In a New York Minute(16)

I clasped my hands at my chest, turning back to my friends. “What if he thinks I’m a weirdo?” I lowered my voice in hopes that Eliza wouldn’t hear me.

“One, he won’t,” Cleo said, steady and reassuring. “Two, who cares?”

“Three”—Lola tapped her index finger to her chin, squinting in thought—“do you care?”

The swirling sea of nerves in my stomach told me that yes—yes, I did care. I wanted this stranger to like me, to know that there was more to me than the sweaty, snotty mess he met on the subway. But there was no time to have this conversation right now. Instead, I twisted my middle and index fingers into symbols of good luck and gave my friends one last look, stretching my lips wide. “Are my teeth okay?” I asked them.

“Always,” Cleo said, beaming, as if she were trying to transport all the love she felt for me into my body.

“Remember, you’re a fearless, badass bitch,” Lola said confidently.

“Have you met me?” I asked with a chortle, blowing them a kiss as I followed Eliza out the door.

*



The lights of the NYN studio were blinding, so much so that I almost missed it when the interview started. My stomach was in my knees, which were inexplicably sweating. I kept nervously tucking my hair behind my ear, even though it was firmly held in place with hair spray. In other words, I was a wreck.

“Our guest today has had quite a week,” Pete said with a warm smile. He was perched on a stool next to Jenna, who nodded along, auburn ponytail bouncing. “Becoming a viral internet sensation in an instant must have come as quite a shock. Franny, why don’t you tell us about it in your own words.”

“Okay, well, first, thanks for having me!” I let out a nervous laugh and smiled just a bit too wide for what felt like an eternity.

Calm down, Franny. I took a breath, attempted to relax.

“So yeah!” My voice was landing at a pitch higher than normal, and I cleared my throat before trying again. “I was laid off from my job that morning. Doing interior design.”

I arched my back a little higher, sitting up unnaturally straight. Great. Did I look stiff? Did it look like I was trying too hard?

“There were budget cuts, and I was let go, which was a blow to my ego and my bank account.”

Pete chuckled at this sympathetically, and his laugh was comforting. I took a deep breath and settled into my stool, the nerves starting to slide away. I could do this.

“And then, if that wasn’t enough, my dress got stuck in the subway door and ripped open,” I continued, and this time I managed a mostly normal laugh. “Even by New York standards, it was kind of a disaster.”

“And a stranger stepped in to help,” Pete said, encouraging me.

“Yes,” I said. “Another passenger on the subway very kindly offered me his jacket to wear.”

“His suit jacket!” Jenna said with a big, bright smile.

“Yes, which was so nice of him, because I didn’t quite feel like mooning the entire city on my walk home from the subway. Not that I have anything against butts! Butts are beautiful.” Dear god, the words just kept tumbling out of my mouth without my brain approving them first. “Just, you know, I want to keep my butt private, for now.”

“That’s understandable!” Jenna said, and gave me an enthusiastic nod that sent her equally enthusiastic ponytail bobbing again.

“Lots of people were stepping in to help, but the coat saved the day. And that’s why I’m here, really. To say thank you. And, of course, to return his jacket.”

Pete turned his attention from me to the camera directly across from him. “Well, let’s bring out your sartorial savior, Hayes Montgomery the Third, and get his side of things.”

Of course a man who dressed like he’d stepped out of a Brooks Brothers catalog had a last name as a first name. But the “Third” tacked on to the end was surprising. How fancy.

From out of the corner of my eye, I saw a producer in a headset signal him toward the empty stool next to me. Our interaction on the subway had been such a blur—quite literally, what with my eyes full of tears the whole time—that I hadn’t fully taken him in. But now it seemed like he was walking toward me in slow motion. And, wow, was there a lot of him.

He was taller than I remembered, and lean, with an aloof air as cool as the blue of his perfectly tailored suit, which accentuated the angles of his body. I offered a wide smile in his direction but got just a nod in return. He sat down, and I watched his pants pull up at the ankles. His navy socks were peppered with a globe pattern. Huh. Was Mr. Hot Suit the Third a bit of a quirky weirdo? I certainly hoped so.

“Hayes is a nationally recognized pioneer in the field of socially responsible investing.” Pete tapped his note cards against his knee. “That’s quite a résumé, Hayes!”

“Thank you,” he said with a modest chuckle, his smile revealing his dimples. “We’re very proud of the work we do.”

I felt a swell of nerves bubble in my chest. This guy was not only nice to look at, but he was some sort of superhuman combination of Earth-saving finance wizard and subway do-gooder. I guess that explained the socks.

Jenna leaned in, all confident smiles and soothing tones. “Hayes, most of us ride the subway every day without making eye contact with people.” She continued, “What inspired you to lend a helping hand—or jacket—to Franny here?”