Ыоуве Been Warned   ::   Patterson James

It dawns on me that since Michael called, I no longer hear the song in my head. What a relief! I’m not losing my mind after all.

“Kristin, you there?” he asks.

For a split second, I consider telling him about the music. I don’t, though. It’s a little too flaky.

“Yeah, I’m here,” I say.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine – sorry, I was just checking the time. Don’t want to be late for work.”

“You’re right,” he says. “I’ll let you go. Lord knows you don’t want to piss off that boss of yours.”



1

Chapter 4



SO, WHAT OTHER BAD THING can possibly happen to me this morning?

I think I’m kidding as I hang up and head for the bathroom. That’s when I turn on the shower and discover there’s no hot water. Ugh! No way!

Now there’s a different sound in my head. It’s Michael, laughing, with yet another reason why I should let him be my sugar daddy and buy me an apartment. No way!

Shivering under what amounts to an arctic drizzle, I proceed to take the world’s fastest shower.

I dress, gulp some OJ while munching on a Chai Tea Luna bar, and do a quick inventory of my shoulder bag before heading out the door. It’s all there – wallet, keys, cell phone, and the only other thing I carry with me at all times, my Leica.

Walking up Second Avenue past 46th Street, I pass the same cramped newsstand I do every day. It’s lined sidewalk to ceiling with every magazine imaginable, and I glance at the covers, my eyes taking in the flawless faces of various celebrities and supermodels. Good morning, Brad, Leo, Gisele, Angelina.

Funny, most people want to be them. I just want to photograph them.

That’s my dream, and I’m getting very close, according to my agent and a few big editors. And hopefully according to the Abbott Show, the prestige gallery where my work is being considered. But until it comes true – when I make a name for myself and those same famous people shout, “Get me Kristin Burns!” for the cover of Vanity Fair – I keep right on walking.

To my job as a nanny.

Cutting over to Third Avenue, I head up five blocks before crossing to Lexington. I head north five more blocks and then cut across again, to Park Avenue. I do the same thing every day, the same zigzag pattern. Don’t know why – I just do. Or maybe I do know why, and do it anyway.

Normally, I’d be taking pictures along the way, capturing the faces of the drones as they head to work while trying not to dwell on the fact that I’m one of them.