Page 12 of Challenged By You
“That’s about two times what my take-home pay is, Mr. Rice. I think whomever did your research forgot the word ‘pastry’ when looking up salary ranges. You live here, so I don’t need to go into the amount we lose for federal, state, and local tax. But if you’re really looking to live like the ‘average’ New Yorker, you need to lower your thirty-day salary just a wee bit.” Her voice is filled with amusement.
I can’t prevent the choking noise that comes out of my mouth. “It’s Jonas. How do you afford a two-bedroom apartment in your building, then?”
“I don’t. I make do with one. I converted the dining room into a second sleeping area for myself.”
I don’t say anything for a few moments as a combination of fury and admiration swirl for their rightful place as the primary emotion at the forefront of my mind. “I didn’t realize money was that tight,” I say finally.
“Don’t get me wrong. My employers pay me a terrific salary. If it was just me…” Her voice trails off. “Anyway, I have a plan.” Her voice tells me the subject is closed.
“I’m certain you do.” Stepping away from the topic, I do some mental math. “What’s the cost of a one-bedroom available in your building.”
“The one right next door to me is renting for $1750 a month for 562 square feet. That includes gas, water, heat, and trash removal. They’re not furnished, and electric and cable are on your own.” Trina’s voice is matter-of-fact.
But I get the gist of what she’s saying. Money is tight. “I’ll talk with the office in the morning to make the adjustment in my stipend.” But I can’t resist adding, “I guess it’s a good thing I’m single,” just to get her reaction.
I’m more amused than irritated when she growls slightly. I suspect after spending time with her to learn more about the Bronx and during her interview, I’m going to find out exactly what I know right now.
Trina Paxton is a firecracker.
Deciding to tell her a little more about the plans, I go on. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but it’s rare I spotlight a chef.”
“To be honest, Mr. Rice, I don’t know that much about you.”
Ouch. “Jonas,” I correct her again. I can make out her shrug in the shadows. Continuing, I inform her, “My idea was I’d interview you a few times at Seduction, get some recommendations about the best places to eat, check them out, write up some reviews about the best things on the menu as I discovered this new area of New York. Since I’d be on a budget, this would really shine a spotlight on businesses who are accessible to people in the area.”
Trina’s quiet as the train pulls into the next stop. More people come on and off before she reluctantly says, “Jonas, so at the end of the month you expect what?”
“A great interview with an excellent pastry chef,” I declare immediately.
“What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you really want to know what it’s like to live in New York the way the average person does and taste some amazing food?”
“Yes,” I come back with immediately.
“Next stop, Parkchester,” squawks over the speakers.
Trina stands, as do I. We make our way to the doors. I’ve never been here, so I stand beside her to determine which way she’s going to exit. As soon as we’re off, she begins to set a new record for speed walking. Part of me wonders if that’s because she’s worried for her safety or if she’s just anxious to be home.Did Mom worry about this when she came home from her shift at the hospital?I wonder as I keep pace.
Trina doesn’t say anything until we’re standing in the doorway of an apartment building I can only assume is hers inside the Parkchester community. Then she slaps a hand of my chest to prevent me entering behind her. “I have to get my children in the next few moments or there’s going to be hell to pay. I don’t have time to think about this now. But if you’re serious, if you really want to know what life is like for someone like me?”
“I am. I do.”
She bites her lip. “Then be back here tomorrow morning at 8:00 a.m. Apartment 3B. Bring your appetite.” Without another word, she turns and races for the elevator, calling, “Can you hold it, Mario? I’m headed to Mom’s for the kids.”
The security door swings closed behind her, preventing me from hearing his answer, but I see her leap to jump through the doors. Deciding I need a few minutes before I head off in search of the nearest cross street to call an Uber, I set down my laptop and sit on the wall next to the handicap ramp.
The quiet neighborhood is a surprise—a pleasant one. Finding out Trina Paxton makes less than some of my uncle’s lowest-level editorial staff wasn’t. “And she’s a mother of two?” I grunt out before slipping my phone from my jacket pocket. Quickly punching a few buttons, I hold it up to my ear.
“How’s was your night?” Julian’s perpetually cheerful voice comes through the line.
“I’ve never missed Mom more than I do right at this very moment,” I tell him truthfully.
There’s a long silence before he asks, “Why?”
Tilting my head back, I feel the pressure between my shoulders release a bit. “Because the chef—Trina Paxton—reminds me of her in so many ways.”
