Tracy Wilcox wove through the stream of pedestrians, intent on catching the next subway and arriving early to the Mid-Manhattan branch library. She hoped to make a good first impression without seeming to have tried too hard, a precarious balancing act that brought on two changes of outfits before the normally self-assured young woman felt ready. She'd settled on a black vintage dress hemmed short enough to expose her long legs and give a peek at the tattoo on her right thigh, a typewriter with two birds pulling at a sheet of protruding paper. An observant eye would notice the word "Writer" on the page, more of an aspiration than a declaration since Tracy still saw herself as a novice.
Her motivation in joining a writers group had been to get help with her craft, but you never know. The potential to meet single literate men certainly exceeded "Petals," where she spent her days selling flowers to brides or men who already had a love interest. At the very least, she hoped to meet some friends who shared her passion for writing.
Once seated, she realized she'd forgotten to bring a book and cursed herself for stepping onto a train with no shield against unwanted attention. Sure enough, she immediately noticed a guy in a Yankees cap pass all the empty seats in the car to make his way over to her. She pulled at the hem of her dress in an attempt to hide the tattoo, an all-too-easy target for conversation. But the effort was pointless, and as the guy took the seat next to her, his opening line was, "Nice tat."
"Thanks," Tracy muttered as she took out her manuscript.
"Watcha studyin'?" asked Yankees Fan.
"A piece on modern capitalism as seen through the lens of feminist-philosophy," Tracy replied crisply, knowing if she admitted, "My own book about an aging hooker trying to earn a living," she would never get rid of him.
"Oh, an intellectual," he grinned, revealing a chipped front tooth, his face far too close for Tracy's liking. "I like smart girls."
"Oh really? Me too." Already impatient with him, Tracy went straight to the lesbian card.
The guy drew his head back, confused for a moment before a crooked grin grew across his face, "Oh yeah? Do you bat for both teams?"
"Nope," Tracy answered simply, hoping for a swift and clean end to the conversation.
Yankees Fan shook his head and mumbled "Muff diver" under his breath as he moved away, but Tracy let the nasty slur glance off her -- a small price to pay for solitude on a New York subway.
* * * * *
William gazed sullenly at the three stacks of resumes covering his desk and sighed. The piles were divided and labeled with sticky notes reading "No," "Hell no," and "If it comes down to that..." He was not surprised by the number of applicants, for he had expected hordes of bibliophiles to make a mad rush for the highly coveted position at the venerable Mid-Manhattan branch of the New York City Public Library. What disappointed him was that their accompanying cover letters -- every last one of them nondescript and forgettable -- betrayed a distressing lack of initiative and imagination.
He glanced at the fourth stack on his desk, consisting solely of a manuscript Ray had given him. It was the writing of a friend of Ray's, and while William seldom had patience for neophyte writers, anything was preferable to the mound of banality otherwise cluttering his desk. The work of this unknown author suddenly cast an irresistible allure.
A few minutes later, William looked up and rubbed his eyes, surprised to find that the reading left him with a pleasant tingle.
Who is this author?
He went in search of Ray, whom he found in the foyer passing time with his girlfriend, Alicia. He was dismayed to learn that Ray's writer-friend was actually in the library at that very moment attending a writers group. After admitting how much he was enjoying the reading, he excused himself to go back to his desk and finish the manuscript before the writing group concluded. He wanted to meet the author who poured out her soul in such a fresh and captivating manner. That gave him twelve minutes, and at exactly 8:00 p.m. he made his way back to the foyer. That is when he first laid eyes on her.
Standing with Ray and Alicia was a striking young woman with jet black hair cut in a short bob, wearing glasses and dressed stylishly in a short black dress with red boots. She was speaking animatedly -- effervescence is the word that sprang to William's mind -- and she was showing a lot of leg. Colorful tattoos adorned one arm (not a plus in William's mind) but those legs...
As he got closer, he could hear their conversation. "So they didn't read your writing yet?" Ray asked.
"No!" Tracy answered, "I am supposed to just observe the first time. Next time I will critique other people's work, and then I get to submit mine!" She did an excited little dance by stepping in place as she added, "But just listening to them gave me some insight into some changes I need to make to improve my story."
"I wouldn't change a thing," William said.
All three turned their heads towards him. "Oh hey, William," Ray said, then turning back to Tracy, "This is my friend William I told you about, the librarian. The guy I wanted to read your Andy-Vera Story." Turning to William, he gestured toward Tracy saying, "William, meet my friend Tracy."
Tracy stuck out her hand and asked with seeming nonchalance, "What did you think?"
Behind the chunky black glasses were bright blue eyes that demanded a decision of him: maintain the reserve his normal, professional manner of speaking was designed to project, or give in to a sudden, uncanny desire to be authentic with this woman. But the decision stubbornly refused to make itself, and he became aware that the conversational lull must be broken somehow. "Um, I thought it was... well, there is so much to say... I... I... I don't know where to start..."
"What?" Ray looked confused.
There was an awkward pause before Alicia interjected, "Well, you did tell us you were impressed."
"Um... yes, well, yes... very pleasantly surprised, and... well, I would really like to talk to you about it in more detail," William answered.
"Well, hey, why don't you call me or email or something? When you're not busy at work?" Tracy pulled out one of her business cards and handed it to him.
William looked at the card with the business name "Petals" and asked, "Did you draw the tiger lily yourself?"
"I did. How'd you guess? is it obvious?" Tracy laughed.
"I am in the presence of a true artist, and am -- uncharacteristically -- at a loss for words," William said.
"That's okay, William. A librarian who can identify specific flowers can be forgiven a momentary lapse in wit." Tracy winked at him, "I didn't mean to put you on the spot. Why don't you just email me when you get a chance? I'd love to hear your thoughts on my writing."
William smiled at how effortlessly he had obtained her contact information and that he now had the opportunity to collect his thoughts before engaging her in conversation. He smiled and said goodbye.
* * * * *
Vera opened the door for Andy and apologized for her appearance. "Sorry, Andy, something came up with my brother and I have not had a chance to change yet." She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt as opposed to the sheer baby-doll nightie she usually greeted him in.
