until she reached him. He was dressed in a cream sweater that very closely matched the shade of his hair.
"Now I understand what took you so long," Walter told Phoebe, which gained him a questioning look from the girl. "Curly," he elaborated, pointing at her head.
His surprised expression-not a bad one-made her realize that he'd never seen her natural hair. Those endless small coils that formed a voluminous head of red hair were a complete novelty for him, and they made her almost unrecognizable.
If he was a golden retriever, she was a scarlet lioness.
"Oh, yeah." Phoebe chose a random curl to twirl her finger around it while an unconventional shy smile formed on her lips. "Don't mind my 'fro," she said after wildly shaking her head like a rocker, growing the mane's volume even further.
"I don't," he muttered while the girl walked past him into the main living room.
Without the previous distractions she could now focus more on her surroundings. Like the gray chais longue hugging one of the corners of the room and the spacious leg room in front of it, disturbed only a little by the coffee table sitting on top of a fluffy beige carpet. But those nuances were not the apartment's highlight, far from it. That title belonged to what lied beyond it.
"Woah." She ran up to one of the large windows that went almost all the way to the floor, placing her hands on it as she gazed with her mouth open in awe. Walter cringed seeing her hands leaning on the glass like that. But Phoebe then decided to step out onto the penthouse terrace. "The city! The Towers!" She turned to face him, her hand now on her waist. "You can almost see your office from your home. Isn't that a little depressing?"
"Why would that be depressing? I love my office."
"Yeah, yeah." She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm aware."
The dim glow of the sun behind the rain clouds disappeared in full. The city skyline began to show its millions of lights more intensely, bringing an artificial brightness to compensate for the lack of a natural one.
"It's sundown," he stated as soon as he was out of the city's spell, like he'd only just remembered something. "Want to light the candles with me?"
Phoebe leaned back on the railing. "Candles?"
"The Shabbat candles," Walter explained.
"I thought that was on Saturday," she said with a questioning tone as they walked back inside, hoping to work out an excuse and escape of his suggestion.
"It begins Friday at sundown."
"Ah," she mouthed, feigning a half-hearted interest and following his steps toward a rectangular cabinet, where two golden candlesticks already stood in place.
Walter crouched down to open one of the cabinet doors, handing Phoebe a couple of long, white candles and a silver cup.
"I live alone, so it's up to me to do it. But it is normally a woman's task." He took the cup from her hand and headed in direction of the refrigerator, where he got a bottle of wine to pour some of it in the cup. When he returned, he set the cup on the metallic plate at one side of the candlesticks. "Since you're here..." He trailed off, expecting her to give her apprehension up.
"Oh, erm..." Phoebe rubbed her arm while she observed how Walter placed the candles where they belonged. "I'm not a Jewish woman-so it doesn't count. Right?" Her excuse amused him, and although a valid one, it was not going to deter Walter from demonstrating the task to her.
"First," he said, putting some coins inside a weird-looking money box. "We put money inside the Tzedakah box for charity so we can start Shabbat with kindness and a good deed."
He then slid open a drawer, getting out a matchbox that Phoebe casually noted had the distinct Windows on the World art deco logo on it. And in fact, it was consistent with his building's art deco theme as well.
When he lit a match and tried to hand it to her, she flinched.
"What's the matter?"
"Not a big fan of things that burn, that's all."
"It's all right," he reassured her using that soft voice of his. And when he offered the match again to her, this time, she took it, cautiously holding it between her fingers as if it was a weapon.
He stood slightly behind her so he could take hold of the back of her hand and guide her through the process. He caught her by surprise with this. However, Phoebe did not try to shake him off.
Together, they kindled one candle, then the other, setting the match down on the plate to let it burn out by itself.
"We embrace the light of the Shabbat," he continued his walkthrough, taking her other hand, waving both of them three times in a circular motion toward themselves. "And then cover our eyes like this."
He closed his eyes instead of covering them because he wasn't letting go of her hands to make sure she would follow through.
Phoebe blinked twice when his voice suddenly became a melodic tune.
There was something mystical about it. More than a prayer, Phoebe thought she was hearing a spell, intensified by the energy of the candles. Probably only because the words sounded completely exotic to her ears.
"Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'zivanu l'hadlik ner, l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat."
His hold on her ceased at the same time as the prayer. Without noticing, her eyes had also closed while he sang.
The dancing flames received her sight when she opened them again.
"Kiddush." Walter held the cup up high, reciting another prayer. "Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, boreh p'ri hagafen."
The cup touched his lips as he drank from it.
"I would now take a piece of Challah bread, but neither of my sisters had time to make one for me this week," he then mentioned.
Phoebe had been quiet for a long while, and for the first time, she lacked words. Maybe what he did was, after all, a spell. A spell to close her blabber-mouth shut, likely foreseeing her to make a borderline-offensive joke at the conclusion of the ritual.
Walter finished the rest of the wine, looking expectantly out the corner of his eye at her when he left the cup in the sink.
The girl, moving in slow motion, sat on the armrest of the chais longue. Head tilted upward as she glanced at the set of stairs leading to an upper floor.
"Is it rude for me not to show you the rest of the place?" He asked, returning from the kitchen.
Phoebe's hot-headedness did not want to make him think that his home impressed her. But that ship had sailed the moment she'd seen the views.
"I think it is, yeah." She played along, jumping off the armrest.
He lead the way upstairs, gripping tightly onto the handrail. Wondering in his head what in the world he was doing having this girl in his apartment way longer than he should've. He hoped she wouldn't take it the wrong way, misunderstand him.
Lord, what must have Oliver thought?
Walter was fretting about so much about coming off as inappropriate, that he didn't realize they were already on the next floor.
At the end of the hall there was another large window showing the other side of the city. It seemed to stretch beyond infinity.
"It's just my office and a guest room up here."
His home office was a much darker environment than the rest of the house. Kind of ironically counterproductive. It beared a cinematic resemblance to a 1940's office, with its dark mahogany fixtures, a set of liquor ready for pouring, a bookcase of books older than her, and a carton of cigarettes for the taking.
And, just like the office at the tower, it had airplane models. A whole display of them. In fact, she'd spotted some downstairs, too. As well as a few rocket ships.
"More planes." Phoebe held her hand out toward the objects, unable to escape the interest. "What's the deal with them?"
"I simply like the way they look." His innocent shrug didn't fool her.
"Nuh-huh. That's not the whole story."
Walter's sigh was a recognition of her intuition, and it already gave Phoebe a small idea of where he was going.
He leaned on the wall, arms crossed over his chest with resignation.
"If it had been up to me, I would have been a pilot."
Ah, a frustrated dream.
"But your parents had other plans for you," she said as though she was finishing the sentence for him.
"Majoring in economics and then straight to Law School."
"That's a bummer." Phoebe thought back to that day when he stopped her from making a bad choice. She'd told him how he had no idea what it was like not to have a say in one's future. Perhaps she'd made a rash judgement. Being able to afford education apparently did not necessarily grant a desired outcome. "You would have been an amazing pilot, I'm sure. But you're amazing and successful at what you do. You made the best out of a shitty situation." This didn't make up at all for any of it, but Phoebe hoped it could remotely offer some consolation.
She used the sturdy mahogany desk as a seat and crossed her arms.
"So, is that necklace the one I gave you?" Phoebe dared to ask.
"You caught that, did you?" He chuckled and Phoebe's cheeks turned a deep shade of red. Thinking back, she was sure he must've noticed her eyes all over him. "Yeah, it is."
"Do you wear it all the time?"
"Of course. I actually never thought I wanted a Magen David until you gave one to me." He joined her at her side. "I mean, it's just symbolic, a statement. But maybe it's also a reminder; you went from giving me the cold shoulder to welcoming Shabbat with me."
He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. There was... esteem in them.
The two of them returned downstairs after being in silence for a while. Phoebe was alerted at the sound of keys and saw how Walter went up toward the door.
"What are you doing?"
"Taking you home?" He asked unsurely.
"No, I'm gonna go get us something to eat." From what she understood, the moment they kindled the candles, Walter was not supposed to work, cook, or whatever else. Although she doubted the man ever cooked at all. Especially since earlier she'd been able to see how empty his refrigerator was and how immaculately the kitchen shone, as if it had never been used. So she decided to help by grabbing some take away.
After putting her shoes back on, Phoebe looked outside to see if it was still raining. It appeared to have stopped, but just in case, she took an umbrella from the entrance after swinging her bag over her shoulder.
"I'll be back in ten or so."
He handed her his keys in case Oliver wouldn't let her back in.
"The passkey is-"
"No need. I've got it," she said, tapping a finger against her skull.
Walter, startled by the change of his plans, sat down, not knowing what to do. He was not a big fan of spontaneity, but by then, he should've gotten used to it being a regular thing with Phoebe.
She was like no one else he'd met before. His circle was comprised of a certain type of people, the opposite of Phoebe. So no wonder she was unique to him. Her occasional rudeness did not bother him as much as it should, and for that reason, it usually flew over his head. If it was any other person, he wouldn't tolerate to spend a minute with them in the same room.
But he found himself waiting impatiently for her to return. To share the meal she'd kindly set out to bring.
Luckily, she didn't take long, and arrived just when he was finishing setting up the table with shimmering, stainless tableware that he wasn't even sure would be needed at all.
"What did you get?" He asked the moment she stepped inside.
"Falafel for me." Phoebe left the bag on the table, so Walter reached inside it. "Cheeseburger for you," she replied at the same time he tore open the greasy paper wrapped around his meal.
His disheartened expression at her answer affected Phoebe immediately, unconsciously mimicking it.
"What?" She asked him wearily.
"Oh. I'm sorry, Phoebe." He really did not want to say anything. It had been so thoughtful of her to run out and get dinner that now he felt like a complete nitpicking ass. But he could do nothing about it. "I can't eat it."
"Why not? Are you lactose intolerant? You should have told me if you had food allergies or something beforehand." She didn't sound mad, but her disappointment was obvious.
"It's not kosher."
Her arms folded over her chest, one shoulder went up with a shrug.
"Well, I can't eat it either."
He silently watched her as she assessed the falafel, which was not enough for two people.
"You're right. I should have let you know what I cannot eat. I didn't think about it."
She snatched the burger from him, putting it back into the bag before leaving again without another word.
Walter paced, eventually falling back onto the couch with regret, believing he'd pissed her off, touched that delicate thread that set off her intolerance.
This time, instead of going to a fast food place, Phoebe relied on a bodega.
When she returned to the building once again, Oliver gazed at her as if to say 'how many times are you going to come and go?'
"Make a decision already!" He exclaimed desperately to her.
Phoebe stuck her tongue out at him, then went up the elevator.
Walter was surprised but glad to see her face again.
"I didn't scare you away with my 'kosherness'?"
"You're kosher, I'm vegetarian. We can work with that." Phoebe shrugged. "I bought all this stuff to make veggie burgers." Walter rested by offering her a skeptical expression. "Don't look at me like that, you'll like them."
Phoebe proceeded to wash her hands and scavenge the kitchen for cooking supplies. Walter could only observe from a seat at the isle.
"You do this a lot?"
"I do now. My auntie's been teaching me. Uncle too, when he's available."
The mushed up vegetables were shaped into medallions and set aside on a plate. Phoebe began checking the eggs for blood spots like the store clerk had explained-after Phoebe had asked about-to make sure they were kosher too.
Walter no doubt noticed this and it brought him a warm image of familiarity recalling how many times he'd watched his mom or grandma cooking.
When the burgers were crispy golden she served them up, adding the falafel and hummus on the side of the plate as well.
The cheeseburger from before hadn't been discarded either-Phoebe had given it to a stray cat she saw near an alley on her way to the bodega.
Instead of eating at the table, Phoebe sat cross-legged on top of the counter.
Walter was unable to understand how a person could ever comfortably eat in such a position. Meanwhile, the man was cutting up his burger into four sections like a maniac, instead of using his hands.
"Do you really have to eat perched there like that?" He glanced at her as if she was doing something appalling.
"Yep."
He tried a bite and took a moment to deliberate on the taste.
"These are actually not bad at all." With his fork dug into one of the pieces he'd cut up, Walter showed it to her. "You're good at this."
"Not what you expected, huh?"
He shook his head.
"When did you become a vegetarian?"
"Recently. I had been wanting to ever since I watched 'Babe'."
"That's the movie with the piglet, right?"
Phoebe was surprised he even knew about it.
Walter's cellphone began to ring.
"Excuse me, I have to take this," he said applogetically. Phoebe nodded, so Walter excused himself from the kitchen and began pacing around the living room as he answered the call. "Gut Shabbos, mom. No, I did not go to temple today. If you're going to tell dad, then say it was work, he'll understand."
Phoebe frowned at this. Did his parents always check up on him in this manner? Like he wasn't a forty-two year old man?
"I'm having burgers. Vegetarian. Yes, I will go up to Park Avenue tomorrow. All right. Bye." He hung up and sighed. "Sorry about that."
"It's aight."
What she really wanted to do was call his parents back and tell them to mind their own business.
They finished up and though Walter wanted to help her clean, she insisted he didn't. He wasn't supposed to, after all.
For the same reason, his driver took them to Phoebe's address.
"Stop straightening your hair," Walter blurted out once they'd arrived and he walked her up to the stoop. "You don't need to hide your curls."
Phoebe looked down and those curls followed the motion of her head.
"Ah! I finally get to meet the mysterious old blond guy!" A voice screeched from below the stoop.
Dana.
"What?!" Phoebe exclaimed with just as much of a shock on her face as the blonde guy next to her.
Dana began walking up the steps with a devilish smirk.
"Gotta say, it was the most interesting fundraiser I've ever been to. Not that I've been to many."
"What-what were you doing at the fundraiser?"
"Hugh works for the Department of
Housing, duh." When she reached them, Dana didn't waste a second to closely evaluate Walter. "Listen, geezer. This is my little cousin and I'll do anything to keep her safe. So if I need to cut your matzo balls off, I will." She made her fingers into the shape of a pair of scissors. "Snip snip."
"Um, how do you figure that he's Jewish?" Phoebe asked, only because of the matzo reference.
"There's literally a six-pointed star hanging from his neck."
Walter looked down. "Oh," he muttered, tucking the necklace back into the shirt under his sweater.
"Not to talk about how this whole scene," she remarked waving her hand in front of him. "just overall screams Jewish."
"Thanks...?" Walter said without taking offense. However, he leaned down toward Phoebe's level to whisper in her ear. "Does she have the same views on us as you?"
"Nah, she's just crazy," Phoebe said out loud for Dana to hear and throwing a scornful look in her way. "Goodnight, Walter. Thank you for getting me home." Although at that moment it didn't seem like it had been a good move.
"Goodnight. Thanks for the meal."
He waved goodbye once he was next to his car.
All the while, Dana carefully observed the exchange. Phoebe feared the ranting about to come.
It started as soon as they walked into the apartment.
"I gotta say. I never would have expected this from you. Old man? Yes. But Jewish? Let's just say I'm not oblivious to the reasons you all left Jersey."
"He's just paying for college," Phoebe calmly explained.
"Ah so it's like that."
"No it's not like that either." Can everyone stop thinking of him as a sugar daddy?! "And please, I beg you. Keep. It. To. Yourself."
"But you start college in a couple of months. It's gonna become kinda obvious."
"For the moment I'll tell everyone that I received a merit scholarship or something, that'll get me through the first months. I just know that if I tell my mom the truth, she's gonna make me cut the deal with Walter or she'll do it herself. She'll be pissed. But I just don't want her to spend all her savings."
Dana wasn't entirely convinced.
When Walter got home he felt something was different.
His house actually felt like a home for once. The warm air still lingered around the kitchen, enveloping him with the remaining scent of a home cooked meal in that solitary apartment for once. Nothing said home sweet home like that.