Manhattan Is My Beat

on long black dresses and playing with her hair, trying to look like Audrey Hepburn, trying to look slinky. But then the word
frumpy
crept into her mind and, even though she could strip and look at her flat stomach and thin legs and pretty face, once she thought
frump
, that killed it. No long dresses today.
    “You win,” she muttered to Stephanie.
    “Thank you” was the abrupt reply. “Now let’s get to work.”
    They walked south, out of the Village.
    “Richard likes long and slinky,” Rune explained.
    “Of course he does,” Stephanie replied. “He’s a man. He probably likes red and black bustiers and garters too.” But she went on to explain patiently that a woman should never buy clothes for a man. She should buy clothes for herself, which will in turn make the man respect and desire her more.
    “You think?”
    “I
know
.”
    “Radical,” Rune said.
    Stephanie rolled her eyes and said, “We’ll go for European.”
    “Richard’s very French-looking. I’d like to get him to change his name.”
    “To what?”
    “It
was
François. Now I’m leaning toward Jean-Paul.”
    “What does he think about that?”
    “Haven’t told him. I’m going to wait a few weeks.”
    “Wise.”
    SoHo, the former warehouse and manufacturing district adjoining Greenwich Village, was just becoming chic. The area used to be a bastion of artists-in-residence— working painters and sculptors, who were the only people who could legally live in the neighborhood under the city zoning code. But while the city granted permits only to certified artists, it did nothing about controlling the cost of the huge lofts, and as the galleries and wine bars and boutiques moved into the commercial buildings, the residential prices skyrocketed into the hundreds of thousands…. It was funny how many lawyers and bankers suddenly found they had talent to paint and sculpt.
    They passed one clothing store, painted stark white inside. Rune stopped abruptly and gazed at a black silk blouse.
    “Love it.”
    “So do I,” Stephanie agreed.
    “Can we get it?”
    “No.”
    “Why not? What’s wrong with it?”
    “See that tag? That’s not the order number. That’s the price.”
    “Four hundred and fifty dollars!”
    “Come on, follow me. I know a little Spanish place up the street.”
    They turned off West Broadway onto Spring and walked into a store that Rune loved immediately because a large white bird sitting on a perch by the door said, “Hello, sucker,” to them when they entered.
    Rune looked around. She said, “I’m game. But it’s not funky. It’s not New Wave.”
    “It’s not supposed to be.”
    After twenty minutes of careful assembly, Stephanie examined Rune with approval and only then allowed her to look in a mirror.
    “Awesome,” Rune whispered. “You’re a magician.”
    The maroon skirt
was
long though it was more billowy than slinky. On top she wore a low-cut black T-shirt and over that a lacy see-through blouse. Stephanie picked out some dangly earrings in orange plastic.
    “It’s not the old me but it’s definitely a
sort of
me.”
    “I think you’re evolving,” Stephanie told her.
    As the clerk wrapped up the clothes Rune said, “You know the story of the little red hen?”
    “Was it on
Sesame Street?
“
    “I don’t think so. She was the one who was baking bread, and nobody helped her, except this one animal. I forget what it was. Duck, rabbit. Who knows? Anyway, when the bread was done all the other animals came to the hen and said they wanted some. But she said, ‘Haul ass, creeps.’ And she only shared it with the one that helped her. Well, when I find the bank money I’m going to share it with you.”
    “Me?”
    “You believe me. Richard doesn’t. The police don’t.”
    Stephanie didn’t say anything. They stepped outside and returned to West Broadway. “You don’t have to do that, Rune,” she said finally.
    “But I want to. Maybe you can quit the stupid video store and audition full-time.”
    “Really …”
    “No.” The Hungarian accent was back. “Don’t argue with peasant woman. Very pigheaded … Oh, wait.” Rune glanced at a store across the street. “Richard said he’s got a surprise for me. I want to get him something.”
    They ran across Broadway, dodging traffic. Rune stopped, caught her breath, looked in the window. “What do men like?” she asked.
    Stephanie said, “Themselves.” And they walked inside.

     
    The store seemed futuristic but it may