Page 14 of Idle

As expected, Homer’s more than thrilled with my promotion. The chief compliance officer in him practically crows at my being named executive director at only twenty-eight. I dip my focaccia into the olive oil but leave it on my plate. “I do have one other opportunity I need to share with you.”

“This is an evening for great news!” Marge tips her red wine glass toward me.

Here goes nothing. “I also was chosen for a new television program on Renovation TV. It’s a competition-type show where the contestants renovate an apartment on the High Line.”

Marge uses her fork to point. “Here? This High Line?”

“Yes.”

Silence. No one moves, eats, swallows.

I sit up. “I already told the bank I need leave of absence.” I pause. “They agreed so long as I can promote their logoed products.”

Homer’s knife clatters onto the floor. “They agreed?”

“Yes.”

“Then get this blue collar whim out of your system. When you come back, you’ll be ready to assume your promotion at the bank where you belong.”

The server brings him a new utensil. While not a ringing endorsement, it’s as good as I expected. Our conversation turns toward their upcoming trip to Washington, D.C., where Homer’s speaking at a banking conference.

* * *

The time from our acceptance to the show’s pre-taping flies by. At seven in the morning, I place another bank T-shirt into my luggage. With one final check around my apartment, I lock up and get into the waiting town car that will bring me to the High Line building and the start of what I hope to be my new life.

As per the instructions, I enter the main lobby and wheel my suitcase to the lounge area beside the reception desk. Four other people sit on the art deco sofas fidgeting with their cell phones. Donning a smile, I address the group, “Hi everyone. I’m Jesse Dimon. Are you all here forNYC Views?”

Four heads nod. A girl with shocking pink hair says, “I’m Marion,” She hooks her finger toward the diminutive woman sitting next to her. “This is my sister, Peyton.” She offers a shy wave.

Next to them, a good-looking guy dressed in perfectly pressed linen pants says, “I’m Robbie. This here is my boyfriend, Frank.” I shake all four hands.

Choosing a spot on an empty loveseat, I add, “My partner’s Paige, an interior designer—she should be here soon. We live here in New York. How about you guys?”

Frank replies, “We’re in Miami. Robbie’s a fantastic interior designer, and I can hold my own with a miter saw.”

Marion chews on her gum for a minute, then adds, “We’re originally from Oklahoma, but escaped to LA the first chance we got and started our house-flipping business. We don’t have set roles for it, though. We both do it all.”

Impressive. “Cool.”

Another couple approaches our group, holding hands. “Hi! Can you believe the day has finally come? We’re so excited!” Our murmurs of assent do not match this woman’s level of enthusiasm, but this fact doesn’t put this chirpy woman off. “I’m Nancy, and this is my boyfriend Dan. Has anyone from Renovation TV been here?”

Robbie answers for all of us. “Not yet.”

“I’m sure someone will be by here soon. Probably that Quinn person. Did you all get emails from her?”

I can tell this chatty woman is going to drive me bonkers, so I pull out my cell and pretend to have received a text. Which I should have by now. From Paige.Where the hell is she?As if on cue, Paige’s message arrives to tell me she’s fifteen minutes away. Fifteen more minutes of Nancy? Oh joy.

I focus on the men in the group. Robbie and Frank appear as enthralled—using the term loosely—as I am with the newest arrivals. The sisters are engaging her, and my guess is the boyfriend Dan has no choice but to be part of that conversation. I direct my next comment to the two men. “I’ve never been to Miami before. What’s it like?”

Robbie rubs the top of his bald head. “For starters, it’s nothing like here. We have sun almost all the time, and music plays in the streets more often than not.”

Frank joins in. “The vibe here is different, but good. You know?”

I consider his statement. “It’s alive in its own unique way, for sure.”

Robbie snaps his fingers. “Alive. Perfect descriptor of New York City.”

My attention is drawn to a new couple walking through the doors. She has long blonde hair and is dressed to the nines, her clothes draped perfectly over her shapely body. He, on the other hand, carries a Stetson and wears ripped jeans, a wife beater, and cowboy boots on his feet. But for their matching Tumi luggage, I wouldn’t believe they were together.

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