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？And who？s this？？ Jason added。 A black cat wandered into the living room from the bedroom at
the back of the apartment。
Well； that explains the smell。
Serena pulled out her pack of Gauloises and poked her head out that famous kitchen window；
hoping to feel inspired； but all she felt was nervous and a little lost。 Why was she there again？
Because she was about to star in a major motion picture？hello ？
？He？s cute。？ In the kitchen； Jason crouched down to stroke the cat behind its ears。
Serena turned； lighting her cigarette as she watched her dark…haired； blue…eyed neighbor playing
with the cat； who apparently lived in their building too。
See？ The views aren？tall bad。
d learns the art of customer service
？Excuse me； sir； can you tell me where I can find the romance novels？？
Daniel Humphrey was crouched on the floor； making sure the biographies were alphabetized by
subject； not author。 When working at the Strand； New York？s best？and biggest？ bookstore； it was
important to pay attention to details like the proper arrangement of the biographies。
Whatever turns him on。
？We might have a few on the shelves by the stairs； but we don？t have a romance section；？ Dan
explained； unable to hide his displeasure。
？Thanks；？ the woman replied cheerfully as she strolled away to browse the dusty Johanna
Lindsey books and what…ever Nora Roberts novels were still left on the shelves。
The Strand was legendary not just for its incredible selection but also for its highly educated；
highly snotty staff； and Dan was thrilled to have gotten the job。 He？d seen the help…wanted poster
after dropping his sister； Jenny； off at Kennedy on her impromptu trip to visit their mom in Prague
and take some art classes； and he？d been feeling a little down about what he was supposed to do
with his own summer。 When he saw the poster in the store window； it really felt like a sign。
Now here he was； shelving books at the best store in town。 But pared to other bookstores； the
Strand had zero atmosphere。 There was no music； no coffee。 Just rows and rows of mismatched
bookshelves crammed with books。
Pushing a creaky cart overloaded with dusty volumes； Dan made his way down the narrow aisle
of the biography section。 His job involved spending lots of time on his own and ignoring
customers； which gave him plenty of time to think： about literature； about his poetry； about what
Evergreen College in Washington state was going to be like； and mostly about what his last
summer in New York？and his last summer with Vanessa？was going to be like。 He？d made a big
scene at his graduation when he？d declared he wouldn？t be enrolling in college at all so he could
stay by her side； but as it turned out； he was looking forward to driving out west in the rad metallic
blue ？77 Buick Skylark his dad had given him as a graduation present。 It was the perfect car for a
road trip； he？d be just like Jack Kerouac inOn the Road ； tearing up the highways and making love
to the land and sky with the words that crept into his head as he drove along。 He？d leave poems
for all the women he met？the mysterious lover they？d never quite have。 Until then； he？d have one
last perfect summer in the city with Vanessa； his first love。
Dan grabbed a copy of Boswell？sLife of Johnson off the top of his cart and crouched on the
dusty wood floor of the store trying to find the spot where it belonged。 His mind began to wander
as the words came to him：
Hot hands steer the wheel
You？re my gears； my pedals
Stir up the dust。 Lust。 Lust。 Make it last
Sure； it was a little cheesy； but God； that was how he felt right now。 He started making a mental
list of classic romantic New York dates： Seeing Shakespeare in Central Park； riding the Staten
Island Ferry just for the hell of it； watching the sun rise over the Fifty…ninth Street bridge just like
Woody Allen and Diane Keaton inManhattan 。 Maybe a drive out to Jones Beach in the Skylark；
the salty wind blowing through the open windows； Vanessa？s hair blowing behind them 。 。 。 Okay；
well； not her hair？she basically had no hair？but maybe she could wear a long silk scarf or
something。 He could see it now。 It was going to be the most romantic summer。
It？s going to besomething ； that？s for sure。
？Excuse me； do you have the Cliffs Notes forUlysses ？？ a high…pitched male voice whispered
barely audibly； interrupting Dan？s reverie。
Cliffs Notes for James Joyce？ The horror！
Dan scowled at the nerdy…looking goth kid who？d asked for his help。 He was holding a Batman
lunch box； and Dan realized he wasn？t nerdy or goth so much as hopeless。
？Why don？t you try reading the real thing？？ he responded disparagingly。
Hopeless； who was actually probably older than Dan？an NYU student； maybe； or some poor
asshole toughing it out in summer school so he could finally graduate at twenty…three？
shrugged。？Boring。？
Dan wanted to punch him in his skinny stomach； but he suddenly realized it was his job？no； his
duty？to make this asshole read。 He stood up。 ？Follow me。？
He led the mindless goth kid into a small back room full of leather…bound classics and found a
beautiful Everyman？s Library copy of Joyce？s masterpiece。 Dan began to read aloud from a
random page： ？Touch me。 Soft eyes。 Soft soft soft hand。 I am lonely here。 O； touch me soon； now。
What is that word known to all men？ I am quiet here alone。 Sad too。 Touch； touch me。？ Dan
paused and looked up。 ？e on； you know you want to；？ he urged。
The kid looked terrified； probably suspecting Dan was some sort of Strand…lurking literary
pervert。 He dropped his Batman lunch box and bolted。
Dan sat down on the floor to finish the page。 He had to admit that James Joyce did always sort of
turn him on。
Yes； it？s going to be an interesting summer indeed。
helmets are almost as important as condoms
Nate stood up on the pedals of his vintage Schwinn； pushing them up and down with his feet； and
then eased himself back onto the unfortable； unpadded leather seat。 He liked to bike this
way？pedaling as hard as he could and then sitting down to feel the warm summer breeze on his
face。 To the right； the waves rippled off the beach。 On his left was a vine…yard full of Chardonnay
grapes。 The air smelled like salt and gas…grilled steak。 He listened to the satisfying crunch of the
gravelly road under his wheels and grinned lazily。
His morning joint had done just the trick； and by the end of the day； he？d been kind of grooving
on what was supposed to be his summer punishment。 There was something soothing about
physical labor。 He？d spent the summer after tenth grade helping his dad build their sailboat；
theCharlotte ； up at his family？s pound in Mt。 Desert Isle； Maine； and the after…noon working
on Coach Michaels？s place kind of reminded him of that summer； although the setting？rows of
houses and overpopulated beaches？wasn？t quite as serene。 Still； there was nothing like tough
manual work； bright sunshine； and the reward of a cold Stella Artois when the day was done； and
no distractions。
There were no classes to worry about： school was over at last； and Yale seemed impossibly far
away。 Blair； the girl he was pretty sure was the love of his life but who he could never seem to get
it together for； was in England with her new aristocrat boyfriend； probably shopping； eating scones；
and drinking way too much tea。 Serena was back in the city being a movie star； and Jenny； the
incredibly well…endowed freshman he？d somehow gotten involved with last winter； had been
shipped off to Europe。 He was better off far away from those three。
He grinned； realizing that this was how the whole summer would go： days of hard labor； bike
rides back home； then a shower； a joint； and maybe some time by himself was just what he needed。
Coach？s house was in Hampton Bays； several miles from his own house in East Hampton； but it
was like a different world； with its suburban houses and minivans and malls。 It was just the kind of
place that would help him refocus this summer； which was his plan。 He didn？t have his eye on any
particular girl； and anyway； th