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31
Nadia
Dorian and I were up early to hustle for more temp work money. “Well aren’t you looking cute in a skirt?” he said as we left the townhouse. “Hoping that spring comes early?”
“It’s supposed to be a sunny day,” I said cheerfully. “I’m sick of wearing long pants, so I’m going to take advantage of the slightest hint of warmth.”
By the time we got to the office in Brooklyn, the line of people waiting was around the block.
“Damn, what’s this all about?”
“Must be the extra pay,” Dorian said. “That festival on the north end of the park ends today, and they need it taken down fast, so they’re paying extra.”
I playfully smacked him on the arm. “There’s extra pay involved and you let me sleep in?”
Dorian scoffed. “Darling, I’m not your mother. You’re an adult who can wake herself up.”
“Except now you’re stuck in line with me too.”
Despite the number of people, the line moved quickly. But when we got to the front the agency worker handed us two boxes of fliers.
“Times Square,” he said gruffly. “Make sure you hand ‘em all out or you won’t get paid.”
“What about the festival?” Dorian asked.
“Already filled all the worker slots. It’s this or nothing.” He stared passively at us until we signed the sheet and accepted the boxes. It’s not like we had a choice.
We rode the train back down to Manhattan and then entered the tourist-crazy square. We found a secluded area on the walkway to drop our boxes and then opened them up.
“Oh, a new Broadway show!” Dorian said excitedly when he saw the flier. His enthusiasm quickly diminished. “Waitress. That sounds boring.”
“Isn’t that the one with music from Sara Bareilles?”
He grabbed a big stack of fliers. “It still sounds boring.”
I carried my own stack out into the stream of pedestrian and began handing them out. “I was hoping for the Central Park gig,” I grumbled.
Dorian shrugged. “Aside from losing out on the extra cash, I’d much rather do fliers. The only physical labor is carrying the boxes. And fliers allow for more creative fun.”
To emphasize the point, he tossed a handful of fliers into the air. He snatched one out of the air like a viper, handed it to a pedestrian, then snatched another one. He was able to do that with six fliers before the rest finished floating to the ground. It reminded me of a carnival clown grabbing handkerchiefs out of the air.
“I have a lunch date with Andy in the park,” I explained. “It would have been super convenient to already be there.”
“Ahh, the Central Park picnic date,” Dorian mused. “Staple of any good New York relationship.”
“Speaking from experience?” I asked.
“Nah. I haven’t lived in the city long enough to date much. Got out of a long relationship in Portland right before moving here.”
“How long did you two date?” I asked.
“Eight years.”
“Holy shit!” I blurted out. My definition of a long relationship was a year. Maybe two.
“Yeah, we were high school sweethearts. Middle school, even. Then dated three years after graduating.” Dorian crouched down to hand a flier to a little girl holding her mother’s hand. She accepted it like it was a priceless gift. “She liked picnics, though. A blanket, sandwiches, and a bottle of wine to share. She would have loved Central Park.”
“Why didn’t it work out?” I asked carefully.
