Jo went prepared to bow down and adore the mighty ones whom she had worshipped with youthful enthusiasm afar off.
—Little Women
It’s strange how quickly your entire life can change, once you make up your mind to do it. Things I thought were solid walls turned out to be more like shower curtains. If you pushed, they gave way.
And then, in a matter of days that feel more like minutes, you find yourself on a bus, and then a plane, and then wandering around the airport trying to follow the signs without looking like a stupid tourist when someone with a patch on their shirt that sort of looks official asks if you need a ride and you decide okay, maybe this is how it’s done, and then they tell you “That’ll be sixty dollars,” which is way more than Google said it would cost to get to Williamsburg and puts a serious dent in your limited cash. It also turned out to be a normal car, not a yellow taxi like in the movies, but at least the driver was chatty and had pictures of his kids taped to the dashboard, which I felt lowered the odds of my corpse getting tossed into a river.
When we stopped in front of a nondescript building with a rusted fence and prominently placed dumpster, I reconsidered the odds of murder. It was a gray day, and every surface was covered in either asphalt, cement, or graffiti. It looked like the zombie apocalypse had rolled through and kept right on going, in search of someplace more hospitable.
The driver bent to peer through the car window. “This is one of those warehouse conversions, right? Must be nice.”
I squinted at the building again, wondering what he was seeing that I wasn’t. It looked like an old factory. The kind you’d see in a PBS documentary about oppressed workers going on strike—or dying in a fire due to unsafe conditions. Instead of old-time piano, the soundtrack was jackhammers and horns.
I couldn’t sit in this stranger’s car all day, so it was time to keep moving forward. Into the noise and grime. Grabbing my backpack with one hand, I reached for the door handle with the other. “Thanks for the ride.”
The driver nodded, barely waiting until I’d closed the door to peel away from the curb.
My confidence felt like water I was holding in cupped hands, ready to trickle between my fingers and be lost forever. I glanced at the building in front of me, double-checking the address. I’d pictured Hudson living in a towering apartment complex with a shiny lobby. It definitely hadn’t smelled this bad in my imaginary New York either. Exhaust fumes, rotting produce, a hint of grease—why had Hudson complained so much about the stench from a few big cats, if this was what he breathed in normally?
I checked my phone, reading his most recent text for the twentieth time. Hudson had said he was “just chillin’,” which meant he was somewhere inside this one-fog-machine-short-of-a-horror-movie building. The prospect of seeing a familiar face gave me the strength to approach the cavelike doorway. There was a panel on the wall with names and apartment numbers. My thumb hovered over the silver button next to Andrea’s. Was I ready? It was stupid to feel anxious about ringing a doorbell when I’d flown halfway across the country to get here. And yet my heart pounded harder than when the stylist had paused with the scissors around my ponytail to ask if I was sure, or the moment before I’d pressed buy now on my ticket to get here.
Andrea had always been intimidating. This was just my brain gearing up for another encounter. Holding my breath, I pressed the buzzer. Long seconds passed before there was an electronic click.
“Yes?”
The single word had a slightly robotic buzz, but I recognized the clipped inflection. “Andrea? It’s Jo.”
“Jo?”
“Jo Porter.” I cleared my throat. “The Jo March one.”
After another long pause, a buzzing sound emanated from the door. I grabbed for it a second too late. My face was hot as I pressed the intercom again. Before I could explain, the buzzing started again. (Had that been a judgmental silence?) I lunged for the door like it was a loose football. This time I managed to enter the building. Slow clap for the genius in the saggy leggings.
The lobby wasn’t much more welcoming than the outside, though the bicycle leaning against the wall suggested human occupation. I assumed the 4D in their address meant Andrea and Hudson lived on the fourth floor. A metal railing that had once been blue (judging by the chipped remains of paint) lined the wide wooden stairs. When I reached the fourth floor, there were two doors painted the same blue as the railing. Both were completely blank. I was getting ready to eenie-meenie it when I spotted a familiar tote hanging from a hook outside the nearer door. The rumpled white bag was stamped with the word GAGOSIAN in all-caps black. I’d never worked up the nerve to ask What’s a Gagosian?, but I did know one thing: the bag was Andrea’s.
I knocked, then took a step back. Silence. Had I walked up the stairs too fast? Maybe I hadn’t made enough noise. It felt like even my most basic life skills were a little iffy. I was debating whether to try again when I finally heard footsteps approaching from the other side.
The door opened. Andrea peered at me from the threshold, a slight tilt of the eyebrows the only clue to her thoughts. “This is a surprise,” she said at last, stepping to one side.
I slipped past her before she could change her mind, then toed off my shoes and set them next to the rack inside the door. Had Hudson not told her I was coming? That was . . . awkward.
“What brings you to Brooklyn?” We were still standing in the dim hallway, as if Andrea thought I’d dropped by to say hello and wouldn’t be staying long.
“Um.” It didn’t feel like the right moment to vomit out my whole plan: I was thinking you could hire me to take over your son’s job, since he hates working for you! “You said I’d like it, so.” I shrugged like that tied it all up with a bow. Ta-da!
“Hmmm.” Andrea exhaled through her nose. “I’m afraid I’m in the middle of something.”
“Sorry. You don’t have to—” I broke off, not sure how to finish. You don’t have to entertain me? You don’t have to let me stay? Much as I would have liked to play it cool, I couldn’t actually leave. I had nowhere to go. Continuing my streak of half-baked statements, I tipped my chin toward the rest of the apartment. “Is Hudson, ah?”
“I’ll call him.” Andrea didn’t tell me to follow her, but she didn’t tell me not to either, so I trailed her to the living room, a high-ceilinged space with windows along one wall and brick lining the other. This was more like my fantasy version of city life: colorful rugs, a leather sofa the same caramel shade as Andrea’s favorite boots, mildly disturbing art. She gestured at a low-slung chair made of cowhide stretched over a metal frame. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks.”
A set of French doors opened onto another room. I caught a glimpse of a desk and bookshelves as Andrea disappeared inside what must be her office. She kicked one of the doors with her foot so that it swung most of the way closed. That meant I only heard two-thirds of her side of the conversation with Hudson. Some highlights:
“Obviously it wasn’t a joke, because she’s here.”
“What do you think I mean? In our apartment.” Pause. “Do I sound like I’m kidding?”
“I don’t care where you are—you need to come home and fix this.”
“I don’t have time for this, Hudson.”
“I suggest you hurry.”
At the sound of returning footsteps, I pretended to be totally absorbed in reading something on my phone. I doubted Andrea was fooled. Then again, part of me wondered if she’d wanted me to hear. In case I hadn’t picked up on the very subtle undertones of you’re not welcome.
Stupidly, I’d expected her to be more interested in me now that I’d taken this huge step, not less. Hadn’t Andrea told me to be bold? Here I was, striking out on my own, but she didn’t seem impressed. I’d gone from you remind me of myself to a Jo-size inconvenience.
“He’ll be here soon.” As Andrea stepped back into the living room, her eyes locked on my backpack. “Where are you staying?”
“Oh. Well. I guess—I don’t know.” Nervous sweat dampened my armpits.
She held up a hand. “You can sort it out with Hudson.”