By Rose Wiersma
It was just another Tuesday morning, or so it seemed. It started as normal as they come before a day of castings– an hour and a half of primping, yet still feeling slightly unworthy of supermodel-dom. (Perhaps because of the lingering presence of the undeserved slice of pizza from the night before.) Still, what can I do but carry on?
Slipping on a Alice and Olivia Tank Dress finished off with an All Saints Leather Denim Jacket (That looks like leather! How cool is that?) I was ready. Strapped into Dolce Vita Heels, portfolio in one hand, an unnecessarily large coffee in the other, waiting for the train; my game face was on.
After an impatient 4 minutes it arrived. I step into the car and take a seat. A strapping young man sitting across from me immediately grabs my attention from my usual introverted vanity –a trait that rarely allows me to see past my own nose when negotiating my way through the New York City grid. Immediately, there is something strangely mystical about him. His dark features combined with a knowing yet sly smile give him this sense of mystery. His Bally Shoes are shined to perfection. The slim fit of his Paul Smith Collared Shirt is enviable. His crisp Levi’s 501 Jeans amplify my infatuation. A streamlined and classic style worn with the confidence of someone who knows a secret.
As we exchange awkward glances I am sucked into a 5 minute romance. I’m sure you are familiar with this type of encounter–one of those telepathic interactions where no one speaks, but many words are exchanged. For both of us it is clear there is an unabashed and genuine silent inquisition of the creature “across the pond” that is the subway aisle. And then, he pulls a deck of cards out of his pocket and puts on a modest little display of sleight of hand. I’m mesmerized. He knows. Suddenly he gets up for his stop, a friendly shrug and he is off the train.
The doors close before I realize it was my stop too. Au revoir Houdini. I just hope his re-appearing act is as good as disappearing one…