“Is yours one of the old tenements?” he asked.
She pushed thoughts of voyeurism from her mind. “It was until it got all rehabbed and modernized a couple of years ago.”
“A lot of history in those old buildings,” he said.
“Umm, a lot of history. Most of it not good,” Zoe responded. “Back in the early 1900s more than eighty people lived crammed in my building alone. Now there’s maybe a dozen and it still feels cramped.”
“Sounds like you researched it?”
“I did,” she said. “Have you ever been to the Tenement Museum?”
“Nope. One of those things I keep meaning to do and not doing.”
“They’ve got some photos of my building the way it was more than a hundred years ago. Photos of some of the people who lived there. Thirteen or fourteen people and God knows how many rats and cockroaches crammed into every tiny room. Pretty much sleeping on top of each other. Sometimes on a few dirty mattresses. Most of the rooms had no windows. And there was only one toilet for the whole building. Today? A whole different thing. Two apartments per floor. Still tiny but”—she made finger quotes in the air—“tres chic, with an elevator that barely fits two people as long as they’re not fat.” Two twenty-something guys walked past them in the opposite direction. Both had their eyes locked on Zoe. She ignored them.
“And expensive, right?” said Bradshaw.
“Oh yeah. I get a total of four hundred square feet for a mere three thousand a month.”
“Three grand. Not bad for this neighborhood, at least not these days, but still, Othello must pay well.”
“Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically. “Sadly, off-off Broadway pays practically nothing.”
“I get it. You’ve got a rich boyfriend?”
Zoe smiled. She was beginning to like this guy. “Not anymore. Just a few really good TV commercials that seem to run and run. Thank God for residuals. They should keep me from having to model or waitress again.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve seen you in a spot for some car insurance company that seems to be on all the time? You play the teenage daughter who’s just learning to drive? Your dad has a worried look on his face?”
Zoe laughed. “Yeah. The casting director thought I could pass for a teenager. Haven’t been one for five years so I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. Good gig though. If they keep running it on the networks, that one alone can pay the rent and then some.”
A police cruiser turned right from Rivington onto Clinton and headed in their direction. The cop slowed when he saw them. He lowered the window and leaned across. “Everything okay, folks?”
Bradshaw tilted his head down so the brim covered his face and said nothing. But Zoe smiled. Cops had always been part of her extended family. “Just fine, Officer. My friend here’s just walking me home.”
The cop gave her a smile and drove on.
“What was he stopping for?” said Bradshaw.
“Just doing his job. What do you care? What are you, a wanted felon or something?”
“Yeah,” he said with a smile. “Don’t tell anyone but I’m the secret leader of al-Qaeda in America. The feds have been hunting me down for years.”
She laughed.
They reached Zoe’s building a couple of minutes later. Number 121. A homeless guy, wrapped in a clutter of rags, old blankets and black plastic bags, was zonked out on the sidewalk. He was tucked in the corner just under the steps going up to Zoe’s door and looked dead to the world. Still, Zoe took five dollars from her pocket, walked over and tucked it in just under his blanket.
“Friend of yours?” asked Tyler.
“No. Just someone who needs a little kindness every now and again.”
Zoe stopped at the bottom of the steps to her house and held out her hand.
“Well, good night, Tyler,” she said. “Thank you for walking me home.”
She started up the stairs to her front door.
Just as she got to the top step and pushed her key into the lock, Bradshaw called out, “Zoe?”
She turned and looked at him questioningly. “Yes?”
Tyler started up the stairs.
“What is it?”
“Nothing, I guess,” he said as he got to the next to top step. “It’s just that . . . well . . . I’d like to see you again. Maybe we could have dinner or something?”
She thought about that for a few seconds, then offered a polite but mostly neutral smile. “I don’t think so. Maybe at some point, but now is not a good time.”
“I’d really like to.”
“I’m sorry but I’m afraid the answer has to be no.” She turned the key and pushed the door open.
“Did I really turn you off so completely?”
Zoe sighed. “No,” she said, holding the door ajar. “It’s not that. You seem like a really nice guy. And you’re very attractive. It’s just that . . .”
“Just that what?”
“Look Tyler, it’s been only a little more than a week since I broke up with someone I’ve been living with for more than two years. Anyway, I’m not interested in dating anyone right now. I want to take some time off before I even think about dating again.”
“What about that guy at the Toad?”
“I told him the same thing. Good night,” she said again. “And thank you again for walking me home.”
“Okay then. Good night,” said Tyler, still on the top step. He turned and started down the steps.
Zoe pushed the door open and entered the building’s small lobby, the door automatically closing behind her. She sensed more than saw one of Tyler Bradshaw’s long arms reach out and stop it less than a second before it would have locked shut. He pushed his way into the lobby behind her.
Zoe turned. “What the hell do you think you’re—”
Her words were cut off in midsentence when Tyler grabbed her by the shoulders, whipped her around. She tried fighting back but then felt two large hands slide around her neck. The hands squeezed. Zoe’s carotid arteries compressed. Blood stopped flowing to her brain. The light in the hallway seemed to turn to black. Within seconds she lost consciousness and slid to the floor.