Brooklyn’s starry sky
Jack Chen stood in front of a glass curtain wall in midtown Manhattan, overlooking the traffic on Fifth Avenue. His fingers unconsciously rubbed the cuffs of his custom suit, where the calluses left by the construction site in Queens were still there. The trajectory of his life over the past 35 years is like a steep parabola, from a folding bed in a Brooklyn low-rent apartment to a private office in a landmark building on Wall Street, and every step is soaked in concrete dust and late-night coffee stains.
“Mr. Chen, this is the quarterly financial report analysis you asked for.” The voice of his assistant Lisa interrupted his thoughts. The blonde girl who just graduated from Harvard always has a perfect professional smile, “In addition, the psychologist you have an appointment with is free at 3 pm tomorrow.”
Jack paused as he took the document, and the glass reflected the fatigue in his eyes. Three years ago, he followed his mentor’s advice and started regular psychological counseling, which was called “executive stress management”, but in fact it was just to fill the empty feeling of being wrapped in a suit every late night drive from Queens to the Upper East Side.
The phone suddenly vibrated, and the notification sound of the dating app was particularly clear in the silent office. He clicked on the dialog box marked “Latin Rose”. The latest news stopped at 11 o’clock last night: “I heard that Wall Street elites like Wellington steak?” followed by a winking emoticon.
Jack thought of Sofia
Rodriguez’s profile photo, her curly hair glowed amber in the sun, and her deep V-neck outlined her plump curves. Unlike those socialites who shuttled through Manhattan parties, her self-introduction read “ER nurse, likes cooking and salsa dancing.”
The heartbeat of the digital world
“So you really went from a construction worker to a VP?” In Sofia’s video window, she was sprinkling Parmesan cheese on pasta, “My grandfather built subways in the Bronx and always said that Chinese boys are the most hardworking.”
Jack smiled and turned the camera to the safety helmet on the bookshelf. That was the day he left the construction site. Foreman Old Joe forced it on him: “Keep it. You can come back to move bricks when you get tired of wearing suits.” Every time Sofia tells this story, she laughs.
They talked for three whole months, from the new season of the Brooklyn Dodgers to the latest plot of Grey’s Anatomy. Jack found himself looking forward to the video call at ten o’clock every night, listening to Sofia complain about the night shift in the emergency room and watching her draw a smiley face on the mirror with mascara. One day at three in the morning, she sent a photo of the starry sky: “I just rescued a patient with a heart attack and looked up to see this.” The sound of an ambulance siren was faintly heard in the background.
“You know what?” Sofia suddenly said, “My mother always said I was too fat to get married.” She lowered her head to stir the coffee, and the cream stained the corners of her lips, “But you don’t seem to care about that.”
Jack stared at the real face on the screen and suddenly realized how long it had been since he had seen a smile without makeup. “Plumpness is God’s gift to Latin beauties.” He quoted her personal signature, “Just like Wall Street’s gift to me is a stomach ulcer.”
Testing in the coffee shop
On the day they agreed to meet, it was drizzling in Manhattan in April. Jack arrived at the coffee shop on Central Park West half an hour early and repeatedly checked the stomach medicine in his suit pocket. Through the glass window, he saw Sofia walking in with a red umbrella, her floral dress swaying in the wind, like a rose blooming in the rain.
“Iced Americano?” Sofia stared at the cup brought by the waiter, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the wall of the cup, “Actually, I…”
“You can’t drink ice during your menstrual period.” Jack suddenly stood up, “Wait a minute.” He walked quickly to the bar and heard suppressed laughter behind him. When he put the hot cocoa in front of her, he found that she was looking at her phone – the lock screen was the night view of the Brooklyn Bridge, with a small silhouette of a helmet on the bridge.
“So, Mr. VP’s emergency kit contains stomach medicine and hot packs?” Sophia scooped up a spoonful of matcha mousse, and the cream touched the tip of her nose.
Jack handed over the tissue, and suddenly remembered that she mentioned abdominal pain during the video last night. This detail was like a key, opening a dusty drawer in his memory – his mother always boiled Chinese medicine when he worked overtime, and his father would put a hot water bottle into his cold bed.
Frankness in the steak house
Under the crystal chandelier of the Wellington Steak House, Sophia’s earrings shone with tiny lights. “You know?” She cut the puff pastry, “When I first saw your profile photo, I thought you were another Wall Street tycoon who only knew how to show off his yacht.”
Jack cut the medium-rare beef, and blood seeped into the carrot puree on the side dish. “Actually, I’m still paying off my student loans.” He suddenly said, “From community college to Columbia, I have to work three jobs every semester.” Even assistant Lisa didn’t know this secret.
Sophia put down her knife and fork and reached out to hold his wrist. Her hands were warm and strong, with a faint smell of disinfectant. “My grandfather said before he died that a true man is not judged by how much his suit costs, but by whether there is mud under his fingernails.” She gently stroked his palm with her fingertips, which still had scars from carrying steel bars.
Jack suddenly remembered the starry sky photo Sofia sent him late at night three months ago. At this moment, the lights of Manhattan outside the window were bright, but he felt that those neon lights could not compare to the starlight in her eyes.
Promise on a rainy night
When he walked out of the restaurant, the rain had stopped. Sofia was swaying on the waterlogged road in her ten-centimeter high heels. Jack naturally held her waist and smelled the faint rose scent in her hair.
“How about going to my house?” Sofia suddenly turned around, her curly hair brushing his chin, “I have Haagen-Dazs in my refrigerator, and…”
“And the salsa dance teaching video you mentioned?” Jack smiled and continued. He saw the pulse behind her ear and suddenly realized that he hadn’t been so close to a real person, not pixels on a screen, for a long time.
They strolled along Central Park, and Sofia hummed an off-tune Latin love song. When passing a street performer, she suddenly pulled him to spin, and her skirt drew a beautiful arc in the moonlight. Jack followed the rhythm clumsily, and heard the roaring heartbeat in his chest, which was more deafening than the sound of the pile driver he heard at the construction site.
The collision of reality and ideals
Jack stood in the center of the conference room, and the cold light of the projector was reflected on his tense jawline. The questioning voice of the board members was as precise as a scalpel: “Mr. Chen, the return rate of this Southeast Asian infrastructure project is seven percentage points lower than expected.”
His fingertips unconsciously stroked the inner pocket of his suit, where Sofia stuffed him with stomach medicine yesterday. The chaotic scene in the emergency room last night suddenly flashed in his mind – Sophia, wearing a wrinkled nurse uniform, made a “victory” gesture to him at the door of the emergency room, and the nurse badge on her chest was dazzling.
“Our risk assessment model takes into account exchange rate fluctuations and policy changes.” Jack called up the data chart, his voice was as cold as metal, “Just like the emergency room will not give up rescue because the patient has high blood pressure.”
After the meeting, he called Sophia in the fire escape. The beeping sound of the monitor came from the receiver, mixed with her suppressed laughter: “Wall Street elites are starting to use medical metaphors?”
“Can we have dinner together tonight?” Jack held the phone and heard his heartbeat echoing in the empty stairwell, “I want to take you to Brooklyn.”
Moonlight in Brooklyn
They sat on the steps of the Brooklyn Bridge, and Sophia’s head rested gently on Jack’s shoulder. The skyline in the distance flickered with cold neon lights, and the river under the bridge reflected the soft moonlight.
“This is the first time I’ve brought a girl here.” Jack tore open the hot dog wrapper, mustard dripping on his custom cufflinks, “I always thought that when I could afford an apartment on the Upper East Side…”
Sophia suddenly laughed, her eyelashes brushing across his chin: “You know what? My grandma always said that love is like an electrocardiogram in the emergency room – it’s normal to have ups and downs.” She took out her phone and flipped through a yellowed photo, “This is my parents’ wedding in a Bronx tenement apartment. My aunt made the wedding dress out of curtains.”
Jack looked at the young man and woman hugging in the photo, and suddenly remembered the property certificate he had locked in the bank safe. Those cold documents were never as warm as the sea breeze in Sophia’s hair at this moment.
Dawn in the Emergency Room
At four in the morning, Jack’s phone vibrated wildly on the bedside table. Sophia’s voice was crying: “Jack… I need you.”
When he rushed into the emergency room, he saw her squatting at the end of the corridor, with blood stains on her white nurse uniform. “The homeless man sent here today… He reminds me of my grandfather.” She buried herself in his arms, her mascara smudged black tear stains on his shirt, “Why does this city always hurt kind people?”
Jack hugged her slightly trembling shoulders, and suddenly remembered the morning when he was publicly humiliated by his boss when he first joined the investment bank. He gently lifted her chin: “Remember the starry sky you mentioned?” He pointed to the gradually brightening sky outside the window, “It’s always darkest before dawn.”
