Free Katwalk by Maria Murnane Page A

“Hey, look at that—Snow White’s finally on her second drink.”
    Katrina, her throat still stinging, managed a smile in return. “Surprise.” She averted her eyes and tried to straighten the coasters with her free hand, although it suddenly wasn’t as easy to arrange the little stack as before. She stared at the slightly lopsided pile for a moment, then looked back at Reid. “Do you live in Tribeca too? Brittany said she lives just a few blocks from here.” She was determined to participate in the conversation and not just observe it, which was what she would normally do in this situation. Not that sh e’d ever found herself in a situation quite like this before.
    Brittany turned around. “I said what?”
    “You said you live just a few blocks from here, right?” Katrina said. The words came out a bit thick, and much more deliberately than sh e’d intended. She also hadn’t meant to repeat herself verbatim, but she couldn’t help it. She wondered if Brittany and Reid could tell how much one margarita had affected her. She hoped not.
    Brittany nodded. “I did say that.”
    “So, um, do you live in Tribeca too?” Katrina asked Reid again.
    “I’m in the West Village.”
    “Where’s that?”
    “A little farther north than Brittany’s loft, but still not too far from here. I could walk home, but I’m too lazy, so I’ll cab it.”
    “Who has the energy?” Brittany said with a shrug. “I take cabs everywhere.”
    Katrina wondered if either of them ever took the subway. She doubted it. “What does Tribeca stand for?” she asked.
    “Triangle below Canal Street,” Brittany and Reid said in unison.
    Katrina shifted on her stool. “Got it. From what little I’ve seen, this part of town seems less rowdy than the East Village—a bit cleaner, more grown-up. I like it.” What she really meant was that it looked more expensive, but she wasn’t sure how couth pointing that out would be.
    Reid took a gulp of his drink and set it on the bar. “Is that where you’re staying? The East Village?”
    Katrina smiled at him, finally beginning to relax. “Actually, I’ve already learned that the appropriate answer to that question depends on the demographic asking it. So since that demographic is you, I’ll say Gramercy.”
    “Say what?” He looked confused.
    Brittany elbowed him gently. “Her prepubescent neighbor thinks living in the East Village is cool, but I’ve already explained the migration pattern to her.”
    “Ah, the East Village migration pattern. So true, so true. That hood is for postcollege kids looking to dance on bars. Me no do that anymore.”
    “Unless your wife’s out of town, of course,” Brittany said.
    Katrina looked at her and wondered if she was kidding.
    Reid tossed back the rest of his drink and held his thumb and pinkie up to his ear and mouth to indicate a phone. “Speaking of the wife, will you ladies excuse me for a minute? I need to make a quick call.”
    “Of course,” Brittany said. “Go do what you gotta do.”
    He set his empty glass on the bar. “Be back in a flash. Will you order me another?”
    “Consider it done,” Brittany said.
    “Thanks. You’re a peach.” He turned and rapidly disappeared into the crowd.
    As soon as he was gone, Brittany shook her head. “Poor guy is miserable.”
    Katrina gave her a confused look. “He is?” H e’d certainly seemed happy to her.
    “Miserable.”
    “Why?”
    “He’s married to a bitch.”
    Katrina felt her eyes get big. “Really?”
    “Major bitch. Super frosty.”
    “You’ve met her?”
    “Once, but that was enough. I steer clear now. It’s not worth engaging.”
    “If she’s so awful, why did he marry her?”
    Brittany shrugged. “Because that’s what men here do.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean, they marry bitches, or at least the pretty ones who come from money.”
    “They do?”
    “Yep.”
    “All of them?”
    “A lot of them.”
    “Oh.” Katrina exhaled. “That’s a bummer.”