Page 83 of Last First Date

“Van Gogh, huh? What about Monet or Degas?” she asked, turning to look at me with sparkling curiosity in her eyes.

“You do know art!”

“I look from afar,” she said, smiling.

“Degas’s ballerinas are remarkable. And I like the water lilies series. But if I had to pick one, it’d be Van Gogh.”

As the day wore on, we moved through the city like two friends enjoying each other’s company. The tension from before seemed to have melted away. We ate hot dogs from a street vendor and had gelato at a place I’d discovered during one of my many walks through the city. We explored Central Park, where I showed her the spots where I used to relax.

“I bet right now there are probably fifty celebrities in this park,” I joked. “It’s the easiest place to get lost. A baseball cap and sunglasses and you blend right in.”

She laughed. “And here I thought you were above all the celebrity hiding games.”

We continued walking through the park. For the first time since leaving the party, we felt comfortable around each other again.

“Do we have time to see the Statue of Liberty?”

I grimaced. “We can look at it from a viewing point, but I’m not sure we would have time to get out there and back.”

“I understand,” she said. “I think I prefer seeing the city through your eyes anyway.”

“We can go to Greenwich Village,” I offered. “I had an apartment there for a while. It’s a pretty neighborhood, full of cafes, vintage shops, and small galleries.”

As we strolled through the cobblestone streets of Greenwich Village, she pointed out the quaint brownstones, mentioning they looked like the places she’d seen on TV shows. I showed her my old apartment building where I once lived.

“Times Square at night is the best,” I told her. “But we’ll have to keep a close eye on our wallets.”

She laughed. “Is it that dangerous?”

“No, not dangerous as such. Just packed with a lot of pickpockets.”

“Got it, I’ll hold my purse tight then,” she said, gripping her bag closer.

As the day turned into night, we found ourselves in Times Square. The bright billboards cast light on our faces as we stood among the bustling crowd. I pointed out the various landmarks, telling her stories about my time in the city.

Her eyes sparkled under the flashing lights. She looked mesmerized by the vibrancy of it all. I knew it was a tourist hotspot. At one point, my half-naked body had been on one of those massive billboards.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It is.”

“I have a secret,” she said.

“Uh oh,” I joked.

“A long time ago, maybe not that long, I was here, and I saw you.”

“You saw me?” I asked.

She looked around and then pointed at one of the billboards. “Right there. You were wearing a pair of black briefs. Your arm was stretched above your head⁠—”

I groaned and stopped her. “I remember the picture very well.”

She burst into a fit of giggles and I couldn’t help but join her. It was a little humiliating. Back in the day when I was doing all the modeling, I thought it was fun and exciting. I loved that I was famous. I didn’t really think about the consequences, like every stranger in the world knowing what I looked like in my underwear. In some pictures, I wasn’t even wearing underwear. It was a careful pose that hid my junk.

“Did you have my poster up on your wall too?” I teased, nudging her lightly with my elbow.

Her face turned a brilliant shade of crimson. “No! Well, not me, but my friend did.”