Chapter 2 Back to New York

Half a world away, spring was around the corner, trees were turning green, and colorful rosebuds were blossoming at the park near John Carlos' apartment building. In the early mornings, the air was fresh and cool. Now he was back from his trip to Nepal. Under the comforter, he stretched, moaned, and rolled to get out of bed. 

Dawn had broken, and daylight found its way through the tall drapes covering the Persian window in his room and landed on the floor. It gave form to the pair of pants, shirt, shoes, and socks worn the night before, scattered all over the place. Struggling with a hangover from a Saturday night out with friends, he half-heartedly stepped out still sleepy and groggy and then groped for his glasses. When he found them he toddled to the kitchen to look for something to drink. His mind was fixed on the fridge. He opened it and winced. The light from inside assaulted his unaccustomed eyes, making him grope for what he wanted to find.

“Derr brain,” he grumbled. “I know there's something to drink here.” He found half a bottle of fresh orange juice. He reached out sluggishly to take it out. Then with a light kick, he closed the door with a thump. 

While still adjusting to the light, he wanted to see how he looked, so he forced his way to the bathroom, blinking. Through the mirror on the wall, a swollen face confronted him. He cursed it. He arranged his wavy dark brown hair back with his fingers, groaned, and swore that next time he would be more responsible. He checked himself sideways and then the front, then passing his fingers over his chin the stubs of growing hair told him to shave. He turned the faucet on and splashed his face with water in an attempt to rouse himself. He smiled at a face which was worth more than a second glance, a face any woman might love to spend time with. 

All his friends liked his flat. It was a self-contained unit on the third floor of an apartment building well located in the middle of the city. On closer look, the interior revealed built-in furniture which was evenly distributed in the little space to create the illusion of spaciousness. In one of the two rooms lay the bed at the center where two nightstands with matching reading lamps on each side stood as fitting complements. On the right were a grey telephone beside a Swiss alarm clock and a family picture on the left. It had a small kitchen where he prepared his meals and a Maltese balcony with a clear view of the park. The other room served as the laundry area. The clock ticked at eight. He strode across the room toward the window to draw the drapes aside and morning light came streaming in.

They have good reasons to like it. One was the freedom he enjoyed being alone, and to leave things wherever they were, including scattering them on the floor. Nobody was going to check. But in spite of that freedom, he still wanted order, being well-organized, always picking them up from the floor and chucking them into the washing machine, out of habit. 

Another reason was to be free from rent every end of the month. Well situated along Central Park West and very close to his office, his friends thought he was lucky: being family-owned paying rent was never a nagging problem, which gave his savings a decent boost. It was a gift, turned over to him after finishing his studies. His father had seen fit to give his only son a good start. He doubted their reasons.

If my friends only knew I wanted a bigger flat, and one which I owned personally, they wouldn't think of me as very fortunate at all. But I'm ever so thankful and can't complain of the blessing. He looked out. Thin white fog hovered all over the park, above the sprawling tall trees that covered the terrain. He marveled at the trees which supplied the much-needed fresh air. No wonder it's aptly called 'the green lung' of the city, he thought. Coffee was brewing and the aroma of recently baked bagels floated in the air from the bars and coffee shops at the side streets and found its way to his opened window. He sniffed and desired to have an early breakfast.

He stretched and yawned, and blinked his eyes to check if his 4x4 was parked in the driveway, then took a long swig of the orange juice. It was there alright. He reckoned it would be safer inside the garage. The long drinking binge the night before made him tipsy; he couldn't park it inside safely. He repented having indulged himself to extremes. 

“Never again,” he said, after a moment of reflection on his little follies.

He got down on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, went to his car, ran the starter, shifted to reverse, and backed up toward the garage before he crossed the street to Central Park. It was Sunday, the sky was clear blue with white clouds moving slowly westward. He thought it was excellent to be with the trees in the park. 

He warmed up, jogged gradually until he picked up speed. As he progressed, he glanced at some elderly men who had come to the park earlier, sitting on benches on his right reading newspapers. 

“Good morning,” he hollered at them. 

Some health-conscious youngsters in sweatshirts were also jogging and a couple of them were plainly promenading. Every time he met someone he always greeted them 'Good morning'. Then he passed two girls lying on the grass chatting. He couldn't help looking their way. Life was going on at the park as if nobody else existed but themselves, oblivious of the others. 

Remembering there was a café at the corner on first turning outside on 5th Avenue, he wondered if it was by now opened. It was the same café he used to drop by after his jog in the park. By the time he reached the middle of the park, he jogged faster. He made a turn ending at the same entrance where he started, then slipped toward the food chain in one of the side streets, and grabbed a cappuccino. He lingered for half an hour and enjoyed his coffee, calculating that a couple of hours was enough to tone up.

Fun thoughts about the night before tickled his imagination, recalling how he had enjoyed the uninhibited company of his co-workers and the flirting moments with the girls. Finally, he got into the entrance of his building and paused, checked the mails, grabbed the newspaper hanging on the mailbox, then took the stairs up taking two steps at a time to continue his exercise. As soon as he came in, the first thing he noticed was the phone blinking. He slung his keys on the rack and threw the newspaper on the sofa. Some inconsequential messages from work on a Sunday, or were they important? He pressed the key to check where they came from and listened to one after the other. His friends called him JC, for short.

Beep. “Hello, JC. This is Jerry. Call me back,” said one of his friends at the office. He went into the second message, listening. “Hi, aren't you up yet? We've got a new app that you have to test. Microsoft . . . It's Word1.0. Be sure to drop by tomorrow. Check the manual on your desk,” said Tom Beck, the office computer geek. This could wait, he decided.

Then the third, “JC, this is Mr. McMillan. Call me as soon as you're home.” It was the editor-in-chief. It must have been important for him to have called on a Sunday, he thought.

The fourth message came expectedly. There was silence and hesitation at the other end. “Good morning, JC . . . it's me, Kate. It's about your report. See you at the office tomorrow.” Right away, he knew the call was only a pretext. But he returned her call nevertheless as if it had some alluring magic. The only one he returned. Kate's end rang twice then she picked it up. Kate Woods was not especially attractive, but she had a pleasant disposition and a tender voice. She had always had a crush on him since he started working for the newspaper- a fact that had never been hidden from the other co-workers. Her voice was coquette and vibrant, she sounded as sweet as the purple-red sugar beet. He hesitated then said, “Hello, Kate.”

“Hello, JC. I thought you wouldn't call so soon. Last night was wonderful. I should have known you dance so well!”

“I thought your call must be important. What report were you asking about . . . the weekly or the monthly?” he asked, smiling. Now he was playing his role.

“It was your monthly report. The accountant needed it to issue the check for your expense reimbursement. What took you so long to turn it over?” she asked. 

JC knew it was only a strategy for her to call, so he carried on pretending. “I had some quick exercise at the park,” he said. He took his shirt off, pulled a clean towel from the cabinet, and slung it around his neck. “It's Sunday,” he continued, smiling at Kate's flimsy excuse.

“Are you free today?” she asked, in the same sensuous flirting voice.

That confirmed her reason for calling. “I could spare the whole afternoon with you. Are you suggesting we go out?” he continued playing his part.

“How about having lunch today?”

He drew the curtains and looked out to check the sky. “It's difficult to say 'No' to a woman like you, Kate.”

“Same place?” From the way her voice lit up, JC could tell how she was feeling.

“Alright then, invitation accepted. See you at twelve.” He was free and going out for lunch was a comforting change. Besides he couldn't care less if she put any meaning to it. For him, it was going out with a friend, plain and simple and without any commitment. Kate was certainly fun to be with, very jolly and witty in her responses. The kind of woman who could make one’s day bright, but having any serious relationship with her was far from his thoughts.

Years before, in college, he was emotionally linked with someone he considered special. She was his best friend. They studied journalism together and made plans for the future. They were like two inseparable lovebirds wherever they went until that fatal car accident that took her away from him. It took him months to recover, blaming himself. This was also the reason he made the trip to Nepal, to find a way of unburdening himself of the sense of guilt which he had carried with him wherever he went. Since then he had told himself never to be involved deeply with someone. If ever he did involve himself, she should really be extremely irresistible. That somebody irresistible who could equal his first love had yet to cross his way. And this was the other reason he was a little reluctant to be involved seriously with Kate